“No, mother. He met the doctor’s poodle, but there was no fight.” Minkie was always strictly accurate.
“What a wonder! Anyhow, he is muddy and wet. Ask cook to rub him over with a damp cloth.”
Tibbie, pretending to be asleep, twitched one ear as she saw Dan being led off to the kitchen. “Gnar!” muttered Dan, who hates damp cloths, “wait till I catch you in the garden!” Tibbie just smiled. I must say that cats take life easily; they are given the best of everything, and do nothing. A friend of mine, a regular old stager, who pulls near in the Black Lion bus, tells me that Tibbie’s method is the only way to get on, and he sees a lot of different people at the inn, so he ought to be a bit of a philosopher. “Make other people work for you,” he says. “That’s the ticket; when they bring you chaff tell ’em you must have oats, an’ snap their heads off if they don’t move quick enough. Bless your hoof, they like it. You hear ’em say: ‘There’s blood for you, a born aristocrat, he is,’ an’ they’ll do any mortal thing you want.”
Well, Tibbie curled up like a hedgehog, and listened, because we don’t have many strangers at Dale End. The talk turned on Ostend—no, it’s as true as I’m standing on four legs, but the very first place mentioned had an “end” in it—where the Old Man and Mam and Dorothy had been in the summer. Minkie had measles, or something spotty, so she was forbidden to travel, and we had a ripping July all to ourselves. Eclipse wasn’t in it; why, I had beer every day. They met Mr. Schwartz at Ostend, it seems, and he took such a fancy to Dolly that he wanted to marry her straight off. She wouldn’t do that, even if Mam and the Guv’nor were agreeable, but she had not heard from Jack for ages, and Schwartz was really very attentive, besides being tremendously rich. Now, we at Dale End find it difficult to pay the hay and corn bills, so you see that a wealthy son-in-law would be what the sale catalogues call “a desirable acquisition.”
I have heard a lot of people in the village say that Dolly is so pretty she ought to make a good match. When she did a skirt dance at the Cottage Hospital Bazaar, the local paper spoke of her as “the beautiful Miss Grosvenor.” She pretended to be very angry about that, but Tibbie says she bought a dozen papers and sent them to her girl friends, so the rest of the report must have been suitable. I suppose she is all right for a grownup. For my part, I prefer Minkie, who has a yellow mane, and blue eyes, and freckles. She is as straight as a soldier, and has small hands and feet, and the loveliest brown legs.... Eh, what? Well, say stockings, then, but when I took first prize and the cup for the best hackney in the show, everybody admired my legs; so why not Minkie’s?
Anyhow, by the time tea was served, Schwartz had further established himself in Mam’s good graces. He was a clever chap in his way, and he could say the right thing to women occasionally, and he was wise enough not to bother Dorothy too much, though Tibbie saw, out of the tail of her eye, that the girl could not move from one side of the room to the other without Schwartz’s watching her approvingly. Tibbie knew by his eyes that he was saying to himself: “She will look all right in Brook-street.”
Dan announced the postman while Dorothy was pouring out the tea, and Minkie brought in a heap of letters, mostly Christmas cards. Minkie had a baker’s dozen to herself, and five of them were addressed to “Minkie and her Gang”; each of the five contained pictures of a girl, a horse, a dog, a cat, and a parrot. She soon made out by the postmark and the handwriting who had sent every card, even though the names were not given. One seemed to puzzle her at first, and she slipped it into her pocket. The others were handed round, before Dorothy arranged them on the mantel-piece with a number which had come by earlier deliveries, and Mr. Schwartz admired them immensely.
“It is so interesting to come back to the old country and find these pleasant customs in full swing,” he said. “I have neither sent nor received a Christmas card for years. I was telling Millicent on our way from the station that, by chance, I have been out of England at this season every year for ten years.”
“You did not mention the exact period, Mr. Schwartz,” said Minkie. “I rather thought that ten years ago you were in Kimberley?”
“Oh, one speaks in round numbers. By the way, have you received a card from your elderly friend—the man we met driving the pair?”