“Is that Mr William Revitts,” I asked, “the policeman?”
“Yes; but he wouldn’t come down here as a policeman, but as a gentleman, and he’d soon teach Mr Blakeford what he ought to—Yes! What is it?”
This was in answer to a shrill call for Mary in Mrs Blakeford’s voice, and that lady came in immediately after, to Mary’s great disgust.
“You must get hot water ready directly, Mary,” she began in an ill-used way. “I’m sure I don’t know what I shall do. He’s very bad indeed.”
“Oh, there’s lots of hot water,” said Mary shortly. “Biler’s full, and kettle’s full, and I’ll put on the great black saucepan and light the copper if you like.”
As she spoke Mary seized the big poker, and began stoking and hammering away at the fire in a most vicious manner, as if determined to vent her spleen upon Mr Blakeford’s coals.
“Your poor master’s dreadfully bad,” said Mrs Blakeford again, and she kept on looking at me in a way that seemed quite to indicate that I alone was to blame.
“Oh, yes, mum, I dessay he is, and so’s other people too, and wuss. I dessay he’ll get better again if he don’t die.”
Mrs Blakeford stared at Mary in a half-terrified way, and backed to the door.
“You ring the bell when you want it, and I’ll bring you a can of water upstairs,” continued Mary ungraciously.