"And did you wash the clothes?"
"I did, sir, and there they hang on the line enough to scare the crows with their rags an' tags."
"It's too bad," said Mr. Jerrold, commiseratingly, "but do the best you can for Mr. Vale's sake."
"Shall I tell him you're here, sir?"
"No, I'll go straight in."
He limped to the door of the parlour and opened it, after tapping on the panel.
The shutters were closed and the room lay in a stuffy haze of tobacco smoke. He felt sure that Vale had put a decanter out of sight at the sound of his rap. Certainly he smelled strongly of whiskey and looked as though he had slept in his clothes.
"Phew," said Mr. Jerrold, "may I open a window? There's a breeze rising outside that's not half bad. We're in for a devil of a storm. As a matter of fact I doubt whether the rain will be in time to save the crops. There. Isn't that nice?" He had thrown open the shutters and a breeze, fresh and uneasy, swept into the room. He sat down on the piano stool and faced Vale, trying to smile unconcernedly.
"Well," said Vale, "What do you think of my latest?"
"I'm staggered. We're all staggered. All I can say is that if I had known in time, Ramsey should have married you only over my dead body. You could not have known what you were doing."
"I did know, though. It's all right. I'm not kicking. I'm just trying to get used to the idea of having a squaw for a wife."
"But why, in God's name, did you bring her into your house in the first place?"
"Have you heard nothing?"
"They say the old woman had beaten her."
