True Tilda Part 10

"I got no change but 'arf-a-crown, if that's any use," answered the charmed Sam.

"Nothing smaller? Still," suggested Mr. Mortimer quickly, "I could bring back the change."

"Yes, do."

"It will please Arabella, too. In point of fact, during the whole of our married life I have made it a rule never to absent myself from her side without bringing back some trifling gift. Women--as you will understand one of these days--set a value on these _pet.i.ts soins_; and somewhere in the neighbourhood of the iron bridge a tinsmith's should not be hard to find . . . Ah, thanks, my dear fellow--thanks inexpressibly! Absurd of me, of course; but you cannot think what a load you have taken off my mind."

Sam unhitched one of a number of hauling tackles hanging against the wall, and led forth his horse--a st.u.r.dy old grey, by name Jubilee.

Casting the tackle carelessly on the animal's back, he handed Mr.

Mortimer the headstall rope, and left him, to return two minutes later with the saucepan he had promised.

"She must use this one for the time," he explained. "And afterwards yours will come as a surprise."

"It must be so, I suppose," a.s.sented Mr. Mortimer, but after a pause, and reluctantly, averting his eyes from the accursed thing.

To spare him, Sam hurried across to deliver it to the lady, who awaited them in the doorway: and thus approaching he became aware that she was making mysterious signals. He glanced behind him. Plainly the signals were not directed at her husband, who had halted to stoop and pa.s.s a hand over old Jubilee's near hind pastern, and in a manner almost more than professional. Sam advanced, in some wonder. Mrs. Mortimer reached down a shapely hand for the pan-handle, leaned as she did so, and murmured--

"You will not lend money to Stanislas? He is apt, when the world goes ill with him, to seek distraction, to behave unconventionally. It is not a question of drowning his cares, for the least little drop acting upon his artistic temperament--"

But at this moment her husband, having concluded his inspection of the grey, called out to be given a leg-up, and Sam hurried back to oblige.

"Thank you. Time was, Smiles, when with hand laid lightly on the crupper, I could have vaulted."

Overcome by these reminiscences, Mr. Mortimer let his chin sink, his legs dangle, and rode forward a pace or two in the cla.s.sical att.i.tude of the Last Survivor from Cabul; but anon looked up with set jaw and resolution in his eye, took a grip with his knees, and challenged--

"Give a man a horse he can ride, Give a man a boat he can sail, And his something or other--I forget the exact expression-- On sea nor sh.o.r.e shall fail!"

--"Fling wide the gate, Smiles!" He was now the Das.h.i.+ng Cavalier, life-sized. "Take care of yourself, poppet!"

He gave his bridle-rein a shake (so to speak), turned, blew a kiss to his spouse, dug heel and jogged forth chanting--

"_Tirra tirra_ by the river Sang Sir Lancelot!"

CHAPTER VI.

MR. MORTIMER'S ADVENTURE.

"_Old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast?_"--HAMLET

All the way along the ca.n.a.l bank Mr. Mortimer continued to carol.

Mercurial man! Like all actors he loved applause, but unlike the most of them he was capable of supplying it when the public failed; and this knack of being his own best audience had lifted him, before now, out of quite a number of Sloughs of Despond and carried him forward singing.

He had left care behind him in Mr. Hucks's yard, and so much of n.o.ble melancholy as he kept (for the sake of artistic effect) took a tincture from the sunset bronzing the smoke-laden sky and gilding the unlovely waterway. Like the sunset, Mr. Mortimer's mood was serene and golden.

His breast, expanding, heaved off all petty constricting worries, "like Samson his green wythes": they fell from him as he rode, and as he rode he chanted--

"The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot . . ."

Old Jubilee--if, like John Gilpin's horse, he wondered more and more-- was a philosophical beast and knew his business. Abreast of the boat, beside the angle of the Orphanage wall, he halted for his rider to alight, and began to nose for herbage among the nettles. Nor did he betray surprise when Mr. Mortimer, after a glance down the towpath towards the iron bridge and the tram-lights pa.s.sing there, walked off and left him to browse.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed. The last flush of sunset had died out of the sky, and twilight was deepening rapidly, when Mr. Mortimer came strolling back. Apparently--since he came empty-handed--his search for a saucepan had been unsuccessful. Yet patently the disappointment had not affected his spirits, for at sight of Old Jubilee still cropping in the dusk he stood still and gave utterance to a lively whoop.

The effect of this sobered him. Old Jubilee was not alone. Hurriedly out of the shadow of the Orphanage wall arose a grey-white figure--a woman. It seemed that she had been kneeling there. Now, as Mr.

Mortimer advanced, she stood erect, close back against the masonry, waiting for him to pa.s.s.

"'S a female," decided Mr. Mortimer, pulling himself together and advancing with a hand over his brow, the better to distinguish the glimmer of her dress. "'S undoubtedly a female. Seems to be looking for something . . ." He approached and lifted his hat. "Command me, madam!"

The woman drew herself yet closer under the shadow.

"Go your way, please!" she answered sharply, with a catch of her breath.

"You mishun'erstand. Allow me iggs--I beg pardon, eggs--plain.

Name's Mortimer--Stanislas 'Ratio, of that ilk. A Scotch exshpression."

Here he pulled himself together again, and with an air of anxious lucidity laid a precise accent on every syllable. "The name, I flatter myself, should be a guarantee. No reveller, madam, I s'hure you; appearances against me, but no Baccha.n.a.l; still lesh--shtill _less_ I should iggs--or, if you prefer it, eggs--plain, gay Lothario. Trust me, ma'am--married man, fifteen years' standing--Arabella--tha's my wife-- never a moment's 'neasiness--"

'Two shouls'--you'll excuse me, souls--' with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat ash one.'

"Between you and me, ma'am, we have thoughts of applying for Dunmow flitch. Quaint old custom, Dunmow flitch. Heard of it, I dareshay?"

"I wish you would go about your business."

Mr. Mortimer emitted a tragic laugh.

"I will, madam--I will: if it please you witness to what base uses we may return, Horatio. Allow me first remove mishunderstanding.

Preshumed you to be searching for something--hairpin for exshample.

Common occurrence with my Arabella. No offensh--merely proffered my shervices . . . The deuce! What's _that?_"

The woman seemed inclined to run, but stood hesitating.

"You heard it? There! close under the wall--"

Mr. Mortimer stepped forward and peered into the shadow. He was standing close above the manhole, and to the confusion of all his senses he saw the cover of the manhole lift itself up; saw the rim of it rise two, three inches, saw and heard it joggle back into its socket.

"For G.o.d's sake go away!" breathed the woman.

"Norrabit of it, ma'am. Something wrong here. Citizen's duty, anything wrong--"

Here the cover lifted itself again. Mr. Mortimer deftly slipped three fingers under its rim, and reaching back with his other hand produced from his pocket the second of Sam's two matches.

"Below there!" he hailed sepulchrally, at the same moment striking the match on the tense seat of his trousers and holding it to the aperture.

"Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness . . . Eh? . . . Good Lord!"-- he drew back and dropped the match--"it's a clergyman!"

He clapped down the cover in haste, sprang to his feet, and lifting his hat, made her the discreetest of bows. He was sober, now, as a judge.

"A thousand pardons, madam! I have seen nothing--believe me, nothing."