The summer evening was well advanced when Mr. Kybird and his old friend
parted. The former gentleman was in almost a sentimental mood, and
the boarding-master, satisfied that his pupil was in a particularly
appropriate frame of mind for the object of his visit, renewed his
instructions about binding Mr. Silk to secrecy, and departed on
business of his own.
Mr. Kybird walked slowly towards Fullalove Alley with his head sunk in
meditation. He was anxious to find Mr. Silk alone, as otherwise the
difficulty of his errand would be considerably increased, Mrs. Silk’s
intelligence being by no means obscured by any ungovernable affection
for the Kybird family. If she was at home he would have to invent some
pretext for luring Teddy into the privacy of the open air.
The lamp was lit in the front room by the time he reached the house,
and the shadows of geraniums which had won through several winters
formed a straggling pattern on the holland blind. Mr. Kybird, first
making an unsuccessful attempt to peep round the edges of this
decoration, tapped gently on the door, and in response to a command to
“Come in,” turned the handle and looked into the room. To his relief,
he saw that Mr. Silk was alone.
“Good evening, Teddy,” he said, with a genial smile, as he entered
slowly and closed the door behind him. “I ’ope I see you well?”
[Illustration: “Mr. Kybird and his old friend parted.”]
“I’m quite well,” returned Mr. Silk, gazing at him with unconcealed
surprise.
“I’m glad to ’ear it,” said Mr. Kybird, in a somewhat reproachful
voice, “for your sake; for everybody’s sake, though, p’r’aps, I did
expect to find you looking a little bit down. Ah! it’s the wimmen that
’ave the ’arts after all.”
Mr. Silk coughed. “What d’ye mean?” he inquired, somewhat puzzled.
“I came to see you, Teddy, on a very delikit business,” said Mr.
Kybird, taking a seat and gazing diffidently at his hat as he swung it
between his hands; “though, as man to man, I’m on’y doing of my dooty.
But if you don’t want to ’ear wot I’ve got to say, say so, and Dan’l
Kybird’ll darken your door no more.”
“How can I know whether I want to ’ear it or not when I don’t know wot
it is?” said Mr. Silk, judiciously.
Mr. Kybird sat biting his thumb-nail, then he looked up suddenly.
“’Melia,” he said, with an outburst of desperate frankness, “’Melia is
crying ’er eyes out.”
Mr. Silk, with a smothered exclamation, started up from his chair and
regarded him eagerly.
“If she knew I’d been ’ere,” pursued Mr. Kybird, “she’d—I don’t know
wot she wouldn’t do. That’s ’er pride; but I’ve got my pride too; the
pride of a father’s ’art.”
“What—what’s she crying about?” inquired Mr. Silk, in an unsteady voice.
“She’s been looking poorly for some time,” continued the veracious Mr.
Kybird, “and crying. When I tell you that part o’ the wedding-dress wot
she was making ’ad to be taken away from ’er because o’ the tears she
dropped on it, you may ’ave some idea of wot things are like. She’s
never forgot you, Teddy, and it was on’y your quick temper that day
that made ’er take on with young Nugent. She’s got a temper, too, but
she give ’er love once, and, being my daughter, she couldn’t give it
agin.”
He stole a glance at his listener. Mr. Silk, very pale and upright, was
standing on the hearthrug, shaking all over with nervous excitement.
Twice he tried to speak and failed.
“That’s ’ow it is, Teddy,” sighed Mr. Kybird, rising as though to
depart. “I’ve done my dooty. It was a ’ard thing to do, but I’ve done
it.”
“Do you mean,” said Mr. Silk, recovering his voice at last, “do you
mean that Amelia would marry me after all?”
“Do I mean?” repeated Mr. Kybird, naturally indignant that his very
plain speaking should be deemed capable of any misconstruction. “Am I
speaking to a stock or a stone, Teddy?”
Mr. Silk took a deep breath, and buttoned up his coat, as though
preparing to meet Mr. Nugent there and then in deadly encounter for the
person of Miss Kybird. The colour was back in his cheeks by this time,
and his eyes were unusually bright. He took a step towards Mr. Kybird
and, pressing his hand warmly, pushed him back into his seat again.
“There’s ’er pride to consider, Teddy,” said the latter gentleman, with
the whisper of a conspirator. “She can’t stand being talked about all
over the town and pointed at.”
“Let me see anybody a-pointing at ’er,” said the truculent Mr. Silk;
“let me see ’em, that’s all.”
“That’s the way to talk, Teddy,” said Mr. Kybird, gazing at him with
admiration.
“Talk!” said the heroic Mr. Silk. “I’ll do more than talk.” He clenched
his fists and paced boldly up and down the hearthrug.
“You leave things to me,” said Mr. Kybird, with a confidential wink.
“I’ll see that it’s all right. All I ask of you is to keep it a dead
secret; even your mother mustn’t know.”
“I’ll be as secret as the grave,” said the overjoyed Mr. Silk.
