Replied my mother, stiffly: “I don't ever mean to know him.” But it is only concerning the past that we possess knowledge.
The riot from below ceased at length, and was followed by a new voice, speaking quietly and emphatically, and then we heard the doctor's step again upon the stairs.
My mother held her purse open in her hand, and as the man entered the room she went forward to meet him.
“How much do we owe you, Doctor?” said my mother. She spoke in a voice trembling with severity.
He closed the purse and gently pushed it back towards her.
“A glass of beer and a chop, Mrs. Kelver,” he answered, “which I am coming back in an hour to cook for myself. And as you will be without any servant,” he continued, while my mother stood staring at him incapable of utterance, “you had better let me cook some for you at the same time. I am an expert at grilling chops.”
“But, really, Doctor—” my mother began. He laid his huge hand upon her shoulder, and my mother sat down upon the nearest chair.
“My dear lady,” he said, “she's a person you never ought to have had inside your house. She's promised me to be gone in half an hour, and I'm coming back to see she keeps her word. Give her a month's wages, and have a clear fire ready for me.” And before my mother could reply, he had slammed the front door.
“What a very odd sort of a man,” said my mother, recovering herself.
“He's a character,” said my father; “you might not think it, but he's worshipped about here.”