They fell upon Wiggie in a body after that, and clumped him heavily on the back until he gasped, and told him it was “champion” and “reet as a bobbin,” and “fit to beat Holliday’s Royal bull!” until Bluecaster had to rescue him by giving the final toast, “To our next merry meeting!” drunk by Brack with shaking lips. Old Simon presented an unsolicited testimonial.
“There’s them as can sing an’ waint sing!” he pronounced emphatically, with a scathing eye on Brack, “an’ the de’il tak’ ’em fur a lock o’ snirpin’ dew-nowts! An’ theer’s them as can’t sing an’ dew sing—an’ neea thanks tull them, neyther—but niver did I hear the likes o’ yon!”
Lanty shook the singer by the hand, and said, “Miss Shaw will be pleased to hear of this, anyhow!” with nothing in his voice but the heartiest liking, and Wiggie met it instantly. There was never again between them a shadow of any kind.
At the door, Harriet waited in the float. It was already dark. The short January day was over, and as Wiggie shoved Stubbs up the step, he was glad that he could not see her face. A moment later, gathering that the kindred object was already fast asleep, he asked for a lift home, but Harriet suspected him and snapped refusal. “It’s a long way to walk!” he remonstrated sadly, and so convincingly that she yielded, thinking he meant to try. Holding on to Stubbs as they trotted steadily through the dark, he asked suddenly why she had come herself instead of sending the man.
“Because this is my job, in spite of Hamer!” she answered abruptly. “I’ve got to see Stubbs through, whatever he does. He’s only a poor exhibit as a father, but he’s all I’m likely to have, and if he chooses to drink himself to death it’s up to me to stand the racket.” She pulled into the hedge. “Isn’t that the Watters car?”
“It’s so difficult to tell, at night,” the subtle Wiggie made innocent reply, all the time knowing the note of it as well as the sound of his own voice. But what he did not know was that, inside it, was Dandy, come to fetch him in an idle moment. That disappointment had yet to be revealed. Thus is the spilt wine of our good deeds made bitter as waters of Marah.
Lup walked over to drive the old man home. Lancaster had a word with him on the kerb.
“You might have given us a look-in, for the last time! When next January comes round, you’ll be feeling sorry you didn’t. When do you leave?”
“In another few weeks, sir. I’ll be stopping a while with an uncle in Liverpool before sailing. I’d meant to go, if I’d had to work my passage, but the old man’s seen to the brass. There’ll be plenty to start me on the other side an’ all. When he’d once given in, he wasn’t for stinting me. He’s hard, but he’s not unjust, and he knows I’ve earned it all right.”