“I can’t ’elp it, Micky. Lovelay b-hird.”
The fourth cup of creamy tea; Harriett’s firm ringed hand; the gleaming serene world; the sunlit flower-filled garden shaded at the far end by the large tree the other side of the fence coming in, one with the room; the sun going to set and bring the evening freshness and rise to-morrow. Twenty-eight leisurely teas, twenty-eight long days; a feeling of strength and drowsiness. Nothing to do but clean the bicycle and pump up the tyres on the lawn, to-morrow. Nothing—after carrying the bicycle from the coal cellar up the area steps and through the house into the Tansley Street back yard. Nothing more but setting out after two nights of sleep in a cool room.
3
“That your machine in the yard, Mirry?”
“Yes; I’ve hired it, thirty bob for the whole month.”
“Well, if you’re going a sixty mile ride on it I advise you to tighten up the nuts a bit.”
“I will if you’ll show me where they are. I’ve got a lovely spanner. Did you look in the wallet?”
“I’ll have a look at it all over if you like.”
“Oh Gerald you saint....”
“Now he’s happy,” said Harriett as Gerald’s white flannelled figure flashed into the sunlight and disappeared through the yard gate.