However, Ethel was not there. And in Melia’s opinion her absence gave a finer flavor to the turkey, a gentler quality to the plum pudding and a more subtle aroma to the blazing fumes that crowned it. Nevertheless, it was a theme for much comment. An Event of the first magnitude was almost due to take place in the family; and the head of it, presiding over the modest feast with a kind of genial majesty which ever-growing public recognition of his unusual qualities seemed to enhance and to humanize, made no secret of the fact that he very much wanted to have a little grandson.
“Well, Josiah,” said the gallant Gerty, adding a little water to some excellent claret and smiling at him with two level rows of white teeth, “I am sure we all hope your wish will be gratified. No man, I’m sure, if I may be allowed to say so, more thoroughly deserves a little grandson than yourself.”
To some minds, perhaps, it was not quite in the Gertrude tradition. It was Christmas Day and in crowning the Christmas pudding Josiah had been a thought on the free side, no doubt, with some of the finest old brandy even the Duke of Wellington could boast; but in any case she meant well. All the same, the Mayoress could not repress a slight frown of annoyance. The demonstration did not amount to more than that. It did not really convict Gerty of bad taste, but Maria felt somehow that she had to watch her continually. Gerty was such a Schemer. Besides, what business was it of Gerty’s anyway?
“Thank you, Gert.” The Mayor raised his glass to the Serpent with the homely charm that was never seen to greater advantage than on Christmas Day in the family circle. “Good health and good luck all round. I must have that little grandson, somehow. Melia, my gel, that’s something for you and your good man to bear in mind.”
Melia flushed. She looked so confused and so unhappy that the watchful Gerty, who with all her ways really spent a good deal of time thinking for others, suddenly perceived that it might be kind to change the subject.
“Josiah,” said Gerty, “what is this one hears about a public presentation to Sally?”
“You may well ask that.” The Mayor held up a glass of ’68 port to the light. “Some of those jockeys on the City Council have been making themselves very officious.”
“Glad to hear it, Josiah.” Gerty was just as pat as your hat. “Think of the honor she’s brought to the city. Surely right and surely proper that what Sally has done should be publicly recognized. Even the Times says she’s a credit to the Empire.”
“All very well,” said his worship. “But it’s nothing like ten years since I used to lay her across my knee and spank her. There was one slipper I kept for the purpose.” With a humorous sigh he converged upon the brim of his wine glass. “But I could never make nothing of that gel. There was always the devil in her. Public presentation’s all very well, but some of those jockeys on the Council have persuaded the Duke to make it, and he’s fair set on my takin’ the chair as I’m Mayor o’ the city and so on.”
“The Duke is such a sensible man!” An arch preen of Gerty’s plumage. “Only right and proper, Josiah, that you should take the chair. The other day, according to the Tribune, the French Government gave her a very high decoration. She’s quite a heroine in Paris.”