Part 9 (1/2)

”How provoking you are! Now I appeal to all of you. If you see me cornered by Will Jeffreys, come to the rescue.”

”The greatest bore I ever knew,” began Claverton, ”was a lady--an elderly lady. She would volunteer instruction on any and every subject under heaven, from the precise length of Aaron's beard, to the cost of soup-kitchens; and once she cornered you, you had to listen or pretend to. One day she cornered me. It was in the drawing-room, and there was no escape; but there was a clock opposite. It occurred to me to time her. For exactly twenty-one minutes she prosed on uninterruptedly, like a stream flowing over its bed; never stopped to take breath once. A sermon was a joke to it. Twenty-one minutes! Heaven knows how much longer she would have gone on, but for a lucky interruption.”

”What was she prosing about?” said Ethel.

”I haven't the very faintest idea.”

”Well, I don't believe a word of the story. I believe you made it all up.”

”You don't believe a word of that story?” said Claverton, with a stare of amazement, while Hicks and Laura went into fits.

”No, I don't; at least, I'll say this much--you may have known such a bore, but if so it was a man, not a lady.”

”I've told you a bare fact, upon my honour. But if--”

They were interrupted by the appearance on the scene of Jeffreys himself; but Ethel was too quick for him. She had seen him coming, and was already on her way indoors. Then she began to sing duets with Laura, whom she had manoeuvred to the piano by some mysterious signal.

Young Jeffreys, feeling very sulky and sore at his enslaver's capriciousness and want of consideration, went and sat by himself at the other side of the room, whence he could watch the author of his discomfort. The old people, under no necessity to talk, waxed drowsy, and nodded through the music. Presently Laura left the piano and, in a trice, she and Hicks were deep in an animated conversation in a low tone and in a snug corner, under pretence of looking through a pile of music.

Ethel the while was extracting wondrous combinations from the keys, under cover of which she was carrying on a sharp running fire of banter, or rather word-skirmish, with Claverton.

Jeffreys, watching them, was on thorns and tenterhooks. Who the deuce was this stranger? A month ago no one had ever heard of him, and now here he was, with his d.a.m.ned finicking ways and smooth tongue, thinking that all the world was made for him. A fellow, too, he'd be bound to say, that with all his easy-going blarney, couldn't sit a bucking horse, or hit a haystack at ten yards. Yet there was Ethel carrying on furiously with this fellow, while he, Jeffreys, was sent to the wall.

In reality, however, there was nothing that those two were saying that all the world--Jeffreys included--would not have been perfectly welcome to hear.

”Claverton,” suddenly exclaimed Hicks, as two hours later they were discussing the usual pipe before turning in. Jeffreys had joined them, but did not add much to the conversation. ”I hear you're going to stay on here.”

”Yes, I am.”

Jeffreys' jaw fell at this announcement. He had been laying balm to his wounded spirit in the thought that this interloping stranger would soon be going, and then--well, the field would be clear again.

”Glad to hear it, old fellow, awfully glad. By Jove, it's the best news I've heard for a long time.”

”The deuce it is! And why, may I ask?”

”Why? Only hear him! Haven't I had to do everything by myself, and knock about by myself? No fellow to talk to at work, or to go out and sneak a buck with, or to blow a cloud with at night, and so on. Now we'll have a rare good time of it together.”

”Especially when you go down to feed the ostriches,” said Claverton, with a mischievous laugh.

The other coloured and looked foolish, and was about to make some stammering reply.

”Never mind, Hicks,” said Claverton, in that wonderfully attractive manner which he now and then exhibited, ”I don't think you and I will quarrel. Now I'm going to turn in. Good-night. Good-night, Jeffreys.”

”I say,” inquired Jeffreys, after he had gone out. ”Is that cattle-branding on to-morrow?”

”Yes.”

”Well, I think I'll stay and give you a hand, if Mr Brathwaite doesn't mind. Times are slack, and there's nothing doing at home.”

”Rather--mind you do; we'll be only too glad,” answered Hicks with a yawn, as he blew out the candle; and in five minutes more a mild snore or so showed that he was out of reach of any further conversation.