‘It’s mother’s fancy on a Sunday,’ George apologised.
‘You know your father can’t abear it,’ said Mrs Malpas, but the old man, who usually woke up when his name was mentioned, did not hear her, being busy with a paper packet of snuff.
When she began to clear the table, George returned gallantly to the subject of their visit. ‘What about this chap’s lodging?’ he asked.
‘It’s no good asking me, George. I’ve told you once.’
‘You can give him a bed till Tuesday while he’s looking round, mother.’
She shook her head positively. ‘I’ve got to clean things up between now and Tuesday. Besides, there’s two of them.’
‘Don’t you trouble yourself about the other,’ said George. ‘He’s gone off with one of our gang. This is a nice, steady chap. . .’
But Mrs Malpas did not budge. ‘Your father wouldn’t hear of it,’ she said finally. By this time she had cleared away the dinner things, taken off her apron and placed a family Bible with a blue silk marker on the table. Mr Malpas had settled back in his chair by the hearth with a snuffy handkerchief over his head.
‘Just for two days,’ said George.
‘George, ’tis no good.’