The Devils Garden | Page 3

regret.
"It riled me a bit at first," said Dale firmly. "However, it's no consequence--really."
"But, Will, that means--" She hesitated, and her lips trembled before she uttered the dreadful word--"That means--suspended!"
"Yes--pro tem. Don't fret yourself, Mav. I tell you it's all right."
"But, Will, this does change the look of things. This is serious--now." And once more she hesitated. "Will, let me write again to Mr. Barradine."
"No," said Dale, with great determination.
"May I get Auntie to write to him? She said she knows for sure he'd help us."
"Well, he said so himself, didn't he?"
"Yes. Anything in his power!"
Dale reflected for a moment, and when he spoke again his tone was less firm.
"In his power! Of course Mr. Barradine is a powerful gentleman. That stands to reason; but all the same--Let's have a look at his letter."
"I haven't got his letter, Will."
"Haven't got his letter? What did you do with it?
"I tore it up."
"Tore it up!" Dale stared at his wife in surprise, and spoke rather irritably. "What did you do that for?"
"You seemed angry at my taking on myself to write to him without permission--so I didn't wish the letter lying about to remind you of what I'd done."
"You acted foolish in destroying document'ry evidence," said Dale, sternly and warmly. But then immediately he stifled his irritation. "Don't you see, lassie, I'd 'a' liked to know the precise way he worded it. I'm practised to all the turns of the best sort o' correspondence, and I'd 'a' known in a twinkling whether he meant anything or nothing."
"He said he'd be glad to do what was in his power. Really he said no more."
"Very good. We'll leave it at that. He has done more than enough for us already, and I don't hold with bothering gentlemen in and out of season. Besides, this is a bit in which I don't want his help, nor nobody else's. This is between me and them."
He pushed away his uneaten food, stood up, and squared his big shoulders.
"Yes, but, Will dear--you, you won't be hasty when you get before them."
Dale frowned, then laughed. "Mav, trust your old boy, and don't fret." He came round the table, and laid his hand on his wife's shoulder. "My sweetheart, I'm sorry, for your sake, that this little upset should have occurred. But don't you fret. I'm coming out on top. Maybe, this is like touch-and-go. I don't say it isn't. But I know my vaarlue--and I mean to let them know it, if they don't know it already. Look at my record! Who's goin' to pick a hole in it?"
"No, but--"
"There's times when a man's got to show pluck--to stan' to's guns, and assert hisself for what he's worth. And that's what I'm going to do in the General Post Office of all England." As he said this the blood showed redly, and every line of his face deepened and hardened. "You keep a stout heart. This isn't going to shake William Dale off of his perch."
"No?" And she looked up at him with widely-opened eyes.
"No." He gave her shoulder a final pat, and laughed noisily. "No, it'll set me firmer on the road to promotion than what I've ever been. When I get back here again, I shall be like the monkey--best part up the palm-tree, and nothing dangerous between him and the nuts."
All that day Dale was busy installing the deputy.
"You find us fairly in order," he said, with a pride that did not pretend to conceal itself. "Nothing you wouldn't call shipshape?"
"Apple-pie order," said Mr. Ridgett. "Absolutely O.K."
Mr. Ridgett was a small sandy man of fifty, who obviously wished to make himself as agreeable as might be possible in rather difficult circumstances. During the afternoon he listened with an air of interested attention while Dale told him at considerable length the series of events that had led up to this crisis.
"For your proper understanding," said the postmaster, "I'll ask you once more to cast your eye over the position of the instruments;" and he marched Mr. Ridgett from the sorting-room to the public office, and showed him the gross error that had been committed in placing the whole telegraphic apparatus right at the front, close to the window, merely screened from the public eye and the public ear by glass partition-work, instead of placing it all at the back, out of everybody's way. "I told them it was wrong from the first--when they were refitting the office, at the time of the extensions. My experience at Portsmouth had taught me the danger."
It seemed that one evening, about three weeks ago, a certain soldier on leave had been lounging against the counter, close to the glass screen. On the other side of the screen the apparatus was clicking merrily while Miss Yorke, the telegraph clerk, despatched a message.