“But if you should want to write to me,” went on Miss Luker, undeterred and looking back at the gossiping bunch of visitors near the area entrance, “let me know and I’ll send you some addressed envelopes. We live in a censorious world, Mr. Barnes, and— Here comes your young sister. Think of me at four o’clock every afternoon, and I’ll promise to think of you.”
“Well, but,” protested Erb, “what’s the use?”
“Bah!” said Miss Luker, with a sudden burst of undisguised contempt, “I wouldn’t be a dunderheaded man for anything.”
CHAPTER IV
The third round of deliveries was finished, and, arrived at his last evening, Erb, coat and collar off, washed away the traces of work in the stable pail with the aid of some aggressive soft soap that seemed to have its own way in everything. He had brought with him that morning a parcel of private clothes, and just before going out with the six o’clock turn, he had changed, and had handed in the corduroy uniform. A relief to feel that he no longer wore the brass buttons of servitude; of late they had seemed to reproach him. He had driven round the Surrey side with the air of a sporting gentleman taking out his own horse and trap; the private clothes helped him to say his good-byes with dignity to all, and especially to his old enemy, the van foreman.
“You would go on in your own tin-pot way,” said the van foreman regretfully, “no matter what I said. Your case ought to act as a warnin’.”
“To you?”
“I should ’ave thought,” said the van foreman, with a wistful air, “after all that’s passed between us we might as well part good friends, at any rate.”
“Look here, old chap,” said Erb good-temperedly, “I tried to out you, and you tried to out me; and you’ve got the best of it. I don’t complain, but I’m not going to pretend I’m on friendly terms with a man when I ain’t.”
“That’s what I say,” retorted the van foreman argumentatively. “You’ve got no discretion.”