She led the way from the room.
Coast stood, watch in hand, waiting for the time to blow the whistle.
Through the open door he could see Mrs. Robson standing beside the laden table. Her tall figure, in its plain, black gown, was outlined against the delicate green of budding branches, fastened at each end of the supper-table. Paper lanterns of scarlet and blue swung from the pliant saplings like vivid flowers. Among the creams and trifles, three great bowls of daffodils lit the table with a golden glory. All this springtide elegance was Mrs. Robson's device and Mrs. Robson's gift to the village. The name whispered most frequently by the players, in the little bursts of conversation that heralded the union of fresh partnerships, was that of Mrs. Robson. She had given the prizes; she was the foremost contributor to the supper-table; she had organized the last whist drive before the approach of summer, in aid of the children's annual holiday to the seaside. But that the real burden of responsibility lay on the shoulders of quite another person, the schoolmaster knew well. The chief sufferer from the inconvenience of disarranging the whole school, of upsetting the precarious equilibrium of Miss Taylor's temperament, of settling down, after the departure of the last card player, to tidy the room, was Mr. Coast. But, of course, no one thought of him!
He did not doubt the efficiency of his handiwork, only the adequacy of its reward.
Of course with his miserable salary he couldn't send creams and trifles to grease the throats of these toadying villagers. He couldn't fatten his cows on the grass that should have been the school playground. He could only work the skin off his hands, serving an ungrateful society.
He blew the whistle with savage but ineffectual violence two whole minutes before its time.
"Oh, Mr. Coast, I've just got my cards gathered together, and I had such a lovely hand!" protested Miss Taylor.
"I think that was a little too early, Mr. Coast," said Mary. "Don't you think they can play on for the other two minutes?"
They played on.
Two hours later the last whistle had blown, the prizes had been presented, and the card players were struggling for hats and coats in the crowded lobby. The schoolroom was almost empty. Three tables, which had collapsed irretrievably, lay huddled in one corner. The scattered cards lent the scene an air of unwonted dissipation. Coast stood, frowning at the wreckage and wondering how long it would be before he could cross the asphalt yard to his own house and bed. He was tired, and the atmosphere of the crowded room had brought upon him one of his worst attacks of neuralgia.