“Time for the Rose to go in,” Mrs. Major
softly suggested.
“The Rose,” said Mr. Marrapit, passing
a hand gently over the creature’s exquisite
form, “is, I fear, still ailing. Her sleep
is troubled; she shivers. Her appetite?”
“It is still poorly.” The expression
was that of a true distressed gentlewoman.
“She has need,” Mr. Marrapit said, “of
the most careful attention, of the most careful dieting.
Tend her. Tempt her. Take her.”
“I will, Mr. Marrapit.” Mrs. Major
gathered the Rose against her bosom. “You
will not stay long? It is growing chilly.”
“I shall take a brief stroll. I am perturbed
concerning the Rose.”
“Let me bring you a cap, Mr. Marrapit.”
“Unnecessary. Devote yourself, I pray,
to the Rose. I am anxious. Nothing could
console me should any evil thing come upon her.
I am apprehensive. I look to you. I will
take a stroll.”
Outside the wire fence Mr. Marrapit and Mrs. Major
parted. The masterly woman glided swiftly towards
the house; Mr. Marrapit, with bent head, passed thoughtfully
along an opposite path.
And immediately the sleeping garden awoke to sudden
activity.
First to break covert was Frederick, Mr. Fletcher’s
assistant. Abnormally steeped in vice for one
so young (this wretched boy was but fourteen), with
the coolness of a matured evil-doer Frederick extinguished
his cigarette-end by pressing it against his boot-heel;
dropped it amongst other ends, toilsomely collected,
in a tin box; placed the box in its prepared hole;
covered this with earth and leaves; hooked a basket
of faded weeds upon his arm, and so appeared in Mr.
Marrapit’s path with bent back, diligently searching.
Mr. Marrapit inquired: “Your task?”
“Weedin’,” said Frederick.
“Weeding what?”
“Weeds,” Frederick told him, a little
surprised.
Mr. Marrapit rapped sharply: “Say ’sir’.”
“Sir,” said Frederick, making to move.
Mr. Marrapit peered at the basket. “You
have remarkably few.”
“There ain’t never many,” Frederick
said with quiet pride—“there ain’t
never many if you keep ’em down by always doin’
your job.”
Mr. Marrapit pointed: “They grow thick
at your feet, sir!”
In round-eyed astonishment Frederick peered low.
“They spring up the minute your back’s
turned, them weeds. They want a weed destroyer
what you pours out of a can.”
“You are the weed-destroyer,” Mr. Marrapit
said sternly. “Be careful. It is very
true that they spring up whenever my back is
turned. Be careful.” He passed on.
“Blarst yer back,” murmured Frederick,
bending his own to the task.
A few yards further Mr. Marrapit again paused.
Against a laurel bush stood a pair of human legs,
the seat of whose encasing trousers stared gloomily
upwards at the sky. With a small twig he carried
Mr. Marrapit tapped the seat. Three or four raps
were necessary; slowly it straightened into line with
the legs; from the abyss of the bush a back, shoulders,
head, appeared.
