'Who is he?'
'I don't know his name, but he seems so sympathetic. And he says he should be so pleased if he might see you again for a few minutes. He says, too, that you have a good and kind face. I told him that you would be sure to take at least a dozen of those in cream and gold. There's nothing at all vulgar; quite the reverse.'
'What are you talking about, Kate? Who is this sodden old lunatic, and what on earth are you crying for?'
My sister nearly sobbed. 'I always thought that what you derisively termed “mortuary bards” were horrid people, but this old man has a beautiful nature. And he's very wet—and hungry too, I'm sure; and Mary looks at him as if he were a dog. Do try and help him. I think we might get one or two dozen cream and gold cards, and two dozen black-edged.
And then he's a journalist, too. He's told me quite a sad little story of his life struggle, and the moment I told him you were on the Evening News he quite brightened up, and said he knew your name quite well.'
'Kate,' I said, 'I don't want to see the man. What the deuce does he want? If he is one of those loafing scoundrels of undertakers' and mortuary masons' touts, just send him about his business; give him a glass of whisky and tell Mary to clear him out.'
My sister said that to send an old man out in such weather was not like me. Surely I would at least speak a kind word to him.
In sheer desperation I went out to the man. He addressed me in husky tones, and said that he desired to express his deep sympathy with me in my affliction, also that he was 'a member of the Fourth Estate.' Seven years before he had edited the Barangoora News, but his determined opposition to a dishonest Government led to his ruin, and now—
'All right, old man; stow all that. What do you want?'
He looked at me reproachfully, and taking up a small leather bag, said that he represented Messrs ———, 'Monumental Masons and Memorial Card Designers and Printers,' and should feel pleased if I would look at his samples.