A Drake by George! - The Original Classic Edition. Trevena John

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СКАЧАТЬ for we saw him in the churchyard, and he never mentioned any sickness in the village."

       "Perhaps I was thinking of something I had just read about. One gets muddled sometimes. But the vicar--or somebody--has been, and there was nearly a dreadful accident. He caught his foot in the hearth rug, but luckily my footstool broke his fall."

       At that moment footsteps descended the stairs. With a feeling that the sounds were horribly familiar, Mrs. Drake hurried into the

       hall, there to discover her nephew, who appeared delighted to be home again upon a thoroughly well earned holiday. "George, I have prayed that you wouldn't do this," she cried.

       "It's all right, Aunt," came the cheery answer. "Though perhaps it was rather silly of me to start work upon a Friday. The railway profession is very much overcrowded just now, and there's not a single vacancy for station-master anywhere. They have put my name on the waiting list, and as soon as there's a job going, they will write and let me know. I am quite content to wait, and I may just as well do it here as in expensive lodgings."

       "How long do you expect to wait?"

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       "Can't tell. It may be a slow business, but it's sure. A station-master told me you may have to wait year after year, but promotion is bound to come at last--if you live long enough."

       "Then you may do nothing for years."

       "I'm not going to take anything; I owe it to my uncle's memory to occupy a respectable position. Still, if I can't get a terminus after

       a few months' waiting, I'll put up with a small junction. Rather than not work at all, I would condescend to act as a mere Inspector,"

       said George with dignity.

       "I wish the vicar would shave off his moustache," Miss Yard murmured. CHAPTER VI

       HONOURABLE INTENTIONS

       Every evening at nine Mrs. Drake drank a cup of coffee. This was a custom of some historical importance, and it originated after the following manner:

       Captain Drake had a great liking for a small glass of whisky and water after his evening pipe; but, during the first few weeks of married life, refrained from divulging this weakness to his wife, who could not understand why he became so restless at the same time every evening. The Captain explained that, when he had finished smoking, he suffered from an incurable longing to arise and walk about the house. Mrs. Drake advised him to take exercise by all means, and the Captain did so, wandering towards the dining room

       at nine o'clock, and returning about ten minutes later in a thoroughly satisfied state of mind. But one evening the lady heard him whisper to the servant, "Water, my child! Water!"--the Captain never could whisper properly--and upon another evening she distinguished the creak of a corkscrew, while every evening she was able to detect a subtle aroma which could not have been introduced as one of the ordinary results of walking about the house.

       "So you are fond of whisky," she said sharply.

       "Well, not exactly fond of it, my dear," stammered the Captain. "Really I don't care for whisky, but I like the feeling it gives me." "I don't like hypocrisy, and I dislike still more the feeling it gives me. In future we will drink together. When you take your glass of

       whisky, I will have a cup of coffee," she replied.

       After the arrival of Miss Yard at Windward House, she too was offered the cup, but declined, as she abhorred coffee. "But it's cocoa," explained Kezia.

       "Why do you call it coffee then?" asked Miss Yard, who had quite enough to perplex her poor brain without this unnecessary dif-

       ficulty.

       "Mrs. Drake used to have coffee once, but, as she never cared for it much, she took to cocoa. She has drunk cocoa for twenty years, but we always call it coffee."

       Bessie and Robert stayed every evening to drink coffee, which was generally cocoa, but sometimes beer. One evening Nellie was so late that Kezia declared she should wait for her no longer. It was Thursday, and Nellie, who sang in the choir, had gone out to attend the weekly practice. Suddenly Robert withdrew his head from a steaming bowl and declared he heard voices in the garden. All listened, and presently Nellie's laughter passed in at the back door, which stood open as the night was warm, but Nellie did not accompany it.

       Robert made a signal to the others, and they tiptoed out like so many conspirators, to discover the young lady enjoying a confidential conversation with somebody else who sang in the choir, and whose voice had been described by the schoolmaster-organist as a promising baritone. It looked as if it was promising then.

       A few minutes later Kezia and Bessie appeared in the parlour, and asked Mrs. Drake if she had any objection to Sidney Brock drinking a cup of coffee.

       "Who is Sidney Brock?" demanded Mrs. Drake, like a learned judge of the King's Bench.

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       "He'm the grandson of Eli Brock, and he sings in the choir."

       Mrs. Drake expressed her approval, but required to know more about the family before she could issue a permit to Sidney entitling him to drink coffee.

       "They'm the new folk to Black Anchor," explained Bessie. "Mr. Brock used to keep a post office, they ses, but it failed, and now

       he'm farming wi' Sidney, and they ha' got no woman, and they took Black Anchor because 'twas to be had vor nothing nearly, and

       'tis wonderful, Robert ses, what a lot they ha' done already."

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