“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.
“Now, dear lady,” he said, “take care you don’t slip. Come along.”
Miss Wilson, ignoring the invitation, took a shilling from her purse.
“No, lady,” said Smilash with a virtuous air. “I am an honest man and have never seen the inside of a jail except four times, and only twice for stealing. Your youngest daughter — her with the expressive hi — have paid me far beyond what is proper.”
“I have told you that these young ladies are not my daughters,” said Miss Wilson sharply. “Why do you not listen to what is said to you?”
“Don’t be too hard on a common man, lady,” said Smilash submissively. “The young lady have just given me three ‘arfcrowns.”
“Three half-crowns!” exclaimed Miss Wilson, angered at such extravagance.
“Bless her innocence, she don’t know what is proper to give to a low sort like me! But I will not rob the young lady. ‘Arf-a-crown is no more nor is fair for the job, and arf-a-crown will I keep, if agreeable to your noble ladyship. But I give you back the five bob in trust for her. Have you ever noticed her expressive hi?”
“Nonsense, sir. You had better keep the money now that you have got it.”
“Wot! Sell for five bob the high opinion your ladyship has of me! No, dear lady; not likely. My father’s very last words to me was—”
“You said just now that you were a foundling,” said Fairholme. “What are we to believe? Eh?”
“So I were, sir; but by mother’s side alone. Her ladyship will please to take back the money, for keep it I will not. I am of the lower orders, and therefore not a man of my word; but when I do stick to it, I stick like wax.”
“Take it,” said Fairholme to Miss Wilson. “Take it, of course. Seven and sixpence is a ridiculous sum to give him for what he has done. It would only set him drinking.”
“His reverence says true, lady. The one ‘arfcrown will keep me comfortably tight until Sunday morning; and more I do not desire.”
“Just a little less of your tongue, my man,” said Fairholme, taking the two coins from him and handing them to Miss Wilson, who bade the clergymen good afternoon, and went to the coach under the umbrella.
“If your ladyship should want a handy man to do an odd job up at the college I hope you will remember me,” Smilash said as they went down the slope.
“Oh, you know who I am, do you?” said Miss Wilson drily.
“All the country knows you, Miss, and worships you. I have few equals as a coiner, and if you should require a medal struck to give away for good behavior or the like, I think I could strike one to your satisfaction. And if your ladyship should want a trifle of smuggled lace—”
“You had better be careful or you will get into trouble, I think,” said Miss Wilson sternly. “Tell him to drive on.”
The vehicles started, and Smilash took the liberty of waving his hat after them. Then he returned to the chalet, left the umbrella within, came out again, locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and walked off through the rain across the hill without taking the least notice of the astonished parsons.
In the meantime Miss Wilson, unable to contain her annoyance at Agatha’s extravagance, spoke of it to the girls who shared the coach with her. But Jane declared that Agatha only possessed threepence in the world, and therefore could not possibly have given the man thirty times that sum. When they reached the college, Agatha, confronted with Miss Wilson, opened her eyes in wonder, and exclaimed, laughing: “I only gave him threepence. He has sent me a present of four and ninepence!”
CHAPTER IV
Saturday at Alton College, nominally a half holiday, was really a whole one. Classes in gymnastics, dancing, elocution, and drawing were held in the morning. The afternoon was spent at lawn tennis, to which lady guests resident in the neighborhood were allowed to bring their husbands, brothers, and fathers — Miss Wilson being anxious to send her pupils forth into the world free from the uncouth stiffness of schoolgirls unaccustomed to society.
Late in October came a Saturday which proved anything but a holiday for Miss Wilson. At half-past one, luncheon being over, she went out of doors to a lawn that lay between the southern side of the college and a shrubbery. Here she found a group of girls watching Agatha and Jane, who were dragging a roller over the grass. One of them, tossing a ball about with her racket, happened to drive it into the shrubbery, whence, to the surprise of the company, Smilash presently emerged, carrying the ball, blinking, and proclaiming that, though a common man, he had his feelings like another, and that his eye was neither a stick nor a stone. He was dressed as before, but his garments, soiled with clay and lime, no longer looked new.
“What brings you here, pray?” demanded Miss Wilson.
“I was led into the belief that you sent for me, lady,” he replied. “The baker’s lad told me so as he passed my ‘umble cot this morning. I thought he were incapable of deceit.”
“That is quite right; I did send for you. But why did you not go round to the servants’ hall?”
“I am at present in search of it, lady. I were looking for it when this ball cotch me here” (touching his eye). “A cruel blow on the hi’ nat’rally spires its vision and expression and makes a honest man look like a thief.”
“Agatha,” said Miss Wilson, “come here.”
“My dooty to you, Miss,” said Smilash, pulling his forelock.
“This is the man from whom I