The Town Traveller | Page 9

from half a sovereign to a ten-pound note. This time the letters
were invariably posted in London, but in different districts. Clover
declared that he was miserable away from home, and, without offering
any reason for his behaviour, promised that he would soon return.
Six years had since elapsed. To afford herself occupation Mrs. Clover
went into the glass and china business, assisted by her parents'
experience, and by the lively interest of her friend Mr. Gammon.
Minnie Clover, a pretty and interesting girl, was now employed at
Doulton's potteries. All would have been well but for the harassing
mystery that disturbed their lives. Clover's letters were still posted in
London; money still came from him, sometimes in remittances of as
much as twenty pounds. But handwriting and composition often
suggested that the writer was either ill or intoxicated. The latter seemed
not unlikely, for Clover had always inclined to the bottle. His wife no
longer distressed herself. The first escapade she had forgiven; the
second estranged her. She had resolved, indeed, that if her husband did
again present himself his home should not be under her roof.
The shop closed at eight. At a quarter past the house-bell rang and a
small servant admitted Mr. Gammon, who came along the passage and
into the back parlour, where Mrs. Clover was wont to sit. As usual at
this hour her daughter was present. Minnie sat reading; she rose for a
moment to greet the visitor, spoke a word or two very modestly, even
shyly, and let her eyes fall again upon the book. Considering the
warmth of the day it was not unnatural that Mr. Gammon showed a

very red face, shining with moisture; but his decided hilarity, his
tendency to hum tunes and beat time with his feet, his noisy laughter
and expansive talk, could hardly be attributed to the same cause.
Having taken a seat near Minnie he kept his look steadily fixed upon
her, and evidently discoursed with a view of affording her amusement;
not altogether successfully it appeared, for the young girl--she was but
seventeen--grew more and more timid, less and less able to murmur
replies. She was prettier than her mother had ever been, and spoke with
a better accent. Her features suggested a more delicate physical
inheritance than Mrs. Clover's comeliness could account for. As a
matter of fact she had her father's best traits, though Mrs. Glover
frequently thanked goodness that in character she by no means
resembled him.
Mr. Gammon was in the midst of a vivid description of a rat hunt, in
which a young terrier had displayed astonishing mettle, when his
hostess abruptly interposed.
"Minnie, I wish you'd put your hat on and run round to Mrs. Walker's
for me. I'll give you a message when you're ready."
Very willingly the girl rose and left the room. Mr. Gammon, whose
countenance had fallen, turned to the mother with jocose remonstrance.
"Now I call that too bad. What did you want to go sending her away
for?"
"What does it matter?" was Mrs. Clover's reply, uttered
good-humouredly, but with some impatience. "The child doesn't want
to hear about rats and terriers."
"Child? I don't call her a child. Besides, you'd only to give me a hint to
talk of something else." He leaned forward, and softened his voice to a
note of earnest entreaty. "She won't be long, will she?"
"Oh, I dare say not!"
A light tap at the door called Mrs. Clover away. She whispered outside
with Minnie and returned smiling.
"Have you told her to be quick?"
Mrs. Clover did not answer the question. Sitting with her arms on the
round table she looked Mr. Gammon steadily in the face, and said with
decision
"Never you come here again after you've been to Dulwich!"
"Why not?"

"Never mind. I don't want to have to speak plainer. If ever I have to--"
Mrs. Clover made her great effect of the pregnant pause. The listener,
who had sobered wonderfully, sat gazing at her, his blue eyes comically
rueful.
"She isn't coming back at all?" fell from his lips.
"Of course she isn't."
"Well, I'm blest if I thought you could be so unkind, Mrs. Clover."
She was silent for three ticks of the clock, an odd hardness having
come over her face, then, flushing just a little, as if after an effort, she
smiled again, and spoke in her ordinary tone.
"What had you to say about Polly?"
"Polly?--Polly be hanged! I half believe Polly's no better than she
should be."
The flush on Mrs. Clover's face deepened and she spoke severely.
"What do you mean by saying such things?"
"I didn't meant to," exclaimed Gammon, with hasty penitence. "Look
here, I really didn't; but you put me out. She had some