“Wri’!”
George returned to his letter.
“DEAR MR. BEVAN,
“Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this and to say…
“Hey, mister!”
“Good Heavens!” George glared. “What’s the matter now? Haven’t you found that ginger-ale yet?”
“I’ve found the ginger-ile right enough, but I can’t find the thing.”
“The thing? What thing?”
“The thing. The thing wot you open ginger-ile with.”
“Oh, you mean the thing? It’s in the middle drawer of the dresser. Use your eyes, my boy!”
“Wri'”.
George gave an overwrought sigh and began the letter again.
“DEAR MR. BEVAN,
“Thank you ever so much for your note which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this and to say that you would help me. And how clever of you to find me after I was so secretive that day in the cab! You really can help me, if you are willing. It’s too long to explain in a note, but I am in great trouble, and there is nobody except you to help me. I will explain everything when I see you. The difficulty will be to slip away from home. They are watching me every moment, I’m afraid. But I will try my hardest to see you very soon. Yours sincerely, “MAUD MARSH.”
Just for a moment it must be confessed, the tone of the letter damped George. He could not have said just what he had expected, but certainly Reggie’s revelations had prepared him for something rather warmer, something more in the style in which a girl would write to the man she loved. The next moment, however, he saw how foolish any such expectation had been. How on earth could any reasonable man expect a girl to let herself go at this stage of the proceedings? It was for him to make the first move. Naturally she wasn’t going to reveal her feelings until he had revealed his.
George raised the letter to his lips and kissed it vigorously.
“Hey, mister!”
George started guiltily. The blush of shame overspread his cheeks. The room seemed to echo with the sound of that fatuous kiss.
“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!” he called, snapping his fingers, and repeating the incriminating noise. “I was just calling my cat,” he explained with dignity. “You didn’t see her in there, did you?”
Albert’s blue eyes met his in a derisive stare. The lid of the left one fluttered. It was but too plain that Albert was not convinced.
“A little black cat with white shirt-front,” babbled George perseveringly. “She’s usually either here or there, or–or somewhere. Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!”
The cupid’s bow of Albert’s mouth parted. He uttered one word.
“Swank!”
There was a tense silence. What Albert was thinking one cannot say. The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts. What George was thinking was that the late King Herod had been unjustly blamed for a policy which had been both statesmanlike and in the interests of the public. He was blaming the mawkish sentimentality of the modern legal system which ranks the evisceration and secret burial of small boys as a crime.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ve a good mind to–”
Albert waved a deprecating hand.
“It’s all right, mister. I’m yer friend.”
“You are, are you? Well, don’t let it about. I’ve got a reputation to keep up.”
“I’m yer friend, I tell you. I can help yer. I want to help yer!”
George’s views on infanticide underwent a slight modification. After all, he felt, much must be excused to Youth. Youth thinks it funny to see a man kissing a letter. It is not funny, of course; it is beautiful; but it’s no good arguing the point. Let Youth have its snigger, provided, after it has finished sniggering, it intends to buckle to and be of practical assistance. Albert, as an ally, was not to be despised. George did not know what Albert’s duties as a page-boy were, but they seemed to be of a nature that gave him plenty of leisure and freedom; and a friendly resident of the castle with leisure and freedom was just what he needed.