“He’s a bit of all right,” said Mr. Joe Gossett, interrupting his
description of the new foreman, with a large wedge of bread and cheese.
His sister sniffed. “Fancy a man being called ‘Handsome Harry’! _Pff!_”
“He can’t ’elp what people call him,” said Mr. Gossett, “and if you was
to see him you’d understand it. Five foot eleven, dark-blue eyes, good
teeth, and the finest short beard I ever saw in my life. All brown and
gold it is. How he’s escaped, I don’t know.”
“Escaped!” repeated his sister, in a shrewish voice.
Mr. Gossett nodded.
“Poor dear!” said Miss Gossett, quivering.
“After him like flies round a treacle-pot,” continued her brother.
“I’ve been with ’im and I ought to know.”
“P’r’aps _you_ was the attraction,” said his mother, archly.
Mr. Gossett sniffed, but not so loudly as his sister.
“I don’t hold with handsome men,” said Mrs. Gossett, shaking her head.
“Nobody could say that I married your pore father for his good looks.
His----”
“Where did I get mine from, then?” interrupted Miss Gossett.
“My side of the family,” replied her mother, modestly. “You was a
Smithson and Joe was a Gossett.”
“If the Smithsons hadn’t got more good looks than what Mabel has----”
began the indignant Mr. Gossett.
“What a pair we should make,” said Miss Gossett, with a simper, “me and
Handsome Harry! Bring him in one evening and let’s have a look at him,
Joe. What’s his other name? If it isn’t nice I shan’t have him.”
“His name’s Cook,” said her brother, “and as for you catching him,
why, he’d laugh at the idea.”
“Bring him in and let’s have a look at him,” repeated his sister, “then
perhaps I’ll ask Florrie Adams in one evening. I’ll tell her you’ll be
out.”
“Oh, don’t tease him,” said Mrs. Gossett.
“Tease him?” said the irritated Mr. Gossett, pushing his chair away and
rising. “Don’t make me laugh. It’s a pity Mabel ain’t got more sense,
that’s all.”
“Pity you ain’t a Smithson,” said Miss Gossett, as he went outside for
his hat. “You might have a chance then.”
He closed the street door with a bang that sent a revivifying draught
of fresh air through the small house, and, somewhat ruffled in spirit,
set off at a smart pace down the road. The subject of Miss Adams was
a sore one, the slavish admiration of some months having yielded,
so far, nothing but amusement in return. A brotherly desire to give
Miss Gossett some idea of the pangs of unrequited affection sent his
thoughts again to the fascinations of Handsome Harry.
He turned the matter over in his mind for a day or two, and resolved at
last to introduce his friend casually. If Miss Gossett were taken at
a disadvantage, so much the better; he was not going to give her the
chance of “window-dressing.”
His trouble was wasted. The night he introduced Mr. Cook his sister
had just returned from the local cinema accompanied by Miss Adams,
and the first impression the visitor received was of fine clothes and
languorous perfumes. In the best manner of the highest circles both
girls seemed to sit aloof, with little interests of their own. Little
intimate jests and giggles testified to their complete absorption.
“Good show?” inquired Mr. Gossett, in an interval.
“Pretty fair,” said his sister, languidly. “Leonard Firebrace was on.”
“He’s a darling,” said Miss Adams, clasping her hands enthusiastically.
Messrs. Gossett and Cook said “_H’m!_” to each other.
“Supposed to be the handsomest man on the films,” said Miss Gossett.
Mr. Cook stroked his short, well-trimmed beard and gave a finer point
to the ends of his moustache. “What’s he like?” he inquired, in an
indulgent voice.
“Like a Greek god,” replied Miss Gossett, quoting from a story in her
favourite periodical.
“Straight nose, well-shaped mouth, and wonderful eyes,” explained Miss
Adams.
“You only see men like that at the Pictures, and in dreams,” said her
friend, with a sigh. “Think of his teeth!”
Miss Adams thought of them, and sighed in her turn. Mr. Gossett and Mr.
Cook stirred restlessly. The latter even ventured on a cough; a cough
more than tinged with criticism. Under the calm, straight gaze of Miss
Gossett it repeated itself--with a different note, and subsided.
“I must say,” remarked that lady, turning to her friend, “that I like
to see good looks in a fellow. Joe!”
“Hallo!” replied her brother.
“Who is that good-looking man you were talking about the other day? One
of your foremen, or something?”
Mr. Gossett gasped, and sent a wireless message with his eyebrows.
