His coarseness jarred every nerve, but she kept to his key of jocosity. “Didn’t you say he had brass?”
“He, he, he!” he cackled. “But it’s the wrong kind o’ brass. Ef he wanted to be a pardner, why dedn’t he come when he had his coach and hosses?”
“He did. Don’t you remember?”
“Did he?” he said blankly. “Then why dedn’t Oi take ’em?”
“That was all my fault, Gran’fer.”
“No, it warn’t, dearie. It was ’cause he said Oi’d made muddles. Oi remember now. He come and swabbled, and chucked a pot at me. And he’s got to goo down on his hands and knees for it!”
Jinny saw it was hopeless to unravel these blended memories of Will and Elijah, as grotesquely interwoven as one of her own nightmares, on whose formation it seemed to throw light. She was glad, though, that the sharp edges of the actuality had now faded.
“Yes, yes—he shall,” she promised soothingly.
“And then there was that weddin’-cake what Mr. Flippance sent us,” burst up now from the labouring depths.
“Yes—wasn’t that a lovely cake?” she agreed.