The Essential G. B. Shaw: Celebrated Plays, Novels, Personal Letters, Essays & Articles. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ air for some moments. Then he turned to Agatha, and replied humbly: “The Lord only knows, Miss. It is not for a common man like me to say.”

      Silence ensued, during which Agatha, furtively scrutinizing the tenant of the chalet, noticed that his face and neck were cleaner and less sunburnt than those of the ordinary toilers of Lyvern. His hands were hidden by large gardening gloves stained with coal dust. Lyvern laborers, as a rule, had little objection to soil their hands; they never wore gloves. Still, she thought, there was no reason why an eccentric workman, insufferably talkative, and capable of an allusion to the pen of the poet, should not indulge himself with cheap gloves. But then the silk, silvermounted umbrella —

      “The young lady’s hi,” he said suddenly, holding out the umbrella, “is fixed on this here. I am well aware that it is not for the lowest of the low to carry a gentleman’s brolly, and I ask your ladyship’s pardon for the liberty. I come by it accidental-like, and should be glad of a reasonable offer from any gentleman in want of a honest article.”

      As he spoke two gentlemen, much in want of the article, as their clinging wet coats showed, ran through the gateway and made for the chalet. Fairholme arrived first, exclaiming: “Fearful shower!” and briskly turned his back to the ladies in order to stand at the edge of the veranda and shake the water out of his hat. Josephs came next, shrinking from the damp contact of his own garments. He cringed to Miss Wilson, and hoped that she had escaped a wetting.

      “So far I have,” she replied. “The question is, how are we to get home?”

      “Oh, it’s only a shower,” said Josephs, looking up cheerfully at the unbroken curtain of cloud. “It will clear up presently.”

      “It ain’t for a common man to set up his opinion again’ a gentleman wot have profesh’nal knowledge of the heavens, as one may say,” said the man, “but I would ‘umbly offer to bet my umbrellar to his wideawake that it don’t cease raining this side of seven o’clock.”

      “That man lives here,” whispered Miss Wilson, “and I suppose he wants to get rid of us.”

      “H’m!” said Fairholme. Then, turning to the strange laborer with the air of a person not to be trifled with, he raised his voice, and said: “You live here, do you, my man?”

      “I do, sir, by your good leave, if I may make so bold.”

      “What’s your name?”

      “Jeff Smilash, sir, at your service.”

      “Where do you come from?”

      “Brixtonbury, sir.”

      “Brixtonbury! Where’s that?”

      “Well, sir, I don’t rightly know. If a gentleman like you, knowing jography and such, can’t tell, how can I?”

      “You ought to know where you were born, man. Haven’t you got common sense?”

      “Where could such a one as me get common sense, sir? Besides, I was only a foundling. Mebbe I warn’s born at all.”

      “Did I see you at church last Sunday?”

      “No, sir. I only come o’ Wensday.”

      “Well, let me see you there next Sunday,” said Fairholme shortly, turning away from him.

      Miss Wilson looked at the weather, at Josephs, who was conversing with Jane, and finally at Smilash, who knuckled his forehead without waiting to be addressed.

      “Have you a boy whom you can send to Lyvern to get us a conveyance — a carriage? I will give him a shilling for his trouble.”

      “A shilling!” said Smilash joyfully. “Your ladyship is a noble lady. Two four-wheeled cabs. There’s eight on you.”

      “There is only one cab in Lyvern,” said Miss Wilson. “Take this card to Mr. Marsh, the jotmaster, and tell him the predicament we are in. He will send vehicles.”

      Smilash took the card and read it at a glance. He then went into the chalet. Reappearing presently in a sou’wester and oilskins, he ran off through the rain and vaulted over the gate with ridiculous elegance. No sooner had he vanished than, as often happens to remarkable men, he became the subject of conversation.

      “A decent workman,” said Josephs. “A well-mannered man, considering his class.”

      “A born fool, though,” said Fairholme.

      “Or a rogue,” said Agatha, emphasizing the suggestion by a glitter of her eyes and teeth, whilst her schoolfellows, rather disapproving of her freedom, stood stiffly dumb. “He told Miss Wilson that he had a sister, and that he had been to church last Sunday, and he has just told you that he is a foundling, and that he only came last Wednesday. His accent is put on, and he can read, and I don’t believe he is a workman at all. Perhaps he is a burglar, come down to steal the college plate.”

      “Agatha,” said Miss Wilson gravely, “you must be very careful how you say things of that kind.”

      “But it is so obvious. His explanation about the umbrella was made up to disarm suspicion. He handled it and leaned on it in a way that showed how much more familiar it was to him than that new spade he was so anxious about. And all his clothes are new.”

      “True,” said Fairholme, “but there is not much in all that. Workmen nowadays ape gentlemen in everything. However, I will keep an eye on him.”

      “Oh, thank you so much,” said Agatha. Fairholme, suspecting mockery, frowned, and Miss Wilson looked severely at the mocker. Little more was said, except as to the chances — manifestly small — of the rain ceasing, until the tops of a cab, a decayed mourning coach, and three dripping hats were seen over the hedge. Smilash sat on the box of the coach, beside the driver. When it stopped, he alighted, reentered the chalet without speaking, came out with the umbrella, spread it above Miss Wilson’s head, and said:

      “Now, if your ladyship will come with me, I will see you dry into the stray, and then I’ll bring your honored nieces one by one.”

      “I shall come last,” said Miss Wilson, irritated by his assumption that the party was a family one. “Gertrude, you had better go first.”

      “Allow me,” said Fairholme, stepping forward, and attempting to take the umbrella.

      “Thank you, I shall not trouble you,” she said frostily, and tripped away over the oozing field with Smilash, who held the umbrella over her with ostentatious solicitude. In the same manner he led the rest to the vehicles, in which they packed themselves with some difficulty. Agatha, who came last but one, gave him threepence.

      “You have a noble ‘art and an expressive hi, Miss,” he said, apparently much moved. “Blessings on both! Blessings on both!”

      He went back for Jane, who slipped on the wet grass and fell. He had to put forth his strength as he helped her to rise. “Hope you ain’t sopped up much of the rainfall, Miss,” he said. “You are a fine young lady for your age. Nigh on twelve stone, I should think.”

      She reddened and hurried to the cab, where Agatha was. But it was full; and Jane, much against her will, had to get into the coach, considerably diminishing the space left for Miss Wilson, to whom Smilash had returned.

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