“Oh-h-h-h!” she sobbed, “oh-h-h! oh-h-h-h! Bunty!” She laughed and sobbed and laughed again.
This extraordinary scene went on for two or three minutes; then the manager recovered his wits and began to storm, and Martha, still wearing an [141] ]expression of stupefaction, made her way to the group.
Malcolm, after an expressive shoulder shrug, returned to his sucking pig, which he was enjoying immensely.
“[POPPET FLUNG UP HER ARMS, AND WITH A WILD, PIERCING SHRIEK FLEW ACROSS THE ROOM.]”
“There’s nothing them kids could do as ’ud surprise me,” he said, as he took a fresh supply of mustard and settled down again.
He had known the family for seven years, so the remark was not unjustifiable. Martha had withdrawn to a back room with the manager. She explained that his young waiter was the son of a gentleman; [142] ]she gave him Captain Woolcot’s address that he might be reimbursed for the breakages.
“But ’owever he got ’ere, so help me, I can’t imagine,” she said. “Why, he’s in America.” She put out her hand to touch the lad and feel if he were real flesh and blood, the evidence of her senses could not be accredited. “It’s really you, is it?” she said slowly.
But Bunty did not answer; he seemed half stupefied, and was standing perfectly still, while Poppet sobbed and asked questions and clung to him.
Such a tall, gaunt boy he had grown. His face was thin and sharp, there was a look of silent suffering in his eyes and round his lips, his clothes hung loosely on him, and were threadbare to the last degree.