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Hocken and Hunken; A Tale of Troy, a novel by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Book 2 - Chapter 17. Apparently Divides Into Three |
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_ BOOK II CHAPTER XVII. APPARENTLY DIVIDES INTO THREE
"--You do the apologisin', of course," had been 'Bias's words in the front porch. "Yours was the first letter written: and, besides, you're a speaker." "You are quite welcome, the both of you," Mrs Bosenna assured him as he came to a halt. Her tone was polite, but a faint note of interrogation sounded in it. "You have had your breakfast?" "Yes, ma'am." "Ah, you are early indeed! I was just about to sit down to mine." "We don't want to interrupt, ma'am, but--" Here Cai looked helplessly at 'Bias. "Go on," growled 'Bias. "We--we don't want to seem rude--" "Never mind rude," growled 'Bias again. "Get it over." "The fact is, there's been a mistake: a painful mistake. At least," said Cai, growing more and more nervous under Mrs Bosenna's gaze of calm inquiry, "it _would_ be painful, if it weren't so absurd." He forced a laugh. "Don't make noises like that," commanded 'Bias. "Get it over." "It's about those letters, ma'am." "Letters?" Mrs Bosenna opened her dark eyes wide; and turned them interrogatively upon Dinah. "Letters?" "Letters?" repeated Dinah, taking her cue. Relief broke like a sun-burst over Cai's face. "But perhaps you don't read your letters, ma'am, until after breakfast? And, if so, we're in time." "_What_ letters?" asked Mrs Bosenna. "They've surely been delivered, ma'am? In fact we met the postman coming from the house." "Dear me--and did he tell you he had been deliverin' letters here?" "No--he was on his round, and we took it for granted. Besides, we know they were posted in time." "William Skin takes the letters some days," suggested Dinah, "if he happens to overtake the post on his way back with the cart. It saves the man a climb up the hill." "I wonder--" mused Mrs Bosenna. "Where is he?" Cai's bewildered brain darted at the impossible stratagem of intercepting Skin and getting the letters from him. "Stabling the pony at this moment, I expect. . . . But I don't understand. What letters are you talkin' about? What _sort_ of letters?" "There--there was one from me and one from 'Bias--" "Goodness!" she broke in, smiling pleasantly, "What, another invitation?" "Well--" began Cai. "Yes," struck in 'Bias. "You might call it an invitation, o' sorts," Cai conceded. "'_Course_ you might," said 'Bias positively. "You are very mysterious this morning, you two." The widow turned from one to another, her smile still hiding her amusement. "But let me guess. It appears you both wished to send me an invitation, and something has gone amiss with your letters." "We both sent the same one," explained Cai, and blushed. "That's the long and short of it, ma'am." "It doesn't seem so very dreadful." Mrs Bosenna's smile was sweetly reassuring. "You _both_ wrote, when it was only necessary for one to write?" "That's what I kept tellin' him, ma'am," put in 'Bias stoutly. "But he would put his oar in." "Well, well. . . You both wished to give me pleasure, and each wrote without the other's knowledge--" "No, we didn't," interrupted 'Bias again. "Anyway," she harked back with a patient little sigh, "you had both planned your invitation to give me pleasure; and since it was the same--?" She paused on a note of interrogation. "You might call it the same, ma'am--after a fashion," assented Cai. She laughed. "Do you know," she said, "I forgot for a moment what friends you are; and it _did_ cross my mind that maybe there were two invitations, and they clashed." "But they do, ma'am!" groaned Cai. "Eh? Yet you said just now. . . . So there _are_ two, after all!" "It's--it's this way, ma'am: the letters are the same, but the invitation as you call it--" Here Cai paused and cast an irritable glance in the direction of Dinah, who had stepped to the door of the oven to conceal her mirth. If the woman would but go he might be able to explain. "But the invitation don't apply similarly, not in both cases." "That's queer, isn't it?" commented Mrs Bosenna. "And, supposin' I accept, to which of you must I write?" "Me," said 'Bias with great promptitude. "Not at all." Cai turned in wrath on his friend. "I do think you might help, instead of standin' there and--" "Can't I accept both?" suggested Mrs Bosenna sweetly. "No, you certainly can't, ma'am. . . . And since the letters seemin'ly haven't reached you yet, we'd both of us take it as a favour if you'd hand 'em back to us without lookin' inside 'em. We--we want to try again, and send something calkilated to please you better. 