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The Story of Antony Grace
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“Yes.”
“When are you going back?”
“Don’t know.”
“Oh!”
Then there was a pause.
“Stick to your pipe still,” said Mr Jabez, taking a loud pinch of snuff.
“Yes; never could manage snuff.”
“Oh!”
Here there was another pause, broken once more by Mr Jabez.
“Where are you going to stay?”
“Long o’ you.”
“Oh!”
A great many puffs of smoke followed here, and several pinches of snuff, as the two old men sat on either side of the fire and stared hard at each other, their likeness being now wonderful, as far as their heads were concerned.
“Hard up?” said Mr Jabez at last.
“No. Want to borrow a sov?”
“No,” said Mr Jabez shortly; and there was again a silence.
“I’ll have a drop of gin and water, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, after a very long and awkward pause for me.
I mixed it for him with alacrity.
“You two friendly?” said Mr Peter at last, making a strenuous effort to thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe without removing the waxed end from his lips, but finding it impossible, without apparently swallowing a goodly portion, from the length of the stem.
“Friendly? of course we are. Can’t you see?” replied Mr Jabez snappishly.
“No! How should I know? Like him to know anything about your affairs?” said Mr Peter, turning to me.
“Oh yes,” I said. “Mr Jabez Rowle is a very great friend of mine.”
“Right!” said that individual, giving his head a nod.
“I didn’t come up on purpose to see you, Jabez,” said Mr Peter.
“Who said you did?” snapped Mr Jabez. “What did you come for? About what you said?”
“Yes.”
There was another awkward pause, fortunately broken by Mary, who entered with a tray odorous with hot rump-steak and onions: and as soon as he smelt it, Mr Peter stood his pipe up in the corner of the fireplace, and softly rubbed his hands.
His brother made no scruple about joining the meal, and as the brothers rose, Mr Jabez held out his hand with —
“Well, how are you, Peter?”
“Tidy,” said Mr Peter, and they shook hands as if they were cross with each other, and then they each made a hearty meal.
“Got a latchkey, Jabez?” said Mr Peter, as, after supper, we all drew up round the fire and the visitor from Rowford refilled and lit his pipe, causing Mr Jabez to draw off from him as far as was possible.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“That’s right,” said Mr Peter; “don’t want to go to bed, do you, young ’un?”
“Oh, no,” I said; “I’m too glad to see you again.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled, as he looked at me fixedly.
“Been a good boy, Jabez?” he said at last.
“Who? – me?”
“No, no; young ’un here.”
“Oh, yes. Can’t you see?”
“Thought he would be, or I shouldn’t have sent him.”
“Humph!”
I wanted to talk, but I found that it would be of no use now, so I contented myself with studying the brothers, and, just then, Tom Girtley came in.
“Won’t disturb you,” he said quickly; “just off. Good-night, Mr Rowle, good-night, Tony.”
“Who’s he?” said Mr Peter, as the door closed.
“A friend of mine – a young solicitor.”
“Any good? – Trust him?” said Mr Peter quickly.
“Yes, he is very clever in his profession,” I said wonderingly.
“Call him back, then,” said Mr Peter. “I’ve got something for him to hear.”
Chapter Fifty Four.
Peter Rowle’s Bargain
“When are you going back?”
“Don’t know.”
“Oh!”
Then there was a pause.
“Stick to your pipe still,” said Mr Jabez, taking a loud pinch of snuff.
“Yes; never could manage snuff.”
“Oh!”
Here there was another pause, broken once more by Mr Jabez.
“Where are you going to stay?”
“Long o’ you.”
“Oh!”
A great many puffs of smoke followed here, and several pinches of snuff, as the two old men sat on either side of the fire and stared hard at each other, their likeness being now wonderful, as far as their heads were concerned.
“Hard up?” said Mr Jabez at last.
“No. Want to borrow a sov?”
“No,” said Mr Jabez shortly; and there was again a silence.
“I’ll have a drop of gin and water, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, after a very long and awkward pause for me.
I mixed it for him with alacrity.
“You two friendly?” said Mr Peter at last, making a strenuous effort to thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe without removing the waxed end from his lips, but finding it impossible, without apparently swallowing a goodly portion, from the length of the stem.
“Friendly? of course we are. Can’t you see?” replied Mr Jabez snappishly.
“No! How should I know? Like him to know anything about your affairs?” said Mr Peter, turning to me.
“Oh yes,” I said. “Mr Jabez Rowle is a very great friend of mine.”
“Right!” said that individual, giving his head a nod.
“I didn’t come up on purpose to see you, Jabez,” said Mr Peter.
“Who said you did?” snapped Mr Jabez. “What did you come for? About what you said?”
“Yes.”
There was another awkward pause, fortunately broken by Mary, who entered with a tray odorous with hot rump-steak and onions: and as soon as he smelt it, Mr Peter stood his pipe up in the corner of the fireplace, and softly rubbed his hands.
His brother made no scruple about joining the meal, and as the brothers rose, Mr Jabez held out his hand with —
“Well, how are you, Peter?”
“Tidy,” said Mr Peter, and they shook hands as if they were cross with each other, and then they each made a hearty meal.
“Got a latchkey, Jabez?” said Mr Peter, as, after supper, we all drew up round the fire and the visitor from Rowford refilled and lit his pipe, causing Mr Jabez to draw off from him as far as was possible.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“That’s right,” said Mr Peter; “don’t want to go to bed, do you, young ’un?”
“Oh, no,” I said; “I’m too glad to see you again.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled, as he looked at me fixedly.
“Been a good boy, Jabez?” he said at last.
“Who? – me?”
“No, no; young ’un here.”
“Oh, yes. Can’t you see?”
“Thought he would be, or I shouldn’t have sent him.”
“Humph!”
I wanted to talk, but I found that it would be of no use now, so I contented myself with studying the brothers, and, just then, Tom Girtley came in.
“Won’t disturb you,” he said quickly; “just off. Good-night, Mr Rowle, good-night, Tony.”
“Who’s he?” said Mr Peter, as the door closed.
“A friend of mine – a young solicitor.”
“Any good? – Trust him?” said Mr Peter quickly.
“Yes, he is very clever in his profession,” I said wonderingly.
“Call him back, then,” said Mr Peter. “I’ve got something for him to hear.”
Chapter Fifty Four.
Peter Rowle’s Bargain
Другие электронные книги автора George Fenn
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