2015년 12월 2일 수요일

Quinneys 4

Quinneys 4


In this primitive fashion he captured her.
 
On the following Sunday the lovers found a cottage which seemed to be
the real, right thing. It was set in a small garden, surrounded by a
small holly hedge, and flanked on the north-east by a row of tall elms.
Behind the cottage was a plot of ground, which included a superb
chestnut tree, with low branches, upon which, as Susan observed,
hammocks could be swung.
 
"Hammocks?" repeated Quinney.
 
"On Sunday," said Susan, "in the summer, we can lie in hammocks and
think of how hard we work during the week. It will be heavenly."
 
"By Gum! You have ideas, Sue."
 
"Mother always said I was too romantic."
 
The cottage was roofed with big red tiles encrusted with mosses and
lichen; and about its walls in summer-time clambered roses and clematis.
 
"I love it already," Miss Biddlecombe declared with fervour.
 
"More than you love me?"
 
For answer she made a grimace. Quinney, with a broad grin upon his
lips, encircled her waist with his arm. But a pin pierced his finger,
which began to bleed, whereupon the young woman seized the finger and
put her lips to it.
 
"I’ve drunk my Joe’s blood," she said, with a charming blush.
 
"Oh, you jolly cannibal!" exclaimed Quinney.
 
They kissed each other tenderly, and almost forgot the cottage.
Presently Quinney said, "I believe this’ll do?" and she answered
ecstatically, "It’s exactly right."
 
Quinney qualified this.
 
"There may be others better still; it’s only the best we’ve seen so
far."
 
"I dare say you think there’s a better girl than I am somewhere or
other?"
 
"No, I don’t!"
 
"How awful it would be if I caught you looking for her."
 
"No fear o’ that!" he affirmed solemnly.
 
Next morning early they went together to the agent, derisively scornful
of the gossips, who, to do them justice, refrained from unpleasant
remarks. Laburnum Row knew by this time that young Joe Quinney had ten
thousand pounds, and the rosy-fingered fact that he had found a wife in
a semi-detached cottage was tremendously acclaimed.
 
The agent smiled discreetly when he saw them, and may have wished, poor
fellow, that he, too, was young again and shamelessly in love.
 
"Bird-nestin’, we are," said Quinney.
 
"Just so. Did you like the nest you saw yesterday?"
 
The sly fellow glanced at the girl, who answered eagerly, "It’s too
sweet for anything!"
 
Obviously, she wished to clinch the bargain on the nail, but, much to
her exasperation, the more cautious male began to ask questions,
listening attentively to the answers, and displaying a shrewd
understanding. Susan decided that her Joe was wasting valuable time,
because she wanted to discuss wallpapers. She sniffed when Quinney
said, "Is there anything else on your books prettier than this cottage?"
She shuffled impatiently, when the agent answered impassively, "Oh yes!"
While the men had been talking she had decided that an ugly pigsty must
be pulled down, that the kitchen must be refloored, and that the big
water barrel should be painted apple-green and white.
 
"Where is this other cottage?"
 
"On the Mel, five minutes’ walk from your place. It belongs to the widow
of an artist, and it’s a real bargain. You ought to see it."
 
"We will see it," said Quinney.
 
Susan shrugged her small shoulders. All this talk was lamentably
foolish. Men were great sillies. While they were staring at cottage
number two, some enterprising stranger might snap up cottage number one.
A nice sell that would be!
 
"Come on, Sue," said Quinney.
 
Miss Biddlecombe "came on" reluctantly holding her tongue because she
dared not speak her mind before the agent, and very cross by reason of
this abstention.
 
"You ain’t tired?" asked Quinney, reading her face wrongly. The
tenderness in his voice brought back a brace of dimples.
 
"Tired? Not a bit, but I’m sure that our cottage is the prettier."
 
"Please suspend judgment," said the agent formally. How could he divine
that the pretty maid, who smiled at him so sweetly, would have suspended
him from the nearest tree for being a bore and a nuisance. She smiled
upon him with rage in her heart.
 
And, behold, the second cottage was infinitely prettier than the first.
Susan gasped when she beheld it, and she was quite furious with Quinney
when he said drawlingly, "This looks all right, but what’s wrong with
it? Why hasn’t it been gobbled up long ago?"
 
"There is something wrong with itthe price."
 
"I guessed as much."
 
The agent explained glibly, for he, too, had learned of young Joe’s
great inheritance.
 
"It’s not big enough for well-to-do folk; and it’s much too expensive
for poor people. It cost quite a lot of money. There’s a boathouse,
and fishing rights and everything is in tip-top order. So it’s not
surprising that the price is tip-top also. But it’s a genuine bargain."
 
"How much?"
 
The agent mentioned a sum which made Quinney whistle. Susan groaned.
She had quite forgotten cottage number one. It had grown common in her
brown eyes, which dwelt with rapture upon a tiny lawn sloping to the
sleepy Mel, upon the veranda where in summer-time Joe and she could eat
their meals, upon the lilac and laburnum soon to bloom, upon the placid
stream so plainly loath to leave such delightful banks. No neighbours
other than the owners of big gardens would disturb their peace. Over
everything hung a veil of romance and beauty. Furtively, she wiped two
tears from her eyes.
 
"Let us go," she said quietly.
 
She turned, and the men followed her in silence.
 
 
*II*
 
Quinney went back to his shop without making any reference to cottage
number one. Undoubtedly number two was a bargain, but he remembered a
maxim often in his father’s mouth, "At a great pennyworth pause awhile;
many are ruined by buying bargains." Moreover, the first cottage was to
be had at a modest rent. Number two was not offered on lease; the owner
wanted spot cash for the freehold. Before the lovers parted, Susan
whispered, "I do wish we had not seen that cottage by the Mel. It’s made
me hate the other."
 
Quinney nodded gloomily. Susan continued softly, "It’s a dream cottage.
I shall think of it as that, and pretend that it doesn’t really exist.
I may go there sometimes when I’m asleep."
 
"You must look a little dear when you’re asleep!"
 
"Oh, Joe, you do say such odd things."
 
"We’ll look at some other cottages."
 
"I shall be perfectly happy with you anywhereexcept in that first
cottage."
 
"One of these fine days you’ll live in a big house in London."
 
"What?"
 
"I mean it. You make a note of what I say. This old town is well
enough, but it ain’t big enough for me."
 
"Joe, you do surprise me."
 
"Bless you, dear heart! I surprise myself. I’m a smallish man, as
inches count, but I’m simply bustin’ with big ideas. I surprised
Tomlin, too."
 
"I don’t like Mr. Tomlin."
 
"Now, why not?"
 
"He looks so sly."
 
"He’s foxy, very. Has to be. A London dealer must be sharper than his
customers. The big collectors, the chaps that write thumpin’ cheques
are no fools, and some of them are knaves. I could tell you stories——"
 
"Please don’t, dear."
 
"Why not?"
 
"I don’t want to listen to unpleasant stories now; and besides, mother
is expecting me. It’s washing day."
 
"I hate the thought of my Sue at the wash tub!"
 
She considered this gravely, with her head a little upon one side. Then
she answered soberly, "I like doing things, and getting them done
properly."
 
"By Gum, you seem to forget you’re a lady born."
 
"I’m only half and half, Joe. It will be a real pride to me getting up your shirts."

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