In the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over
the breakfast table he laughed at his fears. There was an air of
prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the
previous night, and the dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched on the
sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its
virtues.
“I suppose all old soldiers are the same,” said Mrs. White. “The idea
of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in these
days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you,
father?”
“Might drop on his head from the sky,” said the frivolous Herbert.
“Morris said the things happened so naturally,” said his father, “that
you might if you so wished attribute it to coincidence.”
“Well, don’t break into the money before I come back,” said Herbert as
he rose from the table. “I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean,
avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.”
His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him down the
road; and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at the
expense of her husband’s credulity. All of which did not prevent her
from scurrying to the door at the postman’s knock, nor prevent her from
referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous
habits when she found that the post brought a tailor’s bill.
“Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he
comes home,” she said, as they sat at dinner.
“I dare say,” said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; “but for
all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I’ll swear to.”
“You thought it did,” said the old lady soothingly.
“I say it did,” replied the other. “There was no thought about it; I
had just—- What’s the matter?”
His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a
man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house,
appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental
connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger
was well dressed, and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he
paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood
with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open
and walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands
behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put
that useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair.
She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He
gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the
old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband’s
coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then
waited as patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his
business, but he was at first strangely silent.
“I—was asked to call,” he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece
of cotton from his trousers. “I come from ‘Maw and Muggins.’”
The old lady started. “Is anything the matter?” she asked,
breathlessly. “Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is
it?”
Her husband interposed. “There, there, mother,” he said, hastily. “Sit
down, and don’t jump to conclusions. You’ve not brought bad news, I’m
sure, sir;” and he eyed the other wistfully.
“I’m sorry—” began the visitor.
“Is he hurt?” demanded the mother, wildly.
The visitor bowed in assent. “Badly hurt,” he said, quietly, “but he is
not in any pain.”
“Oh, thank God!” said the old woman, clasping her hands. “Thank God for
that! Thank—”
She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned
upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other’s
averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted
husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a long
silence.
“He was caught in the machinery,” said the visitor at length in a low
voice.
“Caught in the machinery,” repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion,
“yes.”
He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife’s hand
between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old
courting-days nearly forty years before.
“He was the only one left to us,” he said, turning gently to the
visitor. “It is hard.”
The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. “The firm
wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great
loss,” he said, without looking round. “I beg that you will understand
I am only their servant and merely obeying orders.”
There was no reply; the old woman’s face was white, her eyes staring,
and her breath inaudible; on the husband’s face was a look such as his
friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.
“I was to say that ‘Maw and Meggins’ disclaim all responsibility,”
continued the other. “They admit no liability at all, but in
consideration of your son’s services, they wish to present you with a
certain sum as compensation.”
Mr. White dropped his wife’s hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a
look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, “How
much?”
“Two hundred pounds,” was the answer.
Unconscious of his wife’s shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out
his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the
floor.