'Tis a queer request, I'll grant you." "It is," she agreed, cutting him short. "But what's the matter with the letters? Did you put any bad language into them by any chance?" "Ma'am!" exclaimed Cai. "Bad language?" protested 'Bias. "Why, to begin with, ma'am, I never use it. The language is too good, in a way, an' that's our trouble; only Cai, here, won't out with it, but keeps beatin' about the bush. You see, we went to Mr Benny for it." "You went to Mr Benny?" she echoed as he hesitated. "For what, pray?" "For the letters, ma'am. Unbeknowns to one another we went to Mr Benny--Mr _Peter_ Benny--he havin' a gift with his pen--" 'Bias hesitated again, faltered, and came to a stop, aware that Mrs Bosenna's smile had changed to a frown; that she was regarding him with disapproval in her eyes, and that a red spot had declared itself suddenly upon either cheek. "_You_ don't seem to be makin' _very_ good weather of it either," Cai taunted him; and with that, glancing at her for confirmation, he too noticed her changed expression and was dumb. "Are you tellin' me,"--she seated herself stiffly, and they stood like culprits before her. "Are you tellin' me this is a game?" "A--a what, ma'am?" "A game!" She stamped her foot. "You've been makin' the town's mock o' me with Peter Benny's help--is that what you two funny seamen have walked up here to confess?" "There was no names given, ma'am," stammered Cai. "I do assure you--" "No names given!" Mrs Bosenna in a temper was terribly handsome. Her indignation so overawed the pair, as to rob them of all presence of mind for the moment. After all, where lay the harm in asking Mr Benny to word a simple invitation? Since the letters had not reached her, she could suspect no worse; and why, then, all this fuss? So they might have reasoned it out, had not conscience held them cowards--conscience and a creeping cold shade of mutual distrust. "No names given!" repeated the lady. "And I'm to believe that, just as I'm to believe, sir,"--she addressed herself stiffly to 'Bias--"that you never used bad language in your life!" "I didn' say that, ma'am--not exactly," urged the bewildered 'Bias. "I dunno what's this about bad language. Who's been usin' bad language? Not me." "Not since your prize-fightin' days, perhaps, Captain Hunken." "My prize-fightin' days? My pr--Whoever told you, ma'am, as ever I had any, or behaved so?" "You had better ask your friend here." "Hey?" "Perhaps," said Mrs Bosenna sarcastically, "that goes back beyond your memory! Your parrot, if I may say so, has a better one." "Missus!" expostulated Dinah modestly, while "Oh good Lord!" muttered Cai with a start. His friend's eye was on him, too, fixed and suspicious. "The parrot?" 'Bias, albeit innocent, took alarm. "Why, what has he been doin'?" "It isn't anything he _did_, sir," protested Dinah, taking courage to face about again from the oven door. "It's what he _said_." "I meant to warn you--" began Cai; but 'Bias beat him down thunderously-- "What did he say?" he demanded of Dinah. "Oh, I couldn't, sir! I really couldn't!" "I meant to warn you," interposed Cai again. "There's a--a screw loose somewhere in that bird. Didn't I tell you only the night before last that Mrs Bowldler couldn't get along with him?" "You did," admitted 'Bias, his tone ominously calm. "But you didn' specify: not when I told you I was goin' to bring the bird up here to Rilla." "No, I didn': for, in the first place, I couldn', not knowin' what language the bird used." He would have said more, but 'Bias turned roughly from him to demand of the women-- "Well, what _did_ he say? . . . Did he say it in your hearin', ma'am?" "Ahem!--er--partially so," owned Mrs Bosenna. "It's no use you're askin' what he said," added Dinah; "for no decent woman could tell it. And, what's more, the mistress is takin' her breakfast here in the kitchen because she durstn't go nigh the parlour." "And I got that bird off a missionary! A decenter speakin' parrot I've never known, so far as my experience goes--and I've known a good few." "Folks have different notions on these matters; different standards, so to speak," suggested Mrs Bosenna icily. "It's my opinion," put in Cai, "that missionary did you in the eye." "Oh, that's your opinion, is it? Well, you'd best take care, my joker, or you'll get something in the eye yourself." "We don't want any prize-fightin' here, if you please," commanded Mrs Bosenna. "There again!" foamed 'Bias, with difficulty checking an oath. "A prize-fighter, am I? Who put that into your head, ma'am? Who's been scandalisin' me to you?" He turned, half-choking, and shook a minatory finger at Cai. "I--I didn' say I had any objection to fightin'-men, not when they're quiet," Mrs Bosenna made haste to observe in a pacificatory tone. In fact she was growing nervous, and felt that she had driven her revenge far enough. "My late husband was very fond of the--the ring--in his young days." It is easier, however, to arouse passions than to allay them. 