CHAPTER X.
[EXIT MANUEL.]
During the last few days there had been great changes in the interior of the manse. The worn-out matting was renewed, and the squatter spider expelled from the corner where he had long revelled in security. The tumble-down sofa was condemned, and a comfortable lounge took its place. Everywhere there was a look of freshness. All day long there was the sound of hammering and cleaning up. Halsa and Mrs. Bunny personally superintended the reformation. Galbraith was willing enough to help, but he had no "hands," and was therefore relegated to his study. But with Manuel it was different. For the first time in his life Manuel realized what work was, and he was profoundly convinced that he and true labour would never agree. It was not enough that he had been called upon to clean and scrub, to hew wood and draw water, but insult was added to injury by Mrs. Bunny inquiring into the arrangements of the menage.
"Two bags of sugar a month!" said that excellent woman, holding up her hands in despair; "why, if it were all used, the man must be a lollipop shop inside."
"Who keeps the keys?" asked Halsa. She was halfway up a ladder, a small hammer in her hand. Manuel stood at the foot of the ladder holding it firmly with one hand, so that it should not slip, while with the other he held out at arm's length a plate full of tin tacks. The position was strained and unpleasant. "Who keeps the keys? Oh!" she shrieked, "how sharp those nails are!" and she drew back her fingers smartly and began to examine their tips. To one of them a tack was clinging. Halsa hastily descended, and Mrs. Bunny removed the offending tack. It left a small blue mark on the finger tip. In the meanwhile Manuel remained silent. He had no intention of replying to the question, and his yellow eyes glistened with pleasure at the little accident, which had apparently called away attention from an embarrassing inquiry. But Manuel was mistaken, for when Halsa had examined the mark for a moment, and was satisfied that it was only a prick, she returned again to the charge and repeated her question.
"I keep keys," replied Manuel sulkily.
"I told you so, Halsa," said Mrs. Bunny, waving a damp duster in the air. Mrs. Bunny had not mentioned the fact, but it was a little weakness of hers to refer to former prophecies after a thing had happened.
"Never mind," Halsa said, "you couldn't expect John to look after these things." There was a sense of proprietorship in her tone that was delightful to Galbraith, who had come in to see how things were going on, and had been an unobserved witness of the scene. Halsa was looking very pretty. Her arms were bare up to the elbows, and there was a bright flush on her cheeks. The brown hair, usually neatly braided, had become a little disarranged, and curled in an unruly manner over her forehead. Mrs. Bunny suddenly remembered that there was something to do in the study, and Manuel, ever watchful for an opportunity to escape, laid down the plate of tacks and vanished noiselessly. Galbraith glanced round him, and then his arm stole forth. Halsa avoided the caress by stepping back, and asked him how he thought the room looked.
"I never thought it could look so well," he replied, and he spoke truly. The magic of feminine hands had changed the cheerless-looking room into a bright, cosy chamber. It was not that the things were valuable; fifty pounds might have covered the cost of everything, except the American harmonium, which stood where the fireplace ought to have been. All the effect lay in the nameless power of arrangement which only a woman possesses--a touch here--a touch there--and the thing is done.
"I am glad you like it," said Halsa, as she stepped nearer to Galbraith. "See how I've hurt my finger;" and she held the wounded member up for inspection.
John took the small hand in his, and looked at the blue mark on her finger tip. It was hardly perceptible. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face as he kissed the little fingers tenderly, and then, drawing Halsa closer to him, kissed her once more on the lips--she nothing resisting now.
Mrs. Bunny's discreet cough in the next room warned them of her impending return, and when the good lady came in Halsa had once more mounted the ladder. When she had finished her work she came down, and they all took a final survey of their labour, and were pleased by it. Then Manuel was recalled from the back of the house, where he was employed in solacing his feelings with a native cigarette, and cursing his existence in the patois of Goa.
A few orders were given to him with regard to clearing up some débris, and then the party, including Galbraith, went into the hall, where the ladies put on their hats, and, escorted by the pastor, returned home. The whole home party of the Bunnys, except Eddy, were to dine at the manse that night with Galbraith, and he was nervously anxious about the success of the entertainment.
