“Incorrigible as he was, he was better than nobody,” ejaculated Mr. Galloway, rubbing up his flaxen curls. “He could keep office, if he did not do much in it; he received and answered callers; he went out on hasty messages; and, upon a pinch, he did accomplish an hour or so’s copying. I am down on my beam-ends, and no mistake. What a simpleton the fellow must be! Port Natal, indeed, for him! If Lord Carrick were not own brother to my lady, he might have the sense to stop it. Why—”
Arrival the first, and no one to answer it but Mr. Galloway! A fly had driven up and stopped at the door. No one appeared to be getting out of it, so Mr. Galloway, perforce, proceeded to see what it wanted. It might contain one of the chapter, or the dean himself!
But, by the time he reached the pavement, the inmates were descending. A short lady, in a black bonnet and short black skirts, had let herself out on the opposite side, and had come round to assist somebody out on this. Was it a ghost, or was it a man? His cheeks were hollow and hectic, his eyes were glistening as with fever, his chest heaved. He had a fur boa wrapped round his neck, and his overcoat hung loosely on his tall, attenuated form, which seemed too weak to support itself, or to get down the fly steps without being lifted.
“Now don’t you be in a hurry!” the lady was saying, in a cross tone. “You’ll come pitch into the mud with your nose. Can’t you wait? It’s my belief you are wanting to do it. Here, let me get firm hold of you; you know you are as weak as ever was a rat!”
You may recognize the voice as belonging to Mrs. Jenkins, and that poor shadow could be no one but Jenkins himself, for there certainly was not another like it in all Helstonleigh. Mr. Galloway stood in astonishment, wondering what this new move could mean. The descent accomplished, Jenkins was conducted by his wife through the passage to the office. He went straight to his old place at his desk, and sat down on his stool, his chest palpitating, his breath coming in great sighs. Laying his hat beside him, he turned respectfully to Mr. Galloway, who had followed him in, speaking with all his native humility:
“I have come, sir, to do what I can for you in this emergency.”
And there he stopped—coughing, panting, shaking; looking like a man more fit to be lying on his death-bed than to be keeping office. Mr. Galloway gazed at him with compassion. He said nothing. Jenkins at that moment could neither have heard nor answered, and Mrs. Jenkins was out, paying the driver.
The paroxysm was not over when she came in. She approached Jenkins, slightly shook him—her mode of easing the cough—dived in his pockets for his silk handkerchief, with which she wiped his brow, took off the fur from his neck, waited until he was quiet, and began:
“I hope you are satisfied! If you are not, you ought to be. Who’s to know whether you’ll get back alive? I don’t.”
“What did he come for?” asked Mr. Galloway.