“Man you call Pretty Bertie,” continued his sister, ignoring it. “No,
that isn’t it.”
“Have you gone dotty?” inquired the embarrassed Mr. Gossett, in a gruff
voice.
“Or was it Lovely Charlie?” said his sister, musing. “No, I
remember--Handsome Harry. That’s the name. Why don’t you bring him in
one day and let’s have a look at him?”
“Do,” urged Miss Adams.
“If he’s only half as good-looking as what you say he is we might fall
in love with him,” said Miss Gossett.
[Illustration: “IF HE’S ONLY HALF AS GOOD LOOKING AS WHAT YOU SAY HE IS
WE MIGHT FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM.”]
Her brother eyed her helplessly, while Mr. Cook, with an air of pained
surprise, sat awaiting the inevitable explanation.
“That’s him,” said Mr. Gossett at last, with a jerk of the head. “Where
are your eyes?”
“Him? Who?” inquired his sister.
“Handsome Harry,” replied her brother. “I told you his name was Cook.”
Miss Gossett threw back her head and laughed till the tears came.
“Don’t be so silly,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“How can you?” said Miss Adams.
“It’s only one of Joe’s larks,” said Miss Gossett, turning to the
goggle-eyed Mr. Cook. “You mustn’t take any notice of him. The idea of
him pretending you are Handsome Harry.”
“As if we shouldn’t have noticed it,” murmured Miss Adams.
Mr. Cook turned his troubled gaze upon his friend in a mute appeal for
help, but Mr. Gossett’s face was as bewildered as his own.
“It’s a name that some of them have given him,” said Mr. Gossett at
last, in a surly voice.
“How rude of them!” said his sister, severely. “I shouldn’t take any
notice of them if I were you, Mr. Cook. But I must say I should like to
see the real one.”
Mr. Cook gave it up. It struck him that the explanation might lie in
defective eyesight, and he recalled the story of a man who took to
spectacles, and ran away from his wife a week afterwards.
A feeling of regret that so pretty a girl might have to take to glasses
imparted a tenderness to his glance that was by no means wasted. Miss
Gossett, lowering her eyes at first under the onslaught, ventured after
a time to raise them and meet it. The gentle timidity of her glance
did much to restore Mr. Cook’s self-esteem. In the language of the
eyes long practice had made him almost perfect, and his gaze became so
ardent and so confident that Miss Gossett was moved to speech.
“What’s the matter?” she demanded.
“Matter?” repeated Mr. Cook, in surprise.
“You seemed to be staring in a funny sort of way,” said the girl. “You
don’t have fits, do you?”
“No,” said Mr. Cook shortly.
“Funny look he had,” said Miss Gossett, turning to the others. “I
didn’t like it at all. I suppose you haven’t got anything in your eye,
Mr. Cook? I’m a dab at taking things out.”
Mr. Cook hesitated, and was lost. “I did get something in coming
along,” he murmured, “but I thought it was out.”
He smiled with content as the ministering angel leaned over him and
prised up the lid with her finger. Then he winced and drew back his
head.
“Keep still,” said the girl; “I’m not hurting you.”
“Not much,” corrected the victim. “_Ow!_”
“It’s funny men can’t bear a little bit of pain,” observed Miss
Gossett, continuing her explorations. “There! I nearly had it then.”
“Perhaps it’ll work itself out,” suggested Mr. Cook, wincing again.
“I’ll have it out if you’ll only keep still,” said Miss Gossett.
“Anybody would think I was hurting you.”
Mr. Cook drew his head back with a sudden exclamation of pain. “What
have you got?” he inquired, hoarsely; “a scrubbing brush?”
“Don’t be silly,” said the girl, as the sufferer clapped a handkerchief
to his streaming eyes.
“It’s out,” he said, in a voice which endeavoured in vain to express
surprise and gratitude. “It’s out.”
“I knew I could do it,” said Miss Gossett. “I could have done it sooner
if you hadn’t flinched so much.”
“My eyes are very tender,” said Mr. Cook.
“That’s what I thought a few minutes ago,” said the girl, “but perhaps
you’ll grow out of it. Let’s hope so.”
“It’s never too late to mend,” observed Miss Adams oracularly.
Mr. Cook arose in dignified silence and, with a final dab at his eyes,
restored his handkerchief to his pocket and announced that he must
be going. At Miss Adams’s suggestion, Mr. Gossett, rising with some
unwillingness, offered to accompany him.
“Me and Mabel want to have a little chat,” said Miss Adams, in
explanation.
