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"But that," said Winny, "makes it all the sadder." She was sorry for the Emu, so bereaved and so deluded, dancing his fruitless, lamentable dance. "He is funny, isn't he?" said Stanny.
Other people were doing the same thing as if they had been invited to do it, as if they were all one party, with somewhere a friendly host and hostess imploring them to be seated, to be happy and to make themselves at home. And down the slope of the lawn, Stanny and Dossie rolled over and over in the joy of life. And up the slope they toiled, laughing, to roll interminably down.
"I fell overboard, and I've been all night in the water: that's all." He did not choose as yet to make public his suspicions as to the real origin of his nearly fatal accident. "I always said you had nine lives, Stanny, only don't go using them up like this. There's not a tom-cat could stand it." "Were you out in the gale, uncle?" "Ay; and weathered it.
Stanistreet stared vaguely at his host. "Yes; you must see me through this, Stanny. I can't trust myself by myself. For God's sake let's go and do something, or I'll go off my head." They spent the afternoon in the low coverts about the Toft, and the evening in the billiard-room, sitting forlornly over whiskey-and-soda. A peculiar throbbing silence and mystery seemed to hang about the house.
You can't hit out straight from the shoulder when you fight with women, Stanny. If you can keep 'em going, it's about all. He had nothing to say against Destiny, mind. She had picked him up out of the dirt when the scrimmage was hottest, and pitched him into the desert to die. It was better to die out here in the desert cleanly, than to die in the gutter at home. If only he could die fighting!
But he had to take Stanny in his arms and comfort him lest he should cry. "You're not afraid of Gran, are you? Show Gran your pretty pinny, Doss." He gave her a gentle push, and the child stood there holding out her pinafore and gazing over it at her grandfather with large, frightened eyes. Mr. Ransome's eyes looked back at her. They were sunken, somber, wistful, unutterably sad. He did not speak.
"Do me proud," said Hicks. "Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time, Stanny. Know good thing when you see it hear it, I mean." "Look here, Hicks," said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. "You know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about.
"Stanny was like that. He wanted to write stories. They are pretty good stories, too, but you know there's not much sale for the merely good thing. And unsuccessful art of any kind is hardly worth while, is it?... When we were first married, he had an idea of going away somewhere and living on nothing at all until he had made a name. But that is not the way things are done, is it?"
Why, I hear they had to hang you up by the heels to let the water run out of your mouth. Come, Stanny, my boy, this won't do." "Uncle Barto!" "The same: master of the steamship Burlington Castle, deep in deals timbers for huts and other sundries, now lying in Balaclava, waiting to be discharged. But, my dearest lad, you've had a narrow squeak. Tell me, how did it happen, and when?"
He signed to his son to sit near him. "How old are those children?" he said. "Dossie was five in March, and Stanny was three in April." "And they've been how long without their mother?" "It'll be three years next October." "Why don't you get rid of that woman?" said Mr. Ransome.
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