LITMIR.BIZ

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surface either the glow of the open grate or the yellow lustre of the gas-jet; red curtains drawn across the window added warmth and homely comfort to the room. It was not the kitchen of pinched or slovenly working folk; the air had a scent of cleanliness, of freshly scrubbed boards and polished metal, and the furniture was super-abundant. On the capacious dresser stood or hung utensils innumerable; cupboards and chairs had a struggle for wall space; every smallest object was in the place assigned to it by use and wont.

      The housewife was an active woman of something less than sixty; stout, fresh-featured, with a small keen eye, a firm mouth, and the look of one who, conscious of responsibilities, yet feels equal to them; on the whole a kindly and contented face, if lacking the suggestiveness which comes of thought. At present she seemed on the verge of impatience; it was supper time, but her children lingered.

      ‘There they are, and there they must wait, I s’pose,’ she murmured to herself as she finished slicing the vegetables and went to remove the pan a little from the fire.

      A knock at the house door called her upstairs. She came down again, followed by a young girl of pleasant countenance, though pale and anxious-looking. The visitor’s dress was very plain, and indicated poverty; she wore a long black jacket, untrimmed, a boa of cheap fur, tied at the throat with black ribbon, a hat of grey felt, black cotton gloves.

      ‘No one here?’ she asked, seeing the empty kitchen.

      ‘Goodness knows where they all are. I s’pose Dick’s at his meeting; but Alice and ‘Arry had ought to be back by now. Sit you down to the table, and I’ll put on the vegetables; there’s no call to wait for them. Only I ain’t got the beer.’

      ‘Oh, but I didn’t mean to come for supper,’ said the girl, whose name was Emma Vine. ‘I only ran in to tell you poor Jane’s down again with rheumatic fever.’

      Mrs. Mutimer was holding the frying-pan over the fire, turning the contents over and over with a knife.

      ‘You don’t mean that!’ she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder. ‘Why, it’s the fifth time, ain’t it?’

      ‘It is indeed, and worse to get through every time. We didn’t expect she’d ever be able to walk again last autumn.’

      ‘Dear, dear! what a thing them rheumatics is, to be sure! And you’ve heard about Dick, haven’t you?’

      ‘Heard what?’

      ‘Oh, I thought maybe it had got to you. He’s lost his work, that’s all.’

      ‘Lost his work?’ the girl repeated, with dismay. ‘Why?’

      ‘Why? What else had he to expect? ‘Tain’t likely they’ll keep a man as goes about making all his mates discontented and calling his employers names at every street corner. I’ve been looking for it every week. Yesterday one of the guvnors calls him up and tells him—just in a few civil words—as perhaps it ‘ud be better for all parties if he’d find a place where he was more satisfied. “Well an’ good,” says Dick—you know his way—and there he is.’

      The girl had seated herself, and listened to this story with downcast eyes. Courage seemed to fail her; she drew a long, quiet sigh. Her face was of the kind that expresses much sweetness in irregular features. Her look was very honest and gentle, with pathetic meanings for whoso had the eye to catch them; a peculiar mobility of the lips somehow made one think that she had often to exert herself to keep down tears. She spoke in a subdued voice, always briefly, and with a certain natural refinement in the use of uncultured language. When Mrs. Mutimer ceased, Emma kept silence, and smoothed the front of her jacket with an unconscious movement of the hand.

      Mrs. Mutimer glanced at her and showed commiseration.

      ‘Well, well, don’t you worrit about it, Emma,’ she said; ‘you’ve quite enough on your hands. Dick don’t care—not he; he couldn’t look more high-flyin’ if someone had left him a fortune. He says it’s the best thing as could happen. Nay, I can’t explain; he’ll tell you plenty soon as he gets in. Cut yourself some meat, child, do, and don’t wait for me to help you. See, I’ll turn you out some potatoes; you don’t care for the greens, I know.’

      The fry had hissed vigorously whilst this conversation went on; the results were brown and unctuous.

      ‘Now, if it ain’t too bad!’ cried the old woman, losing self-control. ‘That ‘Arry gets later every Sunday, and he knows very well as I have to wait for the beer till he comes.’

      I’ll fetch it,’ said Emma, rising.

      ‘You indeed! I’d like to see Dick if he caught me a-sending you to the public-house.’

      ‘He won’t mind it for once.’

      ‘You get on with your supper, do. It’s only my fidgetiness; I can do very well a bit longer. And Alice, where’s she off to, I wonder? What it is to have a girl that age! I wish they was all like you, Emma. Get on with your supper, I tell you, or you’ll make me angry. Now, it ain’t no use taking it to ‘eart in that way. I see what you’re worritin’ over. Dick ain’t the man to be out o’ work long.’

      ‘But won’t it be the same at his next place?’ Emma inquired. She was trying to eat, but it was a sad pretence.

      ‘Nay, there’s no telling. It’s no good my talkin’ to him. Why don’t you see what you can do, Emma? ‘Tain’t as if he’d no one but his own self to think about Don’t you think you could make him see that? If anyone has a right to speak, it’s you. Tell him as he’d ought to have a bit more thought. It’s wait, wait, wait, and likely to be if things go on like this. Speak up and tell him as—’

      ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’ murmured Emma. ‘Dick knows best.’

      She stopped to listen; there was a noise above as of people entering the house.

      ‘Here they come at last,’ said Mrs. Mutimer. ‘Hear him laughin’? Now, don’t you be so ready to laugh with him. Let him see as it ain’t such good fun to everybody.’

      Heavy feet tramped down the stone stairs, amid a sound of loud laughter and excited talk. The next moment the kitchen door was thrown open, and two young men appeared. The one in advance was Richard Mutimer; behind him came a friend of the family, Daniel Dabbs.

      ‘Well, what do you think of this?’ Richard exclaimed as he shook Emma’s hands rather carelessly. ‘Mother been putting you out of spirits, I suppose? Why, it’s grand; the best thing that could have happened! What a meeting we’ve had to-night! What do you say, Dan?’

      Richard represented—too favourably to make him anything but an exception—the best qualities his class can show. He was the English artisan as we find him on rare occasions, the issue of a good strain which has managed to procure a sufficiency of food for two or three generations. His physique was admirable; little short of six feet in stature, he had shapely shoulders, an erect well-formed head, clean strong limbs, and a bearing which in natural ease and dignity matched that of the picked men of the upper class—those fine creatures whose career, from public school to regimental quarters, is one exclusive course of bodily training. But the comparison, on the whole, was to Richard’s advantage. By no possibility could he have assumed that aristocratic vacuity of visage which comes of carefully induced cerebral atrophy. The air of the workshop suffered little colour to dwell upon his cheeks; but to features of so pronounced and intelligent a type this pallor added a distinction. He had dark brown hair, thick and long, and a cropped beard of hue somewhat lighter. His eyes were his mother’s—keen and direct; but they had small variety of expression; you could not imagine them softening to tenderness, or even to thoughtful dreaming. Terribly wide awake, they seemed to be always looking for the weak points of whatever they regarded, and their brightness was not seldom suggestive of malice. His voice was strong and clear; it would ring out well in public places, which is equivalent to saying that it hardly invited too intimate conference. You will take for granted that Richard displayed, alike in attitude and tone, a distinct consciousness of his points of superiority to the men among whom he lived; probably he more than suspected that he could have held his own in spheres to which there seemed small chance of his being summoned.

      Just

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