Mrs. Gum dusted a large old-fashioned oak chair with her apron; but he
perched himself on one of its elbows.
"And now go on with your tea, Mrs. Gum, and I'll look on with all the
envy of a thirsty man."
Mrs. Gum glanced up tremblingly. Might she dare offer his lordship a cup?
She wouldn't make so bold but tea _was_ refreshing to a parched throat.
"And mine's always parched," he returned. "I'll drink some with you, and
thank you for it. It won't be the first time, will it?"
"Always parched!" remarked Mrs. Gum. "Maybe you've a touch of fever, my
lord. Many folk get it at the close of summer."
Lord Hartledon sat on, and drank his tea. He said well that he was always
thirsty, though Mrs. Gum's expression was the better one. That timid
matron, overcome by the honour accorded her, sat on the edge of her
chair, cup in hand.
"I want to ask your husband if he can give me a description of the man
who was concerned in that wretched mutiny on board the _Morning Star_,"
said Lord Hartledon, somewhat abruptly. "I mean the ringleader, Gordon.
Why--What's the matter?"
Mrs. Gum had jumped up from her chair and began looking about the room.
The cat, or something else, had "rubbed against her legs."
No cat could be found, and she sat down again, her teeth chattering. Lord
Hartledon came to the conclusion that she was only fit for a lunatic
asylum.
Pages:
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393