'Bias continued to shake a finger at Cai, and Cai (be it said in justice) faced the accusation gamely. "I never scandalised you," he answered. "In fact I done all in my power to remove the impression." Feeling this to be infelicitous--in a sort of despair with his tongue, which had taken a twist and could say nothing aright this morning--he made haste to add in a tone at once easy and awkward, "It's my belief, 'Bias, as your parrot ain't fit to be left alone with females." "Well, I'm goin' to wring his neck anyway," promised 'Bias; "and, if some folks aren't careful, maybe I won't stop with _his_." Cai, though with rising temper, kept his nonchalance. "With you and me the creatur' don't feel the temptation, and consikently there's a side of his character hidden from us. But in female company it comes out. You may depend that's the explanation." "Why, of course it is," chimed in Mrs Bosenna with sudden--suspiciously sudden--conviction. "How clever of Captain Hocken to think of it!" "Yes, he's clever," growled 'Bias, unappeased. "Oh, he's monstrous clever, ma'am, is Caius Hocken! Such a friend, too! . . . And now, perhaps, he'll explain how it happened--he bein' so clever and such a friend--as he didn't find this out two nights ago and warn me?" "I did warn ye, 'Bias," Cai's face had gone white under the taunt. "But I'll admit to you I might have pitched it stronger. . . . If you remember, on top of discussin' the parrot we fell to discussin' something--something more important to both of us; and that drove the bird out o' my head. It never crossed my mind again till bedtime, and then I meant to warn ye next day at breakfast." "You're good at explanations, this mornin'," sneered 'Bias. "Better fit there was no need, and you'd played fair." "'Played fair'!"--Cai flamed up at last--"I don't take that from you, 'Bias Hunken, nor yet from any one! You fell into your own trap--that's what happened to _you_. . . . 'Played fair'? I suppose you was playin' fair when you sneaked off unbeknowns and early to Rilla that mornin', after we'd agreed--" "Well?" asked 'Bias, as Cai came to a halt. "You know well enough what we agreed," was Cai's tame conclusion. "Where's the bird, ma'am?" asked 'Bias dully. Both men felt that all was over between them now, though neither quite understood how it had happened. "It--it seems I've offended you, and I ask your pardon. As for my doin' this o' purpose--well, you must believe it or not. That's as conscience bids ye. . . . But one warnin' I'll give-- A bad friend don't us'ally make a good husband." He motioned to Dinah to lead the way to the parlour, and so, with a jerk of the head, took his leave, not without dignity. Mrs Bosenna promptly burst into tears. Cai, left alone with her and with the despair in his heart, slowly (scarce knowing what he did) drew forth a red spotted handkerchief and eyed it. Maybe he had, to begin with, some intention of proffering it. But he stood still, a figure of woe, now glancing at Mrs Bosenna, anon staring fixedly at the handkerchief as if in wonder how it came in his hand. He noted, too, for the first time that the tall clock in the corner had an exceptionally loud tick. "Go away!" commanded Mrs Bosenna after a minute or so, looking up with tear-stained eyes. It seemed that she had suddenly became aware of his presence. Cai picked up his hat. "I was waitin' your leave, ma'am." "Go, please!" He went. He was indeed anxious to be gone. Very likely at the white gate below by the stream, 'Bias was standing in wait to knock his head off. Cai did not care. Nothing mattered now--nothing but a desire to follow 'Bias and have another word with him. It might even be. . . . But no: 'Bias was lost to him, lost irrevocably. Yet he craved to follow, catch up with him, plead for one more word. He went quickly down the path to the gate, but of 'Bias there was no sign. Poor Cai! He took a step or two down the road, and halted. Since 'Bias was not in sight there would be little chance of overtaking him on this side of the town; and in the street no explanation would be possible. Cai turned heavily, set his face inland, and started to walk at a great pace. As though walking could exorcise what he carried in his heart! Meanwhile 'Bias went striding down the valley with equal vigour and even more determination. His right hand gripped the parrot-cage, swinging it as he strode, and at intervals bumping it violently upon the calf of his right leg, much to his discomfort, very much more to that of the bird-- which nevertheless, though bewildered by the rapid nauseating motion, and at times flung asprawl, obstinately forbore to reproduce