Mabel looked very enraged as she entered the house. "Anything the
matter?" he enquired.
"Yes. You might not think so. As I do, probably you wouldn't. But
Ellen's got a new parasol, and Kate's got a swollen knee, and has got
to have it up."
"And I suppose it will be just the same with Ellen's parasol. I
suppose you wanted it the other way round--Dot to have the parasol and
Ellen to have the----"
"I wanted nothing of the kind. Why should I want my cook to go
peacocking about with a pink parasol, making a fool of herself, and
bringing disgrace on the house? Why should I want Kate to be
incapacitated from doing her proper work?"
"I think," said Luke, "I must go and see it."
"Go and see Kate's knee? Don't be indelicate."
"No, I meant the parasol. I should imagine that Dot's knee has solely
a pathological interest at present. But I did mean the parasol--I
swear it. How did it come about?"
"Love of finery. Vanity. Passion for wasting her money."
"Oh, this time I meant the knee--not the parasol."
"Well, that was just absolute selfishness. All servants love to get
swollen knees, and chilblains and chapped hands. They like to make a
fuss about themselves. And to make their employer pay a substitute to
do their work. They're all like that. It was just the same before I
married. Yes, every housemaid I employ. Contracts these swollen
kneeses. They only do it to annoy. Because they know it teases."
"But what are you going to do about it? Have you got medical advice?
Do you think a nurse will be needed? When I had the measles the only
things I fancied were----"
"Kate has not got measles. She's got a cold compress, and she's got
the entire contents of the plate-chest to clean. And when she's
finished that, I'll find her something else. If she thinks she can't
work sitting down, she will discover that she is mistaken."
"Wait a minute. I've got a joke. A real one this time. Dot with a
swollen knee. We shall have to call her Dot-and-go-one. See? Well, why
don't you laugh? I must go into the kitchen and tell them at once."
Mabel sighed deeply. There were simply no words for him. He was right
away outside, beyond the limit. In a few minutes he came back again.
"It certainly does look very pink," he said.
"That's the effect of the cold compress. Though why on earth you
should----"
"I didn't mean the knee, I meant the parasol. I'll swear I did."
"Well, whatever you meant, I wish you would keep out of the kitchen. I
wish you wouldn't address the servants by nicknames. I wish you
wouldn't be so abominably familiar with them."
"Familiar? Well, hang it all, when a poor girl's got a swollen knee
it's unfriendly not to show a little sympathy. It does no harm. I just
chatted her on the peak----"
"You----?"
"As I said, I just patted her on the cheek, and asked her how she was
getting on. No harm in that."
"And now perhaps you'll tell me what on earth I'm to do for a
substitute. I don't know of a single girl in this neighborhood who
could come in and help."
"I have it. I can save the situation. I have an idea. On the 16th
inst., at Jawbones, Halfpenny Hole, Surrey, Mr. Luke Sharper, of an
idea. Both doing well."
"Would you mind telling me what you are talking about?"
"I'm talking about old Vessunt. He's a foreman. Up at the factory.
Fine old chap. Religious but quite honest. He's got a daughter, Effie.
Very superior girl. And she's looking for a job. I can get her for you
to-morrow morning. Effie Vessunt. Rather bright and sparkling, what?"
"At any rate, I can see her."
"You can, even with the naked eye. But I say, you know, she really is
rather superior. She'll have to have her meals with us."
"If I engage her, she will feed in the kitchen."
"Mabel, must you always disagree with me? Have you no spirit of
compromise? Can't you meet me half way in a little thing like this?"
"If I met you half way the girl would have her meals in the passage.
And I don't suppose she'd like it, and anyhow she'd be in everybody's
way."
"And this when I've just been of real use to you."
"So you ought to be. You were indirectly responsible for the accident
that gave Kate the swollen knee. It was your wretched old push-bike
that she fell over."
Luke wagged his ears. "Indirectly," he said. "There are many of us in
it indirectly. Dunlop, for instance. Niggers in a rubber plantation.
Factories in Coventry. A retail shop in High Holborn. And me. All
working together. Combining and elaborating in order to give Dot a
nasty one on the knee-cap. It's rather a great thought when you come
to think it out that way."
"I can't see why you want to ride that old job-lot of scrap-iron at
all. You might just as well go by train, now that the new line is
opened. All my friends do it. Why can't you go by train?"
"I believe I know the answer to that one. Don't tell me. I'll go
upstairs and think it out."
He went up to the frowsty study-bedroom, and sat down at his table.
Mechanically he drew from his pocket the sheet of thirty stamps with
which, after a few disparaging remarks, the lady at the post-office
had supplied him. He spread them out before him. Thirty stamps. Thirty
letters to Jona. He felt inclined to kiss every one of them.
He did not do so. He reflected that in the ordinary course of affixing
them to the envelope he would put them to his lips in any case. It was
not sense to do the same piece of work twice over.
Jona.
Should he, or shouldn't he? He knew that he shouldn't. Mabel would not
like it. He ought to put Jona out of his mind, and to burn those
stamps. But that was not economical. It was possible to have thirty
stamps, and yet to avoid writing thirty love-letters to Jona. He
folded them up and put them back in his pocket.
What was it he had come up to do? He remembered. Mabel had asked him a
question. He ran downstairs and rejoined her.
"Because of the season ticket," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you asked me why I couldn't go by train. I could get a season
ticket, but I should lose it the first day. Then they fine you forty
shillings, and make you buy another. And that would go on, and on, and
on until I was bankrupt and a beggar. And we should have to go down
the High Street together, singing hymns. And you never did have any
voice, and----"
"Oh, that'll do," said Mabel, wearily.
"Look here," he said, brightly, "I've brought you a present, Mabel. I
think you will find these useful."
He produced the postage stamps from his pocket.
"Just a few stamps," he said.
"All right," said Mabel, not taking them. "Stick them down anywhere."
"They should be stuck down in the top right-hand corner," he said;
"but I leave it all entirely to you."
He went out. She had not even thanked him.