“We all of us have our troubles in life,” Benjulia went on; “and Miss B. had her troubles. For a long time, she was out of a situation; and she had no kind parents to help her. Miss B. was an orphan. Her little savings were almost gone.”
It was too distressing. The cook took out her handkerchief, and pitied Miss B. with all her heart.
The doctor proceeded.
“But virtue, as we know when we read ‘Pamela,’ is sure of its reward. Circumstances occurred in the household of Mr. A. which made it necessary for him to engage a cook. He discovered an advertisement in a newspaper, which informed him that Miss B. was in search of a situation. Mr. A. found her to be a young and charming woman. Mr. A. engaged her.” At that critical part of the story, Benjulia paused. “And what did Mr. A. do next?” he asked.
The cook could restrain herself no longer. She jumped out of her chair, and threw her arms round the doctor’s neck.
Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had happened.
“And what did Mr. A. do next?” he repeated. “He put his hand in his pocket—he gave Miss B. a month’s wages—and he turned her out of the house. You impudent hussy, you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my mutton, and hugged me round the neck! There is your money. Go.”
With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood looking at him, like a woman struck to stone. In a moment more, the rage burst out of her in a furious scream. She turned to the table, and snatched up a knife. Benjulia wrenched it from her hand, and dropped back into his chair completely overpowered by the success of his little joke. He did what he had never done within the memory of his oldest friend—he burst out laughing. “This has been a holiday!” he said. “Why haven’t I got somebody with me to enjoy it?”
At that laugh, at those words, the cook’s fury in its fiercest heat became frozen by terror. There was something superhuman in the doctor’s diabolical joy. Even he felt the wild horror in the woman’s eyes as they rested on him.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. She muttered and mumbled—and, shrinking away from him, crept towards the door. As she approached the window, a man outside passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed to him; and repeated Benjulia’s own words: