Rogues and Vagabonds. George R. Sims

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CHAPTER V. MISS DUCK HAS A WORD TO SAY.

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      Mr. Duck was at breakfast one morning in his eight-roomed house at Dalston, and his revered sister, Miss Georgina, was pouring out the first cup of tea in the pot for him, and selecting the worst piece of bacon and the most suspicious-looking egg from the dish before her. Having jerked these delicacies on to his plate, and thus ensured the survival of the fittest, she proceeded to help herself to the remainder.

      ‘Jabez,’ said Miss Georgina suddenly, ‘some day you will die!’

      ‘Lor’, Georgie, don’t!’ exclaimed Jabez, bolting a particularly cindery piece of bacon, and thereby nearly bringing his sister’s prophecy off there and then.

      When he had coughed and choked and increased in shininess from ten to thirty candle power, he gradually recovered, and, polishing his perspiring face with a large red handkerchief, proceeded to expostulate with Georgina on the impropriety of talking of death to a man with his mouth full.

      ‘You are a weak-minded idiot, Jabez!’ answered the lady. ‘All men are. Do you imagine that you won’t die?’

      ‘No, my dear; of course not. Only, why remind me of an unpleasant fact just when I’m having my breakfast?’

      ‘Because it is only at breakfast I see you, and I think you ought to make your will while you are in a sound state of mind. You’ve changed lately, brother Jabez—changed very much for the worse. You don’t come home to tea, and you have ceased to take me into your confidence.’

      ‘Nonsense, my dear!’ stammered Mr. Duck, going very red. ‘A little business has detained me the last night or two, I confess, but——’

      ‘Jabez Duck, you’re deceiving me. You’re making a fool of yourself.’

      ‘Georgina—really, upon my word——’

      ‘Hold your tongue. I’ve looked after you and managed your house for more than twenty years, and I’m not going to desert you now. I will protect you against designing minxes with the last drop of my blood.’

      Miss Duck waved her teaspoon in the air at an imaginary minx, and brought it down on her cup with a clang, as though she were striking her shield with a sword, and inviting the foes of Jabez Duck to come on.

      Jabez grew very uncomfortable, and fidgeted about on his chair. The eagle eye of Georgina was reading his soul. He knew it was. He felt that the name of Susan Turvey was written on his guilty brow, and that Georgina was spelling it out.

      He plucked up a little determination, and inquired, in a quavering voice, if his sister would kindly drop conundrums and come to the point.

      Yes, she would come to the point. There was an old frump of a housekeeper at Mr. Egerton’s—that was the point.

      ‘Oh, indeed!’ said Jabez. ‘And pray who has been telling you this fine cock-and-bull story?’

      ‘You yourself,’ answered Miss Georgina triumphantly.

      Herewith she put her hand into her pocket, and drew forth a crumpled piece of paper, which she handed to him.

      ‘I found this in your trousers pocket.’

      Jabez rose in wrath. The cloud on his brow quite obscured the skin for a moment.

      ‘Georgina, you’ve no business at my trousers pockets! It’s—dash it—it’s embezzlement!’

      Miss Duck laughed, an irritating, satirical little laugh, and, seizing the piece of paper which her brother held in his hand, she spread it out and read it aloud.

      ‘Dear Mrs. Turvey—may I say Susan?—Dr. Birnie tells me, my own, you are progressing favourably, and may see visitors in a week’s time. I count the hours. As the poet says:—

      ‘ “Thou wert all the world to me, love,

      For which my soul did pine;

      A green isle in the sea, love,

      To be your valentine.”

      Oh, Susan, when reason returns, and health mantles your cheek once more, may I hope that you will grant the prayer of your ever-devoted Jabez?’

      ‘Give it to me!’ shrieked Mr. Duck, making a violent effort to seize his crumpled billet-doux.

      ‘Certainly,’ said Miss Georgina, tossing it contemptuously across the table to her brother, who tore it into fragments, and jumped upon it.

      ‘How dare you, Georgina?’ he exclaimed—how dare you interfere with my business? It’s a crime to steal a letter. You could be prosecuted by the Postmaster-General.’

      ‘Postmaster fiddlestick! I hope you didn’t send any sane woman such twaddle as that, Jabez.’

      ‘No, I didn’t; I thought better of it,’ stammered Mr. Duck.

      ‘That’s nothing. It wasn’t a copy of a letter at all. It was an exercise of the imagination, that’s all.’

      ‘Well, don’t leave your exercises in your pockets, Jabez.’

      ‘I’ll empty my pockets, Georgina—rely on that. Never do you have another coat or waistcoat of mine to brush till it’s been searched as if it were a shoplifter brought into the police station. Give me my hat and coat. I’m going. Good morning, Georgina.’

      Mr. Jabez burst out of the room in a towering passion. He brushed his hat the wrong way and quite took the shine off it; and when he jumped up on the box seat of his regular omnibus, there was so little shine in his face that the driver looked round to see if there was any fog about.

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