At the door of the house in Railway Terrace he gave this time a deferential knock. The child answered it, crying to her mother that the man with the red face had called again. Swan asked the little girl whether she cared for flowers, and made a genial presentation.
“Sorry to trouble you once more, ma’am,” he said, taking off his hat and throwing away the end of the cigar, “but I’ve come round to apologise. In the heat of argument I used one or two remarks I’d no business to use to any lady, and if you’ll kindly dismiss them from your mind I shall esteem it a favour.”
“Look what he’s give me, mother,” said the child.
“A sweet-faced little thing,” mentioned Swan, gazing down at the youngster sentimentally. “I’ve often thought that if ever I did get married— Only”—with a regretful shrug of the right shoulder—“I’ve never been lucky enough to find any one that cared for me. That accounts for my want of good manners.”
“It is a bit noticeable,” she agreed.
“It’s partly, too,” he contended, “the result of good nature. This young chap, he appealed to me to help him, and I, foolish like, consented to do my best. Never occurred to me that I should be no use at all when I set myself against the sharpness of a woman. When a woman’s got a clear head and a certain amount of good looks, no man has the leastest chance.” He looked around the passage for a new subject. “Is this the late lamented, may I ask, ma’am?”
“That’s Lord Kitchener,” she answered, not displeased. “Would you care to come in and sit down for a bit? I expect you’re tired, running about all over the place. Martha dear, you come in, too, and let us see how nicely you can arrange the flowers. That,” entering the front room and pointing to a large, tinted photograph, “that was Mr. Rickards.”
“Sensible sort of forehead,” said Porter Swan guardedly.
“More than could be said of what was inside it. He was always talking about what he’d put by in the Railway Savings Bank, and every pay day he used to come home and say, ‘It’s adding up rapidly,’ and ‘You won’t want for nothing, my love, if I should be took away.’ And,” with acerbity, “when he did go off, I found that instead of having about forty pounds there—enough to give me the chance of opening a little business—he hadn’t put by as many shillings. Not as many pence.”
“Some men are like that.”