Salthaven | Page 2

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 have a fine evening's work free of interruptions. I'll go and get on with my weeding."
He moved off and resumed his task; Mr. Saunders, with a suppressed groan, went on with his digging. The ground got harder and harder and his back seemed almost at breaking-point. At intervals he had what gardeners term a "straight-up," and with his face turned toward the house listened intently for any sounds