“All by ourselves,” added Miss Gossett.
Agreeable to this strange lack of taste on the part of the ladies
the gentlemen withdrew, Mr. Cook, to whom this sort of treatment
was absolutely new, walking out of the house like a man in a dream.
Memories of countless conquests stirred in his brain but yielded no
satisfaction.
“Very off-handish, ain’t she?” he said at last.
“She learns it from Mabel,” said his friend. “They’re as thick as two
thieves.”
“I mean your sister,” said Mr. Cook.
“Oh!” replied Mr. Gossett. “Her!”
“She’s very nice-looking,” said Mr. Cook, after a long pause.
“She seems to make people think so,” said the fond brother. “How she
does it, I don’t know. I’m as good a judge as most men, but I can’t see
it.”
“Well, you can take it from me,” said the other, impressively, “that
she is about the best-looking girl I have ever seen. She’s your
step-sister, isn’t she?”
“Step-sister?” repeated Mr. Gossett, with surprising vehemence. “No, of
course she ain’t. What ever put that into your head?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Cook hurriedly. “I spoke without thinking. Of
course there’s a great likeness; anybody could see that.”
The indignant Mr. Gossett received the assurance with a grunt, and
listened in amazed silence while his friend explained to him in
enraptured terms the manifold perfections of his sister.
“But you hadn’t seen her till an hour ago!” he protested.
“I shall have to make up for lost time,” said Mr. Cook, earnestly.
“What about to-morrow night?”
Mr. Gossett said there was nothing about it, and declined in the most
unmistakable terms to have anything to do with the affair.
“She’d only make fun of you,” he said, severely. “You ought to have
seen her face when she was messing about with your eye.”
Mr. Cook said he _had_ seen it, and smacked his lips.
“And she’ll do worse than that if you don’t let ’er alone,” continued
Mr. Gossett. “Why, there was one silly fellow that used to come after
her, and she led ’im such a dance that he went away and joined the
Army.”
“Very good place for him,” said Mr. Cook approvingly. “Besides, we must
have soldiers.”
“When I took you round I thought you would have learnt ’er a lesson,”
said his friend; “instead of that you’re worse than any of ’em. It
makes _me_ look such a fool. I expect she’s talking about you now and
laughing fit to kill herself.”
“She’s got a pretty laugh,” said the other, with a tender smile. “I
could listen to it all day.”
He heard it a night or two later, when, failing his utmost efforts
to obtain an invitation from Mr. Gossett, he called without one,
apparently for the purpose of telling Miss Gossett that it was a fine
evening, but that a little rain would do good. After which effort he
sat and watched Miss Gossett gurgling foolishly into her handkerchief.
“Don’t take no notice of her,” said Mrs. Gossett, somewhat disturbed.
“I like it,” replied Mr. Cook, simply.
“Sounds silly to me,” said Mrs. Gossett, shaking her head at her
daughter.
“That’s why I like it,” said Mr. Cook, floundering. “I like silly
people.”
Miss Gossett’s laughter ended abruptly.
“Did you come to see Joe?” she inquired, with some austerity.
Mr. Cook shook his head.
“What did you come for, then?”
The visitor looked imploringly at Mrs. Gossett, but seeing no help
there turned to the daughter. “I came to tell you my eye is all right
now,” he said, slowly. “I thought you’d like to know.”
Miss Gossett gazed at him, deep in thought “Will you be able to see
your way home with it?” she said at last, in a soft voice.
The visitor became thoughtful in his turn. “Perhaps--perhaps it would
be safer if somebody--somebody came with me,” he murmured.
Miss Gossett nodded. “Ye-es,” she said, softly. “Yes, I think it would.
Can you give me a couple of minutes?”
Mr. Cook, flushing with joy, said that he could, and, hardly able to
believe in his good fortune, bestowed a half-wink upon Mrs. Gossett as
her daughter left the room.
“Gone up to put her hat on?” he inquired, in a low voice.
“P’r’aps,” said the surprised Mrs. Gossett, “and p’r’aps not,” she
added. “If I don’t expect her to do a thing, she does it, and if I
expect her to do a thing she don’t do it. That’s Mabel.”
Mr. Cook shook his head gently in sympathy. Then he prepared to rise as
Miss Gossett entered the room followed by a small and extremely dirty
youth in patched knickerbockers.
“This is Tommy Burrows, from next door,” she said.
Mr. Cook nodded--and waited.