“There’s lots o’ things to be taken into consideration,” said Mr.
Kybird, truthfully; “it might be as well for you to be married
immediate.”
“Immediate?” said the astonished Mr. Silk.
“She ’asn’t got the nerve to send young Nugent about ’is business,”
explained Mr. Kybird; “she feels sorry for ’im, pore fellow; but ’e’s
got a loving and affectionate ’art, and she can’t bear ’im making love
to ’er. You can understand what it is, can’t you?”
“I can imagine it,” said Mr. Silk, gloomily, and he flushed crimson as
the possibilities suggested by the remark occurred to him.
“I’ve been thinking it over for some time,” resumed Mr. Kybird;
“twisting it and turning it all ways, and the only thing I can see for
it is for you to be married on the strict _q.t._ Of course, if you don’t
like—”
“Like!” repeated the transported Mr. Silk. “I’ll go and be married now,
if you like.”
Mr. Kybird shook his head at such haste, and then softening a little
observed that it did him credit. He proceeded to improve the occasion
by anecdotes of his own courting some thirty years before, and was in
the middle of a thrilling account of the manner in which he had bearded
the whole of his future wife’s family, when a quick step outside, which
paused at the door, brought him to a sudden halt.
“Mother,” announced Mr. Silk, in a whisper.
Mr. Kybird nodded, and the heroic appearance of visage which had
accompanied his tale gave way to an expression of some uneasiness. He
coughed behind his hand, and sat gazing before him as Mrs. Silk entered
the room and gave vent to an exclamation of astonishment as she saw the
visitor. She gazed sharply from him to her son. Mr. Kybird’s expression
was now normal, but despite his utmost efforts Mr. Silk could not
entirely banish the smile which trembled on his lips.
“Me and Teddy,” said Mr. Kybird, turning to her with a little bob,
which served him for a bow, “’ave just been having a little talk about
old times.”
“He was just passing,” said Mr. Silk.
“Just passing, and thought I’d look in,” said Mr. Kybird, with a
careless little laugh; “the door was open a bit.”
“Wide open,” corroborated Mr. Silk.
“So I just came in to say ‘’Ow d’ye do?’” said Mr. Kybird.
Mrs. Silk’s sharp, white face turned from one to the other. “Ave you
said it?” she inquired, blandly.
“I ’ave,” said Mr. Kybird, restraining Mr. Silk’s evident intention of
hot speech by a warning glance; “and now I’ll just toddle off ’ome.”
“I’ll go a bit o’ the way with you,” said Edward Silk. “I feel as if a
bit of a walk would do me good.”
Left alone, the astonished Mrs. Silk took the visitor’s vacated chair
and, with wrinkled brow, sat putting two and two together until the
sum got beyond her powers of calculation. Mr. Kybird’s affability and
Teddy’s cheerfulness were alike incomprehensible. She mended a hole in
her pocket and darned a pair of socks, and at last, anxious for advice,
or at least a confidant, resolved to see Mr. Wilks.
She opened the door and looked across the alley, and saw with some
satisfaction that his blind was illuminated. She closed the door behind
her sharply, and then stood gasping on the doorstep. So simultaneous
were the two happenings that it actually appeared as though the
closing of the door had blown Mr. Wilks’s lamp out. It was a night of
surprises, but after a moment’s hesitation she stepped over and tried
his door. It was fast, and there was no answer to her knuckling. She
knocked louder and listened. A door slammed violently at the back
of the house, a distant clatter of what sounded like saucepans came
from beyond, and above it all a tremulous but harsh voice bellowed
industriously through an interminable chant. By the time the third
verse was reached Mr. Wilks’s neighbours on both sides were beating
madly upon their walls and blood-curdling threats strained through the
plaster.
She stayed no longer, but regaining her own door sat down again to
await the return of her son. Mr. Silk was long in coming, and she tried
in vain to occupy herself with various small jobs as she speculated in
vain on the meaning of the events of the night. She got up and stood by
the open door, and as she waited the clock in the church-tower, which
rose over the roofs hard by, slowly boomed out the hour of eleven. As
the echoes of the last stroke died away the figure of Mr. Silk turned
into the alley.
[Illustration: “He took up his candle and went off whistling.”]
“You must ’ave ’ad quite a nice walk,” said his mother, as she drew
back into the room and noted the brightness of his eye.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“I s’pose ’e’s been and asked you to the wedding?” said the sarcastic
Mrs. Silk.
Her son started and, turning his back on her, wound up the clock. “Yes,
’e has,” he said, with a sly grin.
Mrs. Silk’s eyes snapped. “Well, of all the impudence,” she said,
breathlessly.
“Well, ’e has,” said her son, hugging himself over the joke. “And,
what’s more, I’m going.”
He composed his face sufficiently to bid her “good-night,” and, turning
a deaf ear to her remonstrances and inquiries, took up a candle and
went off whistling.