Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 6,432 pages of information about Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works.

Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 6,432 pages of information about Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works.

Ferrand. [Gently.] It is an old cabby, is it not, Monsieur?  ’Ceux sont tous des buveurs’.

Wellwyn. [Concerned at the old man’s stupefaction.] Now, my old friend, sit down a moment. [They manoeuvre Timson to the settle.] Will you smoke?

Timson. [In a drowsy voice.] Thank ’ee-smoke pipe of ’baccer.  Old ‘orse—­standin’ abaht in th’ cold.

     [He relapses into coma.]

Ferrand. [With a click of his tongue.] ‘Il est parti’.

Wellwyn. [Doubtfully.] He hasn’t really left a horse outside, do you think?

Ferrand.  Non, non, Monsieur—­no ’orse.  He is dreaming.  I know very well that state of him—­that catches you sometimes.  It is the warmth sudden on the stomach.  He will speak no more sense to-night.  At the most, drink, and fly a little in his past.

Wellwyn.  Poor old buffer!

Ferrand.  Touching, is it not, Monsieur?  There are many brave gents among the old cabbies—­they have philosophy—­that comes from ’orses, and from sitting still.

Wellwyn. [Touching TIMSON’s shoulder.] Drenched!

Ferrand.  That will do ’im no ’arm, Monsieur-no ’arm at all.  He is well wet inside, remember—­it is Christmas to-morrow.  Put him a rug, if you will, he will soon steam.

     [Wellwyn takes up ANN’s long red cloak, and wraps it round the
     old man.]

Timson. [Faintly roused.] Tha’s right.  Put—­the rug on th’ old ’orse.

     [He makes a strange noise, and works his head and tongue.]

Wellwyn. [Alarmed.] What’s the matter with him?

Ferrand.  It is nothing, Monsieur; for the moment he thinks ’imself a ’orse.  ‘Il joue “cache-cache,"’ ’ide and seek, with what you call—­ ’is bitt.

Wellwyn.  But what’s to be done with him?  One can’t turn him out in this state.

Ferrand.  If you wish to leave him ’ere, Monsieur, have no fear.  I charge myself with him.

Wellwyn.  Oh! [Dubiously.] You—­er—­I really don’t know, I—­hadn’t contemplated—­You think you could manage if I—­if I went to bed?

Ferrand.  But certainly, Monsieur.

Wellwyn. [Still dubiously.] You—­you’re sure you’ve everything you want?

Ferrand. [Bowing.] ‘Mais oui, Monsieur’.

Wellwyn.  I don’t know what I can do by staying.

Ferrand.  There is nothing you can do, Monsieur.  Have confidence in me.

Wellwyn.  Well-keep the fire up quietly—­very quietly.  You’d better take this coat of mine, too.  You’ll find it precious cold, I expect, about three o’clock. [He hands Ferrand his Ulster.]

Ferrand. [Taking it.] I shall sleep in praying for you, Monsieur.

Wellwyn.  Ah!  Yes!  Thanks!  Well-good-night!  By the way, I shall be down rather early.  Have to think of my household a bit, you know.

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Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.