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'Yes, he said, 'I met your husband on St. Luke's Square. But I heard something before that. At one o'clock, a man told me at Knype Station that Mr. Myatt had cut his throat on your doorstep. I didn't believe it. So I called up Twemlow & Stanway over the 'phone and got on to the facts. 'What things people say! she exclaimed.
He turned to the old man: "It's another of 'em wanting to know if Myatt is playing. Birmingham, this time." "Ah!" exclaimed the old man, still writing. "It's because of the betting," Buchanan glanced at me. "The odds are on Knype now three to two." "If Myatt is playing Knype have got me to thank for it," said the doctor, surprisingly. "You?" "Me! He fetched me to his wife this morning.
Sit thee still, said Meshach, and he crept out of the room, and up the creaking stair. 'Poor old fellow! Twemlow murmured, glancing at his watch. 'What time is it? she asked, for the sake of saying something. 'It's no use me staying. 'Five to eleven. If I run off at once I can catch the last train. Good-night. Tell Mr. Myatt, will you? She took his hand with a feeling of intimacy.
She remembered that he said he should come up again as soon as he had arranged matters at the works. 'Just take Mr. Myatt to the cab, will you? said Twemlow quietly to Fred. 'I'll follow. 'Certainly, Fred agreed, pulling his moustache nervously. 'Now, Mr. Myatt, let me help you. 'Ay! said Meshach.
He was an excellent gardener, but did not care about novelties in flowers, though at one time he made a hobby of raising new kinds of potatoes. His greatest success was the original Ashleaf variety, the stock of which he sold to Mr. Myatt for a guinea, and which was afterwards introduced to the public as "Myatt's Early Ashleaf."
He had called at Church Street on his way to Knype, and Carpenter had brought back word that Miss Myatt was wonderfully better; but when Leonora herself called at Church Street later in the morning and at last saw Aunt Hannah, she was impressed by the change in the old creature, whose nervous system had the appearance of being utterly disorganised.
In his seventh decade, Meshach Myatt could look back with calm satisfaction at a career of uninterrupted nonchalance and idleness. The favourite of a stern father and of fate, he had never done a hard day's work in his life. When he and Hannah came into their inheritance, he realised everything except the house and invested the proceeds in Consols.
'I've kept it, answered the old man grimly, and Twemlow felt that that was precisely what Meshach Myatt might have been expected to do. 'See, said Meshach, and their heads were close together, that's the year before your father's death eight hundred and ninety-two pounds. And year afore that one thousand two hundred and seven pounds. And year afore that bless us!
'It's a straight-up three, ma'am. 'Then I must have slept for eleven hours! How is Mr. Myatt going on? Bessie dropped her hands, and smiled benevolently: 'Oh! He's much better, ma'am. And when the doctor told him about poor Miss Myatt, ma'am, he just said the funeral must be on Saturday because he didn't like Sunday funerals, and it wouldn't do to wait till Monday. He didn't say nothing else.
'Didn't I tell you the other night that I knew exactly how you felt? But you've got to get over that, I guess. You've got to get on to yourself. Mr. Myatt told me what he said to you 'So Uncle Meshach has been talking about it too? she interrupted. 'Why, yes, certainly. Of course he's quite right. Milly's bound to go her own way.
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