CHAPTER XXXVI
CONCERNING A CLEW
“Mrs. Trapes,” said Ravenslee, laying aside the book he had been reading and letting his glance wander across smooth lawns and clipped yew hedges, “Mrs. Trapes, what about that stewed shin of beef with carrots and onions you prepared for—our wedding supper?”
“Which,” said Mrs. Trapes, glancing up from her everlasting knitting, “which you never stopped to eat.”
“Which omission I will now haste to rectify. Mrs. Trapes, pray go and get it ready—I’m ravenous!”
“Good f’r you!” said Mrs. Trapes; “in about half an hour you shall have a nice cup of beef tea to raven at —”
“Confounded slops!” growled Ravenslee.
“Doctor’s orders!” nodded Mrs. Trapes, clicking her knitting needles.
“Can’t I have something to chew at?”
“Sure. How’ll a cracker soaked in milk soot?”
“Cracker!” snarled Ravenslee.
“Doctor’s orders!”
Ravenslee muttered and took up his book.
“Helen who, did you say?” enquired Mrs. Trapes, glancing up. “Mr. Geoffrey—I mean Ravenslee, I’m surprised at you—swearin’ ain’t good for a invalid; your temperature’ll be rose if you swear.”
“But, my dear Mrs. Trapes, I’m hungry, very hungry—darned hungry!”
“Which is a sign as you’re improvin’ rapid. Beef tea’ll be here soon.”
“I won’t drink the stuff!”
“Oh, but you will, when Hermy brings it.”
“Hermione!” said Ravenslee, his voice grown gentle, and laying down his book again. “Mrs. Trapes, have you noticed any change in her lately?”
“A bit handsomer, p’r’aps—”
“Yes, but I don’t mean that; it’s something that puzzles me. She seems to have grown more—more reserved and shy—”
“Well, she was married to you before she knew it kind of, almost.”
“Do you suppose that’s it?”
“Sure! What you got t’ do, Mr. Geoffrey, is—woo her! Woo her all you know how. The best woman can’t be wooed too hard nor too frequent—so you start in an’ woo.”
“But sometimes it has almost seemed that she—avoided me.”
“Well, don’t let her.”
“Do you suppose she’s grieving for Spike?”
“Well, he ain’t exactly a j’y t’ her. There he is going straight to the devil along o’ that Bud M’Ginnis!”
“I must go and fetch him as soon as I can get about again.”
“If he’ll come.”
“Oh, he’ll come,” said Ravenslee grimly. “I’ve decided to send him to college—”
“If he’ll go!”
“Oh, he’ll go—there’s quite a lot of good in him, Mrs. Trapes.”
“Only it’s mighty hard to find, Mr. Geoffrey! If that b’y wants t’ go t’ th’ devil, to th’ devil he’ll go. What you got t’ do is t’ make her forget him—if you can. Oh, drat him, anyway!” and squaring her elbows, Mrs. Trapes knitted so angrily that her knitting needles clashed like weapons fiercely opposed.
“Yes, but suppose she is grieving for him, Mrs. Trapes?”
“Why then,” said Mrs. Trapes, “why then—oh, shucks—I guess I’ll go an’ see after that beef tea.”
When she had gone, Ravenslee sat plunged in gloomy thought until roused by the sound of approaching feet with a creak of shoes, a loud, arrogant creak there was no mistaking, and the Old Un appeared followed by Joe and the Spider, the latter looking very smart in his new livery.
“Guv,” said the Old Un, “best respex! ‘Ere we be, come to say ‘ow glad we are t’ see you come up smilin’ an’ ready for more after Fate ketchin’ ye a perishin’ wallop as we all thought ‘ad doubled ye up till the day o’ doom. ‘Ere you are, on your pins again, an’ ‘ere ‘s us come t’ give ye greetin’s doo an’ j’y o’ your marriage—shut up, Joe!”
“Why, I wasn’t speakin’!” growled Joe.
“No, but you meant to—you’re always meanin’ to, you are. Guv,” continued the Old Un, “folks is allus a-givin’ an’ takin’ in marriage in this ‘ere world, such bein’ their natur’—they can’t ‘elp it! But never in this world nor no other was there ever sich a weddin’ as yours. There was ‘er so young an’ fair an’ full o’ life, an’ there was you so pale an’ nigh to death—one leg in the grave—an’ there was me s’ full o’ years an’ wisdom an’ sorrer for ye both—oh, my pore old bowels was fair yearnin’ over ye-“
“Lord, Old Un,” expostulated Joe, “you keep them bowels o’ yours out of it—”
