And, after that, he successfully introduced some farmyard mimicry, and then got well away with card tricks. Appreciative, and even enthusiastic, were Mr. Lock’s audience, and none was more enthusiastic or appreciative than the plump, fresh-faced little landlord of the “Royal William.” Not once, nor twice, but thrice, did he pay tribute to Mr. Lock’s powers in the medium most gratifying to that artist, and his flow of hospitality ceased only when a big and stern-visaged lady came presently and stood behind the bar at his side. And, thereafter, the licensee of the “Royal William” took, as it were, but a furtive and subsidiary interest in Mr. Lock’s entertainment; while the lady eyed the performance with a cold hostility which was inimical to true art.
And whether it was that Mr. Lock grew a little flustered under her malign regard, or whether it was that he sought to sting the landlord into revolt against domestic oppression, the fact remains that he began to intersperse his card tricks with humorous, but inflammatory, remarks bearing on the subject of domineering wives and too submissive husbands.
It is possible that the landlord of the “Royal William” derived amusement from these sallies. Certainly his eyes gleamed at each thrust, and more than once he turned away to conceal a grin, but he was too craven to exhibit open hilarity at Mr. Lock’s satires. The landlady, however, did not hesitate to betray her feelings in the matter, and thus it was that, at the tail of an amusing anecdote of domestic tyranny, Mr. Lock found himself confronted with a stern and acidulated request to sit down and keep quiet unless he wished to find himself in trouble.
Mr. Lock, a little nonplussed, glanced at the landlord to enlist his support. The landlord’s gaze was apologetic but unhelpful. Mr. Lock looked around among his admirers, but their demeanour had become absent and constrained. Mr. Lock turned and regarded Mr. Tridge; Mr. Tridge was wrapped in his own sable meditations. Pettishly, Mr. Lock flung down the pack of cards and sulked in a corner.
The landlady, having thus suppressed unwelcome propaganda, indulged in a tight-lipped smile of triumph, and began a rinsing of glasses. The hush deepened in the room, developing an atmosphere which brought Mr. Lock back to remembrance of his own insecure position in the world, and this was rendered still more discomforting by what followed. For an amiable gentleman in a check coat, after twice clearing his throat, sought to re-establish light conversation, and asked the landlord whether there was yet any news of Ted.
“I had a letter from him,” answered the landlord, coming out of a sort of thoughtful trance.
“Thanking you for all the kindnesses you’ve showed him, I lay,” hazarded the checkered gentleman.
“No,” returned the landlord, slowly. “’E only asked me to send on after him a pair of boots he’d left behind for mendin’.”
“Fancy bothering about boots!” marvelled the other. “If my uncle died and left me a greengrocery shop—”
“And a nice little business, too, by all accounts,” struck in an individual in a mackintosh.