the form of words so offensive in turn to Mrs Bowldler and the ladies at Rilla. Once or twice, as his hand tired, and the rim of the cage impinged painfully on his upper ankle-bone, 'Bias halted and swore-- "All right, my beauty! You just wait till we get home!" He had never wrung a bird's neck, and had no notion how to start on so fell a deed. He was, moreover, a humane man. Yet resolutely and without compunction he promised the parrot its fate. A little beyond the entrance of the town, by the gateway of Mr Rogers's coal store, he came on a group--a trio--he could not well pass without salutation. They were Mr Rogers (in his bath-chair and wicked as ever) and Mr Philp, with Fancy Tabb in attendance as usual. "Well, I hope you're satisfied this time?" Mr Rogers was saying. "I suppose I must be," Mr Philp was grumbling in answer. "But all I can say is, coals burn faster than they used." "It's the way with best Newcastle." Mr Rogers, who had never sold a ton of Newcastle coal in his life (let alone the best), gave his cheerful assurance without winking an eye. "So you've told me more'n once," retorted Mr Philp. "I never made a study o' trade rowts, as they're called; but more'n once, too, it's been in my mind to ask ye how Newcastle folk come to ship their coal to Troy by way o' Runcorn." Mr Rogers blinked knowledgeably. "It shortens the distance," he replied, "by a lot. But you was sayin' as coals burned faster. Well, they do, and what's the reason?" "Ah!" said Mr Philp. "That's what I'd like to know." "Well, I'll give 'ee the information, and nothin' to pay. Coals burn faster as a man burns slower. You're gettin' on in life; an' next time you draw your knees higher the grate you can tell yourself _that_, William Philp. . . . Hullo! there's Cap'n Hunken! . . . Mornin', Cap'n. That's a fine bird you're carryin'." "A parrot, by the looks of it," put in Mr Philp. "Sherlock 'Omes!" Mr Rogers congratulated him curtly. "'Mornin', Mr Rogers--mornin', Mr Philp!" 'Bias halted and held out the cage at half-arm's length. "Yes, 'tis a fine bird I'm told." He eyed the parrot vindictively. "Talks?" "Damn! That's just it." "What can it say?" "Dunno. Wish I did. Will ye take the bird for a gift, or would ye rather have sixpence to wring its neck?" "Both," suggested Mr Philp with promptitude. "What yer wrigglin' for like that, at the back o' my chair, you Tabb's child?" asked Mr Rogers, whose paralysis prevented his turning his head. "Offer for 'n, master!" whispered Fancy. Mr Rogers, if he heard, made no sign. "D'ye mean it?" he inquired of 'Bias. "I'm rather partial to parrots, as it happens: and it's a fine bird. What's the matter with it?" "I don't know," 'Bias confessed again. "I wish somebody'd find out: but they tell me it can't be trusted with ladies." "Is that why you're takin' it for a walk? . . . Well, I'll risk five bob, if it's goin' cheap." Mr Philp's face fell. "I'd ha' gone half-a-crown, myself," he murmured resignedly; "but I can't bid up against a rich man like Mr Rogers. . . . You don't know what the creetur says?" "No more'n Adam--only that it's too shockin' for human ears. If Mr Rogers cares to take the bird for five shillin', he's welcome, and good riddance. Only he won't never find out what's wrong with him." "Honest?" asked Mr Rogers. "Honest. I've lived alongside this bird seven years; he was bought off a missionary; and _I_ don't know." "Ah, well!" sighed Mr Philp. "Money can't buy everything. But I don't mind bettin' I'd ha' found out." "Would ye now?" queried Mr Rogers with a wicked chuckle. "I'll put up a match, then. The bird's mine for five shillin': but Philp shall have him for a month, and I'll bet Philp half-a-crown he don't discover what you've missed. Done, is it?" "Done.'" echoed Mr Philp, appealing to 'Bias and reaching out a hand for the cage. "Done!" echoed 'Bias. "Five shillin' suits me at any time, and I'm glad to be rid o' the brute." "There's one stippylation," put in Mr Rogers. "Philp must tell me honest what he discovers. . . . You, Tabb's child, you're jogglin' my chair again!" So 'Bias, the five shillings handed over, went his way; relieved of one burden, but not of the main one.
"Is the bird gone?" asked her mistress. "Then you might fry me a couple of sausages and lay breakfast in the parlour." Dinah sighed. "'Tis lovely," she said, "to be able to play the fool with men . . . 'tis lovely, and 'tis what women were made for. But 'tis wasteful o' chances all the same. There goes two that'll never come back." "You leave that to me," said Mrs Bosenna, who had dried her eyes. "Joke or no, you'll admit I paid them out for it. Now don't you fall into sentiments, but attend to prickin' the sausages. You know I hate a burst sausage." _ |
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