Her son, a lad who had
failed in several employments from sheer feebleness of mind and body,
practically owed his subsistence to Thomas Bird, whose good offices had at
length established the poor fellow at a hairdresser's. To sit frequently
for an hour at a time, as Thomas did, listening with attention to Mrs.
Batty's talk of her own and her son's ailments, was in itself a marvel of
charity. This evening she met him as he entered, and lighted him into his
room.
'There's a letter come for you, Mr. Bird. I put it down somewheres--why,
now, where _did_ I--? Oh, 'ere it is. You'll be glad to 'ear as Sam did his
first shave to-day, an' his 'and didn't tremble much neither.'
Burning with desire to open the letter, which he saw was from Mrs. Warbeck,
Thomas stood patiently until the flow of words began to gurgle away amid
groans and pantings.
'Well,' he cried gaily, 'didn't I promise Sam a shilling when he'd done his
first shave? If I didn't I ought to have done, and here it is for him.'
Then he hurried into the bedroom, and read his letter by candle-light. It
was a short scrawl on thin, scented, pink-hued notepaper. Would he do Mrs.
Warbeck the 'favour' of looking in before ten to-night? No explanation of
this unusually worded request; and Thomas fell at once into a tremor of
anxiety.
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