“By good luck, he happened to be in,” continued the girl. “This is the
poor gentleman, Tommy, and if you lead him safe home he will give you
a shilling. You had better hold his sleeve. And mind how you cross the
roads.”
She stood smiling benevolently as Master Burrows, in pursuance of his
instructions, took the dazed and speechless Mr. Cook by the sleeve and
piloted him carefully from the room. At the street-door he paused and
strove to collect his scattered faculties.
“Good-bye,” said Miss Gossett, brightly.
The unfortunate gasped at her, and then, obedient to a tug at his
sleeve, moved slowly off. The laugh that he had so much admired was
heard again, but some of its savour seemed to have departed. It was
clear that he had lost the first two rounds, and, with a faint hope
that Tommy’s mother might have something to say to Miss Gossett on the
subject, he took that hapless youth ten miles for the shilling. By the
next morning he had recovered his spirits and the vitriolic scorn of
Joe Gossett passed him harmlessly by. It appeared that Miss Gossett had
persisted in regarding her brother as privy to the visit and chose to
include him as a victim of her cleverness.
“That’s all right,” said Mr. Cook equably. “You shall have the laugh of
her by and by.”
“When?” demanded the unbeliever.
“When I marry her,” was the reply.
Mr. Gossett turned and regarded his friend in amazement. “Have you gone
silly or what?” he inquired huskily.
“There’s nothing to go silly about,” responded Mr. Cook. “I’ve thought
all along I should be caught some time. She’s got me hard and fast,
and the funny thing is, I don’t mind. I like it.”
“But she won’t have you,” objected the staring Mr. Gossett. “She
wouldn’t look at you.”
“You tell her I’m going to marry her,” said Mr. Cook. “Tell her I’m
going to marry her, and the sooner she makes up her mind to it the
better.”
Mr. Gossett took the message. The one he brought back next day lost
nothing in transit.
“So there you are,” he said, grinning. “She says she wouldn’t have you
if you were the only man in the world.”
“She couldn’t,” said the philosophical Mr. Cook; “there’d be too many
after me.” He called next evening and, Miss Gossett being out, left a
little bunch of flowers he had hidden beneath his coat. Mr. Gossett
brought back the withered remains next day. A large and expensive box
of chocolates left two days later was returned empty, but any comfort
Mr. Cook might have derived from the fact vanished when he heard that
it had accompanied Mr. Gossett and Miss Adams to the cinema.
“She ate the chocs with one hand while I held the other,” explained Mr.
Gossett. “Try Mabel with another box to-night, old man.”
Mr. Cook, intent upon what he now considered would be a long campaign,
made no reply. Despite his utmost efforts he was unable to obtain
speech with Miss Gossett, and a letter, sent through the post, was
returned marked, “Opened by mistake.” Assailed by doubts, only his
looking-glass convinced him that he held a winning hand. He called
again, and spent three hours of mutual boredom with Mrs. Gossett, while
Miss Gossett sat upstairs in her bedroom, blaspheming.
“It’s the only way to treat ’em,” he said to Mr. Gossett, when that
gentleman remonstrated. “Show ’em you ain’t afraid of ’em and they come
to heel.”
“And what about my poor mother?” demanded his friend hotly. “She
’ad you all last evening, talking about the weather, and Mabel all
breakfast time talking about hairdressers’ blocks and tailors’ dummies.
Don’t you come again.”
“Not till next time,” said the other calmly.
As a matter of good-feeling and policy combined he decided to let a few
days lapse before calling again. A slight swelling and soreness in the
neck attributed to a tooth which had been troubling him for some time
led to a still further delay. The distortion of face was especially
trying to a man of his appearance, and, after enduring for two days the
glances of his fellow-workers and the ribaldries of Mr. Gossett, he
stayed away from pork.
He sat at home next day with his head wrapped in a shawl. Dainties,
as conceived by his landlady for an invalid, remained untouched. And
he was in the depths of misery when the door opened and Mr. Gossett
stepped blithely in.
“Jee-rusalem!” said that gentleman.
Mr. Cook tried to smile, and Mr. Gossett retreated a couple of paces,
and placed his hand on the door-knob.
“Why don’t you ’ave the tooth out?” he demanded.
“When--swelling--goes--down,” croaked the invalid.
Mr. Gossett looked at him and hesitated. “Mabel wants you to come to
supper,” he said at last. “She sent me to ask you.”
There was a long pause.
“You--told--her--’bout this,” said Mr. Cook, “and she wants--to
make--fun of me.”
Mr. Gossett coughed.
“All right,” said the other, “I’ll come. I don’t mind if she does
laugh.”