Manuel watched them as they went down the road. He shook his fist after the retreating figures.
"Oh, yes!" he said, "Manuel this and Manuel that--Manuel light fire--light lamps--clean house--make fuss-class dinner--Sancta Maria! what Manuel not do!--Iyoo!" He crossed himself fervently, and went on--"Missus come--missus want keep keys--Manuel not a dog--Jesu!" he exclaimed, "there is that accursed goat among the new flowers." He hastened out of the door, drove the milch goat to the back of the house, and fastened her up securely.
Then, coming back, he conscientiously carried out the final instructions given him--picking up the litter of cotton and tags of hangings which lay on the floor, and when this was over made his way to the kitchen, where he exercised all his skill in superintending the preparation of a "fuss-class dinner."
Two things were a matter of regret to him: one that he was not sufficiently skilled to write out a menu card, but this he hoped to arrange with the assistance of Pedro Pinto's son, who attended the school attached to the monastery of St. Vincent de Paul; the other was that there were to be no wines, for both host and guests were teetotallers, and the drinking of wine or spirits in any form, unless medicinally prescribed, was regarded as a deadly sin.
Galbraith came out of his study a little before dinner-time to see how things were. Manuel was not there, and it seemed as if some unseen hand had set the table, had arranged that oddly pretty pattern of leaves on the snowy table-cloth, and placed that bouquet of fresh fuchsias beside the plate where Halsa was to sit.
Galbraith himself looked years younger. He glanced about him with a satisfied air, and then going back into his study, waited impatiently for the sound of wheels to tell him that his guests had come. Punctual to the moment Mr. Bunny's brownberry came up. Galbraith stepped up to the door of the carriage, and helped out Mrs. Bunny and Halsa, the latter giving his hand a little squeeze. Mr. Bunny emerged last of all, a pile of wraps on his arm, and, after directing the coachman to return at precisely ten o'clock, followed his wife and Halsa Lamport into the house. They all assembled in the cosy little parlour, and in a few minutes Manuel came in. He whispered something to Galbraith, and then slipped out again. He had conveyed thus mysteriously the announcement that dinner was ready. They all went in without any ceremony; the ladies first, the men behind. Grace was, of course, said, but Galbraith took care that it should not be unnecessarily long. The dinner was excellent, and full justice was done to the meal. Manuel attempted to make up for the want of a written menu, that picaroon boy of Pinto's not having come to write it as arranged, by calling out the names of the dishes.
"Krab cutlit, sar," he said, as he thrust the delicacy before Mr. Bunny. "Prong curry, madam--berry good," and he held the dish for Mrs. Bunny. Galbraith, however, interfered, much to Manuel's disappointment. He made up, however, for this by the air with which he filled the tumblers with water--the grand butler serving Louis Quatorze could not have done it with a better manner. At last it was all over; Mr. Bunny ate his last walnut, and washed it with a better manner. At last it was all and played patience; then there was a little talking, and precisely at ten the carriage came. Mr. Bunny could not be induced to stay a moment later. There was much hand-shaking, and a kiss for Halsa, soberly given in the Bunnys' presence by Galbraith, and received by the widow with becoming modesty. When they had gone Galbraith lit a pipe, and, opening an old volume of Ingram, set himself out for an hour's read. He was interrupted by a cough, and, looking up, saw Manuel in front of him.
Manuel shifted a clean white napkin from one hand to another, and asked, "Dinner good, sar----yyerything praper?"
"Yes, indeed, Manuel; I am very much pleased with you."
"Thank you, sar," and Manuel bowed; "but, sar, I come for leave."
"Leave, Manuel?--do you mean to say you want to go?"
"Yessar--missus come, and yverything spile--missus keep keys--missus take account--missus measure out sugar--tea--work too much. My mother also dead in Goa, and I want leave."
Galbraith looked at him. "But I will increase your pay."
"No, sar; all pay same like to Manuel when in service, but when missus come--I no stay. My mother berry ill."
Galbraith smiled. "I thought your mother was dead," he said; "but it does not matter, you can go."
Manuel bowed again, and retired.