"We ought to wipe him with a towel,"said Jeremy;"if we could get him dry before Nurse comes up she mightn't say so much."But alas,it was too late for any towel;the door opened,and the Jampot entered,humming a hymn,very cheerful and rosy from the kitchen fire and an abundant series of chronicles of human failings and misfortunes.The hymn ceased abruptly.She stayed there where she was,"frozen into an image,"as she afterwards described it.She also said:"You could 'ave knocked me down with a feather."The dog did not look at her,but crocked under him the leg that had been stiff like a ramrod and spread out another.The children did not speak.
"Well!"For a moment words failed her;then she began,her hands spread out as though she was addressing a Suffragette meeting in Trafalgar Square.(She knew,happy woman,nothing of Suffragettes.)"Of all the things,and it's you,Master Jeremy,that 'as done it,as anyone might have guessed by the way you've been be'aving this last fortnight,and what's come over you is more nor I nor anyone else can tell,which I was saying only yesterday to your mother that it's more than one body and pair of hands is up to the managing of now you've got so wild and wicked;and wherever from did you get the dirty animal dropping water all over the nursery carpet and smelling awful,I'll be bound,which anyone can see that's got eyes,and you'd know what your father will do to you when he knows of it,and so he shall,as sure as my name is Lizzie Preston.Go on out,you ugly,dirty animal-ough,you 'orrible creature you.I'll--"But her advance was stopped.Jeremy stopped it.Standing in front of the dog,his short thick legs spread defiantly apart,his fists clenched,he almost shouted:
"You shan't touch him.No,you shan't.I don't care.He shan't go out again and die.You're a cruel,wicked woman."The Jampot gasped.Never,no,never in all her long nursing experience had she been so defied,so insulted.
Her teeth clicked as always when her temper was roused,the reason being that thirty years ago the arts and accomplishments of dentistry had not reached so fine a perfection as to-day can show.
She had,moreover,bought a cheap set.Her teeth clicked.She began:
"The moment your mother comes I give her notice.To think that all these years I've slaved and slaved only to be told such things by a boy as--"Then a very dramatic thing occurred.The door opened,just as it might in the third act of a play by M.Sardou,and revealed the smiling faces of Mrs.Cole,Miss Amy Trefusis and the Rev.William Jellybrand,Senior Curate of St.James's,Orange Street.
Mr.Jellybrand had arrived,as he very often did,to tea.He had expressed a desire,as he very often did,to see the "dear children."Mrs.Cole,liking to show her children to visitors,even to such regular and ordinary ones as Mr.Jellybrand,at once was eager to gratify his desire.
"We'll catch them just before their tea,"she said happily.
There is an unfortunate tendency on the part of our Press and stage to caricature our curates;this tendency I would willingly avoid.It should be easy enough to do,as I am writing about Polchester,a town that simply abounds--and also abounded thirty years ago--in curates of the most splendid and manly type.But,unfortunately,Mr.
Jellybrand was not one of these.I,myself,remember him very well,and can see him now flinging his thin,black,and--as it seemed to me then--gigantic figure up Orange Street,his coat flapping behind him,his enormous boots flapping in front of him,and his huge hands flapping on each side of him like a huge gesticulating crow.
He had,the Polchester people who liked him said,"a rich voice."The others who did not like him called him "an affected ass."He ran up and down the scale like this:
Mrs.
Dear My Cole.
And his blue cheeks looked colder than any iceberg.But then I must confess that I am prejudiced.I did not like him;no children did.
The Cole children hated him.Jeremy because he had damp hands,Helen because he never looked at her,Mary because he once said to her,"Little girls must play as well as work,you know."He always talked down to us as though we were beings of another and inferior planet.
He called it,"Getting on with the little ones."No,he was not popular with us.
He stood on this particular and dramatic occasion in front of the group in the doorway and stared--as well he might.Unfortunately the situation,already bad enough,was aggravated by this dark prominence of Mr.Jellybrand.It cannot be found in any chronicles that Mr.Jellybrand and the dog had met before;it is simply a fact that the dog,raising his eyes at the opening of the door and catching sight of the black-coated figure,forgot instantly his toilet,rose dripping from his rug,and advanced growling,his lips back,his ears out,his tail erect,towards the door.Then everything happened together.Mr.Jellybrand,who had been afraid of dogs ever since,as an infant,he had been mistaken for a bone by a large retriever,stepped back upon Aunt Amy,who uttered a shrill cry.Mrs.Cole,although she did not forsake her accustomed placidity,said:"Nurse .Nurse ."Jeremy cried:"It's all right,he wouldn't touch anything,he's only friendly."Mary and Helen together moved forward as though to protect Jeremy,and the Jampot could be heard in a confused wail:"Not me,Mum .Wickedest boy .better give notice .as never listens .dog .dog ."
The animal,however,showed himself now,as at that first earlier view of him,indifferent to his surroundings.He continued his advance and then,being only a fraction of an inch from Mr.
Jellybrand's tempting gleaming black trousers,he stopped,crouched like a tiger,and with teeth still bared continued his kettle-like reverberations.Aunt Amy,who hated dogs,loved Mr.Jellybrand,and was not in the least sentimental when her personal safety was in danger,cried in a shrill voice:"But take it away.Take it away.
