“It’s too much to ask a gal,” ses
Bert Simmons, shaking his ’ead.
“I couldn’t dream of it,” ses Emily.
“Wot’s the use of being married for a
week? Look at uncle’s leg—that’s
enough for me!”
They all talked at once then, and Joseph tried all
he could to persuade Emily to prove to the cook that
’is dreams didn’t always come true; but
it was no good. Emily said she wouldn’t
marry ’im if he ’ad a million a year,
and her aunt and uncle backed her up in it—to
say nothing of Bert Simmons.
“I’ll go up and get your presents, Joseph,”
she ses; and she ran upstairs afore anybody could
stop her.
Joseph sat there as if he was dazed, while everybody
gave ’im good advice, and said ’ow thankful
he ought to be that the cook ’ad saved him by
’is dreaming. And by and by Emily came downstairs
agin with the presents he ’ad given ’er
and put them on the table in front of ’im.
“There’s everything there but that little
silver brooch you gave me, Joseph,” she ses,
“and I lost that the other evening when I was
out with—with—for a walk.”
Joseph tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“It was six-and-six, ’cos I was with you
when you bought it,” ses Emily; “and as
I’ve lost it, it’s on’y fair I should
pay for it.”
She put down ’arf a sovereign with the presents,
and Joseph sat staring at it as if he ’ad never
seen one afore.
“And you needn’t mind about the change,
Joseph,” ses Emily; “that’ll ’elp
to make up for your disappointment.”
Old Bill tried to turn things off with a bit of a
laugh. “Why, you’re made o’
money, Emily,” he ses.
“Ah! I haven’t told you yet,”
ses Emily, smiling at him; “that’s a little
surprise I was keeping for you. Aunt Emma—pore
Aunt Emma, I should say—died while you
was away and left me all ’er furniture and two
hundred pounds.”
Joseph made a choking noise in his throat and then
’e got up, leaving the presents and the ’arf-sovereign
on the table, and stood by the door, staring at them.
“Good-night all,” he ses. Then he
went to the front door and opened it, and arter standing
there a moment came back as though he ’ad forgotten
something.
“Are you coming along now?” he ses to
the cook.
“Not just yet,” ses the cook, very quick.
“I’ll wait outside for you, then,”
ses Joseph, grinding his teeth. “Don’t
be long.”
[Illustration: ANGELS’ VISITS]
Mr. William Jobling leaned against his door-post,
smoking. The evening air, pleasant in its coolness
after the heat of the day, caressed his shirt-sleeved
arms. Children played noisily in the long, dreary
street, and an organ sounded faintly in the distance.
To Mr. Jobling, who had just consumed three herrings
and a pint and a half of strong tea, the scene was
delightful. He blew a little cloud of smoke in
the air, and with half-closed eyes corrected his first
impression as to the tune being played round the corner.
