The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 48

From head to foot he was besmeared with black mud; for the rotten stern must have parted and fallen with the first touch of the explosion, so that the wave caught him as he toppled out, and flung him at once upon the shallows. But Tamsin's Sunday frock was already ruined. She made him rest his hand on her shoulder, and so, with one arm thrown round him for steadiness, led him down the beach, and with infinite difficulty got him across the mud and into the boat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.]

She managed to push off at last, and pulled rapidly across for Kit's House. Hitherto Mr. Fogo's condition had slightly resembled a drunken stupor; but now he shivered violently and looked about him.

"Where am I?"

"Safe and sound, I hope."

He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes and shivered again.

"I remember. Something--blew up, did it not? The canister, I think."

She nodded encouragingly.

"Where did you come from?" he asked abruptly.

"From church."

"Oh! from church. Do you know, I'm very glad to see you--I am, indeed, I hope you'll come often, now that--Excuse me," he broke off with a weak smile, "but I fancy I'm talking nonsense."

She nodded again.

"I am aching all over," he added with a shiver.

She pulled the boat up to the little quay. "Now I wonder where Caleb is," she said to herself, as she stood up and looked around; "but he's like most men, always in the way or out of the way."

She turned suddenly with a white face. "Caleb was not with you?"

To her hearty relief Mr. Fogo understood the question and shook his head. She helped him ash.o.r.e. Though he walked with pain, he made an obvious effort to lighten his weight on her shoulder; and this returning bashfulness was a good sign, she thought. They pa.s.sed slowly up the steps; at the top he acknowledged her help with a grateful look, but neither spoke until he was seated in a chair by the kitchen fireplace.

Then she withdrew her attention for a moment to glance round upon the clumsy appliances and masculine untidiness of the place. She noticed that fully half the window-panes had been shattered by the explosion; but otherwise the house had barely suffered.

"Is there any brandy or whiskey in the house?"

He shook his head.

"If you want to drink--" he began, but stopped hastily and added, "I beg your pardon."

"Is there any tea?"

He pointed to the cupboard, but dropped his arm with a groan.

She was at his side in a moment.

"Now, listen to me. You are not to stir or speak, but only to nod or shake your head when I ask a question. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"That's right."

She stepped to the cupboard, produced the tea and a box of matches; then, stooping down, rekindled the fire with the help of some sticks which she found in the oven, and put the kettle on the flame.

This done, she sought and found the tea-things.

"Milk?" she asked.

He nodded towards a blue jug on the mantel-shelf.

"Milk on the mantel-shelf! That's like a man."

But at this point the kettle began to boil. She filled the tea-pot, and replaced the kettle on the hob. As she turned, she was aware of a clearer look in Mr. Fogo's eyes. She smiled and nodded.

"You are better."

"Much. I can remember it all, after a fashion. Did I talk nonsense?"

"A little." She smiled again.

His eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen. Presently he said--

"You are very good to me."

"I think I am."

"Tamsin--"

She turned suddenly to the table, and caught up the teapot.

"Do you know," she asked, "that tea is worthless if it stands for more than five minutes?"

She filled a cup, and gave it to him with a hand that trembled slightly. He sipped, and scalded his lip.

"Tamsin--"

"My name is Dearlove," she said shortly, "and you are spilling the tea."

There was silence for a minute or so. Mr. Fogo stirred his tea abstractedly. Tamsin, whose shoes were soaked, put one foot upon the fender, and bent her gaze upon the fire.

"I would give something," observed Mr. Fogo suddenly, in desperate reverie, "to know how other people manage it. It was moonlight when I proposed to Geraldine. I began by squeezing her hand, if I remem--"

He looked up, and found her regarding him with eyes ablaze.

But luckily at this moment the door opened, and Caleb appeared.

He was evidently much agitated; but at sight of Tamsin and the woeful figure in the armchair, he halted on the threshold and stared dumbly.

"I think," said Tamsin, "you had better put your master to bed."

"Mussy 'pon us, what's been doin'?"