“Yes. He went and enlisted—minister says he’s unaccountable proud of him.”
There was a crackle of laughter round the table.
“Well, we all of us know, and I reckon minister knows as we know, that if Jerry had bin any sort of use at the munititions they wouldn’t have let him join up. It’s a law that if you maake munititions you doan’t have to join up.”
“Oh, Jerry’s bin never no good at naun. He’s jest a roving gipsy dog.”
Mrs. Beatup turned suddenly to Ivy:
“Did you know aught of this?”
“Not I!” said Ivy carelessly. “Jerry hasn’t written to me fur more’n a month. Maybe this is why.”
“I’m justabout sorry fur Mus’ Sumption,” said Tom, whom his supper had put in better humour. “He has a feeling as Jerry ull come to no good in the army.”
“No more he will, nor nowhere, I’m thinking,” said Mrs. Beatup. “Doan’t you never have naun to do wud him, Tom. I doan’t want my children to git the splash of that gipsy muck——” And she threw another half-defiant, half-furtive look at Ivy.
“Where’s Harry?” asked Tom.