Once Aboard the Lugger Part 76

"Duty or dismissal," p.r.o.nounced Mr. Marrapit. "Take choice." He turned to the window. "Come, Mrs. Major."

George dashed for him. "You're not going till I've done with you!"

Violence was in his tone, pa.s.sion in his face.

Alarmed, "Beware how you touch me!" called Mr. Marrapit; caught Mr.

Fletcher, thrust him forward. "Grapple him!" cried Mr. Marrapit.

Mr. Fletcher was violently impelled against George; to save a fall clutched him. "Don't make a scene, Mr. George," he implored.

George pushed him away. Mr. Fletcher trod back heavily upon Mr.

Marrapit's foot. Mr. Marrapit screamed shrilly, plunged backwards into a cabinet, overturned it, sat heavily upon its debris.

A laugh overcame George's fury. He swung on his heel; called "Come" to his Mary; stalked from the house.

As they pa.s.sed through the gate, "Oh, Georgie!" his Mary breathed.

"Oh, Georgie!"

He raged on to her: "What on earth made you say you were sorry? You've no spirit, Mary! No spirit!"

The tremendous young man stalked ahead with huge strides.

In deep melancholy, sore beneath the correction Mr. Marrapit had heaped upon him, Mr. Fletcher wandered from the study; turned as he reached the path. "Me grapple him!" said Mr. Fletcher. "Me a craven!

Me thrust him from the house! It's 'ard--d.a.m.n 'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a Ju-jitsu."

CHAPTER VI.

Agony In Meath Street.

I.

Silent, gloom-ridden, my sniffing Mary, my black-browed George laboured to the station. Silent they sat upon a bench waiting the London train.

George bought his Mary a piece of chocolate from the automatic machine; she was a forlorn picture as with tiny nibbles she ate it, tears in her pretty eyes. In the restaurant George bought himself a huge cigar. This man was a desperate spectacle as with huge puffs he smoked, hands deep in pockets, legs thrust straight, brows horribly knitted.

They had no words.

The train came in. George found an empty compartment; helped his poor Mary to a corner; roughly dumped the cat-basket upon the rack; moodily plumped opposite his Mary.

They had no words.

It was as the train moved from the third stop that Mary, putting a giant sniff upon her emotions, asked her George: "Wher--where are we going, dear?"

It was not until the fifth stop that George made answer. "Those Battersea digs," he told her.

They had no words.

At Queen's Road station gloomily they alighted; silently laboured to the house of Mrs. Pinking.

George answered her surprise. "Miss Humfray will have these rooms again, Mrs. Pinking, if you will be so kind; and I--" He checked.

"Could you let us have some tea, Mrs. Pinking? Afterwards I'll have a talk with you. We've got into a--We're very tired. If you could just let us have some tea, then I'll explain."

In silence they ate and drank. George was half turned from the table, gloomily gazing from the window. Tiny sniffs came from his Mary; he had no words for her; looked away.

But presently there was a most dreadful choking sound. He sprang around. Most painfully his Mary was spluttering over a cup of tea.

With trembling hands she put down the cup; her face was red, convulsively working.

George half rose to her. "Don't cry, darling Mary-kins. Don't cry."

She set down the cup; swallowed; gasped, "I'm not crying--I'm la- laughing," and into a pipe of gayest mirth she went.

Gloom gathered its sackcloth skirts; scuttled from the room.

George roared with laughter; rocked and roared again. When he could get a catch upon his mirth there was the clear pipe of his Mary's glee, clear, compelling, setting him off again. When she would gasp for breath there was her dear George, head in those brown hands, shaking with tremendous laughter--and she must start again.

She gasped: "George! If you could have seen yourself standing there telling those awful stories--!"

He gasped: "When I mistook the cats--!"

She gasped: "Mr. Marrapit's face--!"

He gasped: "Mrs. Major's--!"

The exhaustion of their mirth gave them pause at last. George wiped his running eyes; Mary tremendously blew her little nose, patted her gold hair where it eagerly straggled.

"I feel better after that," George said.

She told him, "So do I--heaps. It's no good being miserable over what is past, is it, dear?"

"Not a bit; not the slightest. Come and sit on the sofa and let's see where we are." She put that golden head upon his manly shoulder; he fetched his right arm about her; she nursed her hands upon the brown fist that came into her lap; that other brown hand he set upon the three.

Together they viewed their prospects--gloomy pictures.

"But we're fairly in the cart," George summed up. "We are, you know."

His ridiculous Mary gave him that lovers' ridiculous specific. "We've got each other," she told him, snuggling to him.

George kissed her. He fumbled in his pockets. "I've got just about three pounds--over from what Marrapit gave me for the clue-hunting. I say, Mary, it's pretty awful."

She snuggled the closer.