Once Aboard The Lugger | Page 4

room upon the
ground floor, having a southern aspect, was set apart as bed-chamber
and exclusive apartment for the four favourites, and Mr. Marrapit
sought about for some excellent person into whose care they might be
entrusted. Their feeding, their grooming, constant attention to their
wants and the sole care of their chamber, should be this person's duties,
and it was not until a point some way distant in this history that Mr.
Marrapit ceased daily to congratulate himself upon his selection.
Mrs. Major, that masterly woman, was a distressed gentlewoman. The
death of her husband, a warehouse clerk, by acute alcoholic poisoning,
seems to have given her her first chance of displaying those strong
qualities which ultimately became her chief characteristic. And she was
of those to whom plan of action comes instantly upon the arrival of
opportunity. With lightning rapidity this woman welded chance and
action; with unflagging energy and with dauntless perseverance used
the powerful weapon thus contrived.
The case of her husband's death may be instanced. Her hysterical
distress on the day of the funeral (a matter that would have
considerably surprised the late Mr. Major) was exchanged on the
following morning for acute physical distress resulting from the means
by which, overnight, she had tried to assuage her grief. Noticing, as she
dressed, the subdued and martyrlike air that her face wore, noticing also

her landlady's evident sympathy with the gentle voice and manner
which her racking head caused her to adopt, Mrs. Major saw at once the
valuable aid to her future which the permanent wearing of these
characteristics might be. From that moment she took up the role of
distressed gentlewoman--advertised by tight-fitting black, by little sighs,
and by precise, subdued voice,--and in this guise sought employment at
an Agency. The agency sent her to be interviewed by Mr. Marrapit.
Ushered into the study, she, in a moment of masterly inspiration,
murmured "The sweet! Ah, the sweet!" when viciously scratched by the
Rose of Sharon, and upon those words walked directly in to Mr.
Marrapit's heart.
He required a lady--a lady (Mrs. Major smiled deprecatingly) who
should devote herself to his cats. Did Mrs. Major like cats? Ah, sir, she
adored cats; her late husband--Words, at the recollection, failed her.
She faltered; touched an eye with her handkerchief; wanly smiled with
the resigned martyrdom of a true gentlewoman.
As so-often in this life, the unspoken word was more powerful than
mightiest eloquence. Mr. Marrapit is not to be blamed for the inference
he drew. He pictured the dead Mr. Major a gentleman sharing with his
wife a passion for cats; by memory of which fond trait his widow's
devotion to the species would be yet further enhanced, would be
hallowed.
There is the further thought in this connection that once more, as so
often in this life, the unspoken word had saved the lie direct. Once only,
in point of fact, had Mrs. Major seen her late husband directly occupied
with a cat, and the occasion had been the cause of their vacating their
lodgings in Shepherd's Bush precisely thirty minutes later. Mr. Major,
under influence of his unfortunate malady, with savage foot had sped
the landlady's cat down a flight of stairs; and the landlady had taken the
matter in peculiarly harsh spirit.
All this, however, lay deeply hidden beneath Mrs. Major's unspoken
word. The vision of a gentle Mr. Major that Mr. Marrapit conjured
sealed the liking he had immediately taken to Mrs. Major, and thus was
she installed.
The masterly woman, upon this July afternoon, desisted from her
crocheting; observed in the dozing figure beside her signs of movement;
turned to it, ready for speech.

This she saw. From the reluctant rays of a passing sun a white silk
handkerchief protected a nicely polished head--a little bumpy, fringed
with soft white hair. Beneath the head a long face, sallow of hue; in
either cheek a pit; between them a dominating nose carrying eyeglasses.
A long, spare body in an alpaca coat; long thin legs; brown morocco
slippers without heels--upon the lap the peerless Rose of Sharon.
"Time for the Rose to go in," Mrs. Major softly suggested.
"The Rose," said Mr. Marrapit, passing a hand gently over the
creature's exquisite form, "is, I fear, still ailing. Her sleep is troubled;
she shivers. Her appetite?"
"It is still poorly." The expression was that of a true distressed
gentlewoman.
"She has need," Mr. Marrapit said, "of the most careful attention, of the
most careful dieting. Tend her. Tempt her. Take her."
"I will, Mr. Marrapit." Mrs. Major gathered the Rose against her bosom.
"You will not stay long? It is growing chilly."
"I shall take a brief stroll. I am perturbed concerning the Rose."
"Let me bring you a cap, Mr. Marrapit."
"Unnecessary. Devote