Fortunately, as Mr. Gossett observed, it was getting dark, and Mr.
Cook’s features attracted no attention. A little natural reluctance to
enter the sitting-room gave way before a hearty push from his companion.
“It is good of you to come,” said Miss Gossett, her lips trembling.
“You--asked me,” said Mr. Cook, speaking slowly and painfully from one
side of his mouth. “And I came--because--you thought--I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t take no notice of her,” said Mrs. Gossett “For shame, Mabel,”
she added.
“I ca-can’t help it,” said her daughter, wiping her eyes. “He--looks so
plump and well-fed.”
“He looks ill,” said Mrs. Gossett severely. “Have you seen a doctor?”
Mr. Cook said he didn’t believe in doctors, and, turning a deaf ear
to the misbehaviour of Miss Gossett, took the seat next to her at the
supper-table and sat gloomily eyeing food he was unable to eat. By an
effort he managed to sip a little beer, and, at Miss Gossett’s earnest
entreaty, ate a small quantity of rice pudding from a salt-spoon. The
fact that she fed him with the first two mouthfuls atoned for much.
“Pity Florrie couldn’t come to supper,” said Miss Gossett, turning to
her brother.
“She’ll be here soon, I expect,” he answered. “She ’ad an appointment,
but she said she’d be sure to come if she could. There she is, I think.”
Rapid steps paused at the door, followed by a knock which Mr. Gossett
hastened to answer. Voices sounded in the narrow passage.
“Come in, Florrie,” cried Miss Gossett. “Handsome Harry is here.”
Miss Adams came in, with a broad smile revealing white teeth. Then her
eyes dilated, and uttering a piercing shriek she fell back into the
passage.
“Don’t be silly,” cried the highly-gratified Miss Gossett; “he’s quite
harmless.”
There was a smothered exclamation from Miss Adams, followed by the
sound of the opening of the street-door.
“It’s too bad,” said Mrs. Gossett. “Mabel, I won’t have it.”
The voice of Miss Adams was heard outside.
“He ought to be shut up,” she exclaimed in piercing tones, “or boiled,”
she added. “If I catch ’em, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Catch what?” demanded the harassed Mr. Gossett.
The reply set the party in the parlour tingling.
“_Mumps_,” she said viciously. “As if you didn’t know.”
The grating of Miss Gossett’s chair as she pushed it back broke the
silence.
“Mumps!” she wailed; “mumps! and I’ve been sitting next to him.”
“And feeding him,” added Mr. Cook gloomily. “Well! well! Fancy--its
being mumps--all the time. And at--my age too. I thought----”
He finished speaking to an empty room. The ladies were upstairs
and, judging by the noise, somewhat perturbed. The voice of Mr.
Gossett--from the landing--bade him begone. He returned to work nearly
three weeks later.
Mr. Gossett was not there, and the voice of envy declared that five
other gentlemen were also staying at home in sinful luxury with the
mumps.
He went round to call the same evening, and asked for news of Joe.
“They’ve both got it,” said Mrs. Gossett, in a tired voice. “Poor
Mabel! you ought to see her.”
“I will,” said Mr. Cook, stepping inside. “Can you send her down?”
Mrs. Gossett smiled faintly. “She wouldn’t let anybody see her for a
thousand pounds,” she declared. “I don’t think her face will ever get
right again. It’s like a piller.”
Mr. Cook, walking to the foot of the stairs, raised his voice and
called loudly upon the name of Miss Gossett. A door opened softly and a
strange, cracked voice told him to go away.
“I want to see you,” he answered.
“Go away,” repeated the girl.
“I came to see you when I had ’em,” said Mr. Cook. “Now I dare you to
come down and see me. If you haven’t got the pluck, say so.”
“Go away--you brute!” said the voice.
“Don’t be a coward,” urged Mr. Cook. “Surely you ain’t going to be
outdone by me. I’ll wait in the parlour for you. Be a sportsman.”
He waited five minutes. A halting step sounded from the stairs, and
a little later the door opened and a disfigured and indignant Miss
Gossett entered the room and stood glowering at him.
“Poor old thing,” he said tenderly.
“You gave me this,” she said fiercely.
Mr. Cook shook his head. “You took it,” he corrected gently. He placed
his arm suddenly around her waist, and, choosing her forehead as the
point of least resistance, kissed it ardently.
“It’ll soon go away,” he said cheerfully. “In about ten days’ time we
shall be the best-looking couple in the neighbourhood.”