Americans -- England -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- England -- Fiction
'It was always waiting on you, daddy,' said the good woman. 'I sez to
Wellington, "That's his favourite, it is, and we'll always have it
ready for him when he comes home."'
Without any display of emotion or undue haste, the old groom filled the
pipe, lit it, drew a long breath of smoke, and slowly blew it into the
air, regarding his good partner throughout with a look that clearly
showed the importance he attached to the experiment.
He took a second puff, raised his eyes from hers to the ceiling, and
his broad face crinkled into a grin, the like of which his wife had
never seen before on his countenance.
'Old girl,' he said, 'when I sees you first I sez, "There's the filly
for my money;" and so you was. And, by Criky! you and me hevn't
reached the last jump yet--no, sir. Give me a kiss. . . .
Thar--that's werry "bon," as them queer-spoke Frenchies would say. M'
dear, I hev some nooz for _you_ now.'
He puffed tantalisingly at the pipe, and surveyed his wife's intense
curiosity with studied approbation.
'When Milord come to see me last week,' he said, measuring the words
slowly, 'he tells me as how he won't go for to hev no more hosses, and
conseckens o' me bein' all bunged up by them sausage-eaters, he sez as
how would I like to be the landlord o' "The Hares and Fox" in the
village, him havin' bought the same, and would I go for to tell you as
a surprise, likewise and sim'lar?'
'Heavenly hope!' cried the good woman, bursting into tears; 'if that
ain't marvellous grand!'
'That,' said Mathews, beckoning for her to hand him his crutches, 'is
what Milord has done for you and me. And, missus, as long as there's a
drop in the cellar none o' the soldier-lads in the village will go for
to want a pint o' bitter nohow. Now, old girl, if you'll give a leg up
we'll go and see how the infant is lookin'.'
II.
A few days later, in the chapel decked with flowers, the marriage of
Selwyn and Elise took place.
In spite of her disappointment that Elise was not marrying a title,
Lady Durwent rose superbly to the occasion. She led the weeping and
the laughing with the utmost heartiness, and recalled her own wedding
so eloquently and vividly that those who didn't know about the
Ironmonger supposed she must have been the daughter of a marchioness at
least, and was probably related to royalty.
Just before the ceremony itself the youthful Wellington, who had
confounded science by a remarkable recovery from his ailment, was
confronted with the offer of half-a-crown if he acquitted himself well,
and threatened with corporal punishment if he didn't. With this double
stimulus, he pumped without cessation and with such heartiness that the
rector's words were at times hardly audible above the sound of air
escaping from the bellows--necessitating a punitive expedition on the
part of the sexton, and engendering in Wellington a permanent mistrust
in the justice of human affairs.
Late in the afternoon bride and groom left for London, on their way to
America.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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