All about him roses bloomed, filling the air with their sweetness, but he had no eyes for their beauty; upon the table within reach of his hand were books and magazines, but he was in no mood for reading; clasped between strong white teeth he held his favourite pipe unlighted and cold, for tobacco had for him no savour. So he sat and scowled at the universe in general, and in particular at a robin that had boldly ventured near and was regarding him with a very round, bright eye.
“She’s avoiding me!” said Ravenslee bitterly, teeth clenched upon his pipestem, “there’s no doubt about it, damn it; she’s avoiding me! And she’s not happy here either!”
The robin turned his head to regard the speaker with his other eye, then fluttered his wings and flew away as the lazy quiet of the afternoon was broken by the squeak of shoe leather, and glancing up, Ravenslee beheld the Old Un.
“What cheer, Guv,” said he, “greetin’s doo and how’s the invalid?”
“Invalid!” repeated Ravenslee, scowling again, “I’m no invalid!”
“Spoke like a true-bred gamecock, s’ help me!”
“I’m as right as rain physically, Old Un, but—”
“Talkin’ o’ physic, Guv,” said the old man, seating himself and nodding brightly, “talkin’ o’ physic, the physic as set you on your pins again was love, Guv, love!”
“But it so happens—”
“Wait a bit, I ain’t done, Guv! ‘Ere ‘s me, a old cove as ‘as lived ‘ears an’ ‘ears an’ ‘ears an’ ‘ears longer ‘n you, so nacherally I’m a powerful lot fuller o’ th’ wisdom o’ life than you, specially in matters o’ th’ ‘eart, Guv. Now me, ‘avin’ ‘elped you into th’ matrimonial ring, as you might say, ‘ave took your ‘appiness under my wing, an’, Guv, I don’t like the way you’re shapin’—”
“But you see—”
“‘Old ‘ard, Guv, let a pore old cove get a word in for a change. Now there’s you an’ ‘er, your fair young spouse, both up to each other’s weight, sound in wind an’ limb an’ meant for j’y—what I want is t’ see you come to a clinch! This ain’t no time for sparrin’ an’ out-fightin’—yet ‘ere you are a-feintin’ at each other from opposite corners—”
“But—”
“‘Arf a mo’, Guv, ‘arf a mo’—gimme a chance for a occasional word! An’ don’t frown, Guv, don’t frown at a pore old cove; y’ see, there’s jest three blokes in this ‘ard world as my old ‘eart warms to, an’ one on ‘em ‘s Joe, an’ t’ other un ‘s you, an’ t’ other un ‘s ‘er—which ain’t a bloke. Lord, Guv, what a soft armful o’ beauty! ‘Ow warm an’ cuddlesome! Oh, Guv, what a waist! What lips! What—”
“Old Un, for heaven’s sake, shut up! D’ you think I’m blind? D’ you think—”
“Guv, I dunno wot t’ think! ‘Ere ‘s you with your ‘ead in your ‘ands, an’ there’s ‘er sighin’ an’ sighin’—”
“Sighing? Where? When? Why—”
“Sighin’ an’ sighin’, Guv, so soft an’ pretty—I ‘eard ‘er! Also she wep’—I seen ‘er.”
“Where?”
“An’ ‘er tears, Guv, them pearly tears went t’ my ‘eart—an’ nobody t’ put a arm round that waist, nor kiss them sweet lips, nor soothe them tears away—
“‘Oh, alone she sat sighin’ by a green willer tree, With ‘er ‘and on ‘er bosom, ‘er ‘ead on ‘er knee, Weepin’ willer” willer, willer my garlan’ shall be.’
“So, Guv, I ax you, man to man, why, oh, why are ye neglectin’ your fair young spouse? An’, Guv, I only ax because your ‘appiness an’ ‘ers is mine—s’ ‘elp me!”
“How if it’s the other way about, Old Un? Suppose she avoids me?”
“Why lumme, Guv! ‘T is a sure sign she needs persoot. Remember this:
“‘Im as would lovely woman woo ‘E lovely woman must persoo, For if ‘e don’t, ‘t is plain as plain That feller ‘e will woo in vain.’
“An’, Guv, I’ve only took th’ liberty o’ sayin’ this because my pore old bowels yearns to ye—both on ye. Persoot’s the word, Guv, persoot!”
The Old Un nodded, rose, and creaked away, and Ravenslee, looking after him, scowled no longer, but rising, sauntered across the trim garden to where there was a lily pool and, leaning over the marble rim, stared down into the placid water.
Now as the Old Un went his way, there met him a little girl, very neat and tidy, who sang to herself in a small happy voice and tapped along on a crutch; but beholding the Old Un, his dazzling shoes, his rakish hat, she stood silent all at once, glancing up wistfully into that fierce, battered old face.
“Lumme—crutches!” he exclaimed.
“No, please—only one, sir!” she answered, dropping him a little, old-fashioned curtsey.
“Crikey!” said he, staring, “so young, so tender, an’—a game leg! A little angel wi’ a broke wing—lumme!”
So Age and Youth stared at each other and she, being a child, was quick to heed that the eyes so bright beneath their hoary brows were kindly eyes, and the smile upon the grim old mouth was very reassuring, wherefore she smiled also.
“Only one crutch, sir,” she repeated. “An’ the doctor says as I won’t want it much longer, sir.” Here, dropping another curtsey, she held up for his acceptance a bunch of wild flowers.
“What—f’ me, little maid?” he enquired.
“Yes, please, sir.”
