"You must go and see him!" he rapped out almost imperiously—"yourself—this evening—after work—at 6.30—to the minute." He would be praying at that hour.
Ruth, who was fighting for her life now, went.
Mr. Pigott, at the window, saw her coming.
"Here she comes," he murmured. "O dear me! You women, you know, you're the curse of my life. I'd be a good and happy man only for you."
Mrs Pigott was giggling at his elbow.
"She'll get round you, all right, my son," she said. "She'll roll you up in two ticks till you're just a little round ball of nothing in particular, and then gulp you down."
"She won't!" the other answered truculently. "You don't know me!" And he swaggered masterfully away to meet the foe.
Mrs. Pigott proved, of course, right.
Ruth's simplicity and beauty were altogether too much for the susceptible old man. He put up no real fight at all; but after a little bluff and bounce surrendered unconditionally with a good many loud words to salve his conscience and cover his defeat.
"It's only postponing the evil day, I'm afraid," he said; but he agreed to take the sinner back at a lower wage to do a more menial job—if he'd come.