"If you please, mum," said
the voice of a domestic from
somewhere round the angle of
the door, "number three is moving
in.
Two little old ladies, who
were sitting at either side of
a table, sprang to their feet
with ejaculations of interest,
and rushed to the window of the
sitting-room.
"Take care, Monica dear," said
one, shrouding herself in the
lace curtain; "don't let them
see us.
"No, no, Bertha.
We must not give them reason
to say that
their neighbors are inquisitive.
But I think that we are safe
if we stand like this."
The open window looked out
upon a sloping lawn, well trimmed
and pleasant, with fuzzy rosebushes
and a star-shaped bed of sweet-william.
It was bounded by a low wooden
fence, which screened it off
from a broad, modern, new metaled
road. At the other side of this
road were three large detached
deep-bodied villas with peaky
eaves and small wooden balconies,
each standing in its own little
square of grass and of flowers.
All three were equally new, but
numbers one and two were curtained
and sedate, with a human, sociable
look to them; while number three,
with yawning door and unkempt
garden, had apparently only just
received its furniture and made
itself ready for its occupants.
A four-wheeler had driven up
to the gate, and it was at this
that the old ladies, peeping
out bird-like from behind their
curtains, directed an eager and
questioning gaze.
The cabman had descended, and
the passengers within were handing
out the articles which they desired
him to carry up to the house.
He stood red-faced and blinking,
with his crooked arms outstretched,
while a male hand, protruding
from the window, kept piling
up upon him a series of articles
the sight of which filled the
curious old ladies with bewilderment.
"My goodness me!" cried Monica,
the smaller, the drier, and the
more wizened of the pair. "What
do you call that, Bertha? It
looks to me like four batter
puddings."
"Those are what young men box
each other with," said Bertha,
with a conscious air of superior
worldly knowledge.
"And those?"
Two great bottle-shaped pieces
of yellow shining wood had been
heaped upon the cabman.
"Oh, I don't know what those
are," confessed Bertha. Indian
clubs had never before obtruded
themselves upon her peaceful
and very feminine existence.
These mysterious articles were
followed, however, by others
which were more within their,
range of comprehension--by a
pair of dumb-bells, a purple
cricket-bag, a set of golf clubs,
and a tennis racket. Finally,
when the cabman, all top-heavy
and bristling, had staggered
off up the garden path, there
emerged in a very leisurely way
from the cab a big, powerfully
built young man, with a bull
pup under one arm and a pink
sporting paper in his hand. The
paper he crammed into the pocket
of his light yellow dust-coat,
and extended his hand as if to
assist some one else from the
vehicle. To the surprise of the
two old ladies, however, the
only thing which his open palm
received was a violent slap,
and a tall lady bounded unassisted
out of the cab. With a regal
wave she motioned the young man
towards the door, and then with
one hand upon her hip she stood
in a careless, lounging attitude
by the gate, kicking her toe
against the wall and listlessly
awaiting the return of the driver.
As she turned slowly round,
and the sunshine struck upon
her face, the two watchers were
amazed to see that this very
active and energetic lady was
far from being in her first youth,
so far that she had certainly
come of age again since she first
passed that landmark in life's
journey. Her finely chiseled,
clean-cut face, with something
red Indian about the firm mouth
and strongly marked cheek bones,
showed even at that distance
traces of the friction of the
passing years. And yet she was
very handsome. Her features were
as firm in repose as those of
a Greek bust, and her great dark
eyes were arched over by two
brows so black, so thick, and
so delicately curved, that the
eye turned away from the harsher
details of the face to marvel
at their grace and strength.
Her figure, too, was straight
as a dart, a little portly, perhaps,
but curving into magnificent
outlines, which were half accentuated
by the strange costume which
she wore. Her hair, black but
plentifully shot with grey, was
brushed plainly back from her
high forehead, and was gathered
under a small round felt hat,
like that of a man, with one
sprig of feather in the band
as a concession to her sex. A
double-breasted jacket of some
dark frieze-like material fitted
closely to her figure, while
her straight blue skirt, untrimmed
and ungathered, was cut so short
that the lower curve of her finely-turned
legs was plainly visible beneath
it, terminating in a pair of
broad, flat, low-heeled and square-toed
shoes. Such was the lady who
lounged at the gate of number
three, under the curious eyes
of her two opposite neighbors.
But if her conduct and appearance
had already somewhat jarred upon
their limited and precise sense
of the fitness of things, what
were they to think of the next
little act in this tableau vivant?
The cabman, red and heavy-jowled,
had come back from his labors,
and held out his hand for his
fare. The lady passed him a coin,
there was a moment of mumbling
and gesticulating, and suddenly
she had him with both hands by
the red cravat which girt his
neck, and was shaking him as
a terrier would a rat. Right
across the pavement she thrust
him, and, pushing him up against
the wheel, she banged his head
three several times against the
side of his own vehicle.
"Can I be of any use to you,
aunt?" asked the large youth,
framing himself in the open doorway.
"Not the slightest," panted
the enraged lady. "There, you
low blackguard, that will teach
you to be impertinent to a lady."
The cabman looked helplessly
about him with a bewildered,
questioning gaze, as one to whom
alone of all men this unheard-of
and extraordinary thing had happened.
Then, rubbing his head, he mounted
slowly on to the box and drove
away with an uptossed hand appealing
to the universe. The lady smoothed
down her dress, pushed back her
hair under her little felt hat,
and strode in through the hall-door,
which was closed behind her.
As with a whisk her short skirts
vanished into the darkness, the
two spectators--Miss Bertha and
Miss Monica Williams--sat looking
at each other in speechless amazement.
For fifty years they had peeped
through that little window and
across that trim garden, but
never yet had such a sight as
this come to confound them.
"I wish," said Monica at last, "that
we had kept the field."
"I am sure I wish we had," answered
her sister. |