I had scarcely poured out my tea before Mrs. O’Grady came back in place of Polly.
“The mistress says she’ll not give you the address. The meanness of her. ‘I didn’t know the bullets were there,’ sez she to me, ‘and when they showed them to me I didn’t know what they were.’ ‘I don’t believe you, mum,’ sez I. ‘Not a wink have I slept this night,’ sez she. ‘I was just after settling down when you disturbed me. No one thinks of me. You can just take that pencil back,’ sez she.”
I got up. “Thanks, Mrs. O’Grady, I’ll tackle her myself. I’m going to get that address.”
Mrs. Slaney called “Come in” to my knock. She had prepared a line of defence.
“I’ve been awake thinking of you all night,” she said. “I haven’t closed my eyes. I know it’s a terrible thing for you; but I don’t think we should wire to my son. It can do no good. I’ll just go along this morning and see one or two men I know. Men with wise heads, who will advise us well.”
“What objection have you to wiring to your son? I am sure your son would hate to know his bullets had got two men into difficulties.”
“My son is so highly strung. He was a shell-shock case, and he’s never been the same.”
“My husband was worse than a shell-shock case.”
“If it was a question of that, I would say nothing; but my son has a sprained ankle.”
“A sprained ankle!”