It was nearly six o’clock before Bridgy came to the shop with a tray in her hands. She was followed by Affy, the young gentleman from the grocery department, who carried a loaf of bread and a pot of jam. Mr. Goddard and Susy Lizzie began a comfortable meal together. They were interrupted twice by telegrams from Dublin, but they did not allow these to trouble them much. A very much more serious interruption was caused by a breathless whisper from Affy to the effect that four ladies were entering the shop. Mr. Goddard, carrying his teacup with him, concealed himself behind a screen of muffed glass, originally erected by the post-office authorities in order that letters might be sorted out of sight of the public.
“Susy Lizzie,” he whispered, “run like a good girl and get your uncle. Tell him that the ladies are here, and that he’ll have to come at once and pacify them.”
Susy Lizzie ran. She was enjoying her afternoon immensely. The monotony of her life was seldom broken in any way half so agreeable.
“If the thing is to be done, I’ll do it,” said Jimmy, when he received the message.
He left his bar and went into the shop. He faced Miss Farquharson, who was asking Affy where Mr. Goddard was likely to be found.
“I was thinking, my lady,” said Jimmy, “that maybe you’d be wanting a bit of supper. What would you say now to a chop, or a couple of rashers and some eggs? I could have them got for you in a minute.”
“I want Mr. Goddard, the police officer,” said Miss Blow, who stood beside the post-office counter.
“Wouldn’t it be better for you now,” said Jimmy, turning to her, “to be eating your supper quietly instead of rampaging about the town frightening the wits out of a poor man that’s doing his best for you? Come now, sure I’m old enough to be your father, and I know what’s good for you. It’s moidered you are with the trouble that’s on you, and there isn’t one in the place but is sorry for you and for all the rest of the ladies this night. But what’s the good of making yourselves sick over it, and tormenting the officer? If they’re gone, they’re gone, and all the talking in the world won’t bring them back to you.”
“Man——” said Miss Blow.
“Look at poor Susan Devlin,” said Jimmy, “she’s lost a husband as well as the rest of you, and barring that she might be crying an odd time when she’d be thinking of him, she’s as quiet as a lamb. Why can’t you behave yourselves like her? I’m not setting up to teach ladies like yourselves what ought to be and what ought not, but I’d say myself that the men that would run away from yez, from the like of yez”—he spoke with a smile that was meant to flatter—“isn’t worth looking after.”