King of the Castle Part 66

"That's true," said the gardener, letting his head sink back with a sigh, as Wimble stood before him working up the lather in his pot to a splendid consistency.

"Anxious time for you people at the Fort, sir," said Wimble, beginning to lather gently, and taking care to leave his customer's lips quite free.

"Yes," said the gardener shortly.

"Poor man! Ah, I wonder how many times I have shaved him, sir."

The gardener stared straight before him in silence, frowning heavily.

"In the midst of life we are in death, Mr Brime, sir, parson says o'

Sundays," continued Wimble, pausing to tuck the cloth a little more in round his customer's neck.

No acquiescent reply.

"Just like things in your profession, Mr Brime, or, as I might say, in mine. Flowers and gra.s.s comes up, and the frost takes one, and the scythe the other; or beards comes up and the hair grows, and it's the razor for one, and the shears for the other, eh?"

"Humph!"

"Yes, sir; you are quite right," said Wimble, replacing the brush in the pot, and proceeding to rub the soap into his customer's cheeks, throat and chin with a long, lissome finger.

Silence.

"Wonderful stiff, wiry beard yours, Mr Brime, sir. Pleasure to shave it, though. I hate your fluffy beards that lie down before the razor.

Yours is a downright upright one, which meets the razor like crisp gra.s.s. What a difference in beards. Not in a hurry, sir, I hope?"

"No."

"Then I'll do it well, sir, so as to make it last. Ah, many's the time I've shaved poor Mr Gartram, sir! Hard man to please over pimples, while a nick used to make him swear terrible, and there are times when you can't help just a touch, sir."

"No," said Brime, thinking of slips with the scythe.

"Good customer gone," said the barber, resuming the brush once more, but still keeping clear of the lips. "Always a shilling for going up and shaving him, Mr Brime. Yes, a capital customer gone."

Here the shaving pot was set down, and a razor taken out of a loop to re-strop.

"Bad job for me, Mr Brime. Won't affect you, I suppose, sir?"

continued Wimble, finishing off the keen-edged razor on his palm with a loud _pat, pat, pat_.

"Not affect me?" said the gardener, sitting up sharply; for the barber had touched the right key at last, and the instrument began to sound.

"But it will affect me. How do I know what'll take place now, sir?

Saved up my little bit o' money, and made the cottage comfortable and fit for a wife."

"Indeed, Mr Brime, and you'd been thinking of that sort o' thing, sir?"

"P'raps I had and p'r'aps I hadn't," snarled the gardener, savagely.

"Not the first man, I suppose, as thought of it."

"No, sir, indeed. I've been thinking of it for years, and making my bits o' preparation; but,"--he said with a sigh--"it hasn't come off yet."

A brother in disappointment. The gardener felt satisfied and disposed to be confidential, although the lather was beginning to feel cold and clammy, and the tiny vesicles were bursting and dying away.

"Yes, I were thinking about it, Mr Wimble," he said bitterly; "and I were going to speak, and I dessay afore long you'd ha' heared us asked in church, and now this comes and upsets it all."

"Don't say that, sir," said the barber, still stropping his razor gently. "Like everything else, it pa.s.ses away and is forgotten. You've only got to wait."

"Got to wait!" cried the gardener; "why, the trouble has 'most killed her, sir, and how do I know what's going to happen next?"

"Ah, bad indeed, sir."

"Our young Miss'll never stop in that great place now; and, of course, it's a month's warning, and not a chance of another place nigh here."

"Oh, don't say that, Mr Brime, sir. That's the worst way of looking at it."

"Ay, but it's the true way."

"You're a bit upset with trouble now, sir. You wait. Why, there's a fine chance here for a clever man like yourself to set up for himself in the fruit and greengrocery. See what a job it is to get a bit of decent green stuff. I never know what it is. Leastways, I shouldn't if it weren't for a friend bringing me in a morsel o' fruit now and then."

"Ah, it's all over with that now, Mr Wimble. Poor master; and we may as well give up all thoughts o' wedding. Strange set-out it's been."

"Ah!" said Wimble; and _pat, pat, pat_, went the razor over his hand as the lather dried.

"I can't see much chance for Mr Glyddyr now."

"Ah! he was going to marry Miss Gartram, wasn't he?"

"He'd ha' liked to, and the poor guvnor was on for it; but I know a little more about that than he did."

"Ah, yes, Mr Brime, lookers-on sees more of the game. I always used to think--but of course it was no business of mine--that it was to be Mr Christopher Lisle, till he seemed to be chucked over like--and for looking elsewhere," he added between his teeth.

"Looking elsewhere? Gammon!"

"Oh, but he does, sir."

"Yah! Not he, Wimble. He's dead on to the young missus."

"No, no, Mr Brime, sir," said Wimble, waving his razor; "you'll excuse me. You're wrong there."

"Wrong?" cried the gardener, excitedly. "Bet you a shilling on it. No, I don't want to rob you, because I know."

"Well, you may know a deal about gardening, Mr Brime," said Wimble deprecatingly, as he shook his head shrewdly; "but fax is fax."

"Not always, Wimble. You won't let it go no further, because he's a good sort."

"If you feel as you can't trust me, Mr Brime, sir," said the barber, laying down the razor and taking up the brush and shaving pot once more to dip the former very slowly in the hot water.

"Oh, you won't tell," said Brime, who had calmed his excitement with a great many gla.s.ses of the household ale at the Fort. "You're all wrong.

Mr Lisle's after our young Miss still; and--you mark my words--as soon as they decently can, they'll marry."