Salthaven | Page 2

The rumble, thus encouraged, deepened again. It became confident and
was heard to laugh. Mr. Hartley rose and, standing on the hearthrug
with legs apart, resolved to play the man. He leaned over and rang the
bell. The voices stopped. Then he heard Rosa say, "Not him! you stay
where you are."
She came slowly in response to the bell, and thrusting a yellow head in
at the door gazed at him inquiringly.
"I--I want a little more hot water," said her master, mildly.
"More?" repeated Rosa. "Why, I brought you over a pint."
"I want some more," said Mr. Hartley. Then a bright thought struck him.
"I am expecting Miss Joan home every minute," he added,
significantly.
Rosa tossed her head. "She ain't coming home till nine," she remarked,
"so if it's only for her you want the hot water, you won't want it."
"I--I thought I heard a man's voice," he said at last.
[Illustration: I thought I heard a man's voice 012]
"Very good," said her master, with an attempt at dignity; "you can go."
Rosa went, whistling. Mr. Hartley, feeling that he had done all that
could be expected of a man, sat down and resumed his tea. The
rumbling from the kitchen, as though in an endeavour to make up for
lost time, became continuous. It also became louder and more hilarious.
Pale and determined Mr. Hartley rose a second time and, seizing the

bell-pull, rang violently.
"Does anybody want to see me?" he inquired, as Rosa's head appeared.
"You? No," was the reply.
"I thought," said her master, gazing steadily at the window, "I thought
somebody was inquiring for me."
"Well, there hasn't been," said Rosa.
Mr. Hartley, with a magisterial knitting of the brows, which had
occasionally been found effective with junior clerks, affected to ponder.
"I--I thought I heard a man's voice," he said at last.
"Nobody's been inquiring for you," said Rosa calmly. "If they did I
should come in and let you know. Nobody's been for you that I've heard
of, and I don't see how they could come without me knowing it."
"Just so," said Mr. Hartley. "Just so."
He turned to the mantelpiece for his tobacco-jar, and Rosa, after
standing for some time at the "ready" with a hostile stare, cleared her
throat noisily and withdrew. The voices in the kitchen broke out with
renewed vehemence; Mr. Hartley coughed again--a cough lacking in
spirit--and, going out at the front door, passed through the side-entrance
to the garden and tended his plants with his back to the kitchen
window.
Hard at work at the healthful pastime of weeding, his troubles slipped
from him. The path became littered with little tufts of grass, and he
Was just considering the possibility of outflanking the birch-broom,
which had taken up an advantageous position by the kitchen window,
when a young man came down the side-entrance and greeted him with
respectful enthusiasm.
"I brought you these," he said, opening a brown leather bag and
extracting a few dried roots. "I saw an advertisement. I forget the name

of them, but they have beautiful trumpet-shaped flowers. They are free
growers, and grow yards and yards the first year."
"And miles and miles the second," said Mr. Hartley, regarding them
with extraordinary ferocity. "Bindweed is the name, and once get it in
your garden and you'll never get rid of it."
"That wasn't the name in the advertisement," said the other, dubiously.
"I don't suppose it was," said Hartley. "You've got a lot to learn in
gardening yet, Saunders."
"Yes, sir," said the other; "I've got a good teacher, though."
Mr. Hartley almost blushed. "And how is your garden getting on?" he
inquired.
"It's--it's getting on," said Mr. Saunders, vaguely.
"I must come and have a look at it," said Hartley.
"Not yet," said the young man, hastily. "Not yet. I shouldn't like you to
see it just yet. Is Miss Hartley well?"
Mr. Hartley said she was, and, in an abstracted fashion, led the way
down the garden to where an enormous patch of land--or so it seemed
to Mr. Saunders--awaited digging. The latter removed his coat and,
hanging it with great care on an apple tree, turned back his cuffs and
seized the fork.
"It's grand exercise," said Mr. Hartley, after watching him for some
time.
"Grand," said Mr. Saunders, briefly.
"As a young man I couldn't dig enough," continued the other, "but
nowadays it gives me a crick in the back."
"Always?" inquired Mr. Saunders, with a slight huskiness.

"Always," said Mr. Hartley. "But I never do it now; Joan won't let me."
Mr. Saunders sighed at the name and resumed his digging. "Miss
Hartley out?" he asked presently, in a casual voice.
"Yes; she won't be home till late," said the other. "We can