“Never,” said Mr. Clark, in the same strange
voice.
“He was so wretched that at last I gave way,”
said Mrs. Bowman, with a simper. “Poor
fellow, it was such a shock to him that he hasn’t
got back his cheerfulness yet.”
Mr. Tucker said, “Indeed!”
“He’ll be all right soon,” said
Mrs. Bowman, in confidential tones. “We
are on the way to put our banns up, and once that is
done he will feel safe. You are not really afraid
of losing me again, are you, Nathaniel?”
Mr. Clark shook his head, and, meeting the eye of
Mr. Tucker in the process, favored him with a glance
of such utter venom that the latter was almost startled.
“Good-by, Mr. Tucker,” said the widow,
holding out her hand. “Nathaniel did think
of inviting you to come to my wedding, but perhaps
it is best not. However, if I alter my mind,
I will get him to advertise for you again. Good-by.”
She placed her arm in Mr. Clark’s again, and
led him slowly away. Mr. Tucker stood watching
them for some time, and then, with a glance in the
direction of the “George,” where he had
left a very small portmanteau, he did a hasty sum
in comparative values and made his way to the railway-station.
[Illustration: HER UNCLE]
Mr. Wragg sat in a high-backed Windsor chair at the
door of his house, smoking. Before him the road
descended steeply to the harbor, a small blue patch
of which was visible from his door. Children over
five were at school: children under that age,
and suspiciously large for their years, played about
in careless disregard of the remarks which Mr. Wragg
occasionally launched at them. Twice a ball had
whizzed past him; and a small but select party, with
a tip-cat of huge dimensions and awesome points, played
just out of reach. Mr. Wragg, snapping his eyes
nervously, threatened in vain.
“Morning, old crusty-patch,” said a cheerful
voice at his elbow.
Mr. Wragg glanced up at the young fisherman towering
above him, and eyed him disdainfully.
“Why don’t you leave ’em alone?”
inquired the young man. “Be cheerful and
smile at ’em. You’d soon be able to
smile with a little practice.” “You
mind your business, George Gale, and I’ll mind
mine,” said Mr. Wragg, fiercely; “I’ve
’ad enough of your impudence, and I’m not
going to have any more. And don’t lean
up agin my house, ’cos I won’t ’ave
it.”
Mr. Gale laughed. “Got out o’ bed
the wrong side again, haven’t you?” he
inquired. “Why don’t you put that
side up against the wall?”
Mr. Wragg puffed on in silence and became absorbed
in a fishing-boat gliding past at the bottom of the
hill.
“I hear you’ve got a niece coming to live
with you?” pursued the young man.
Mr. Wragg smoked on.
“Poor thing!” said the other, with a sigh.
“Does she take after you—in looks,
I mean?”
“If I was twenty years younger nor what I am,”
said Mr. Wragg, sententiously, “I’d give
you a hiding, George Gale.”
