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I was sitting at the window one morning smoking an after-breakfast pipe a pipe which Sonia had brought me back from Plymouth at the same time as the books when I heard a loud ring at the front door-bell, followed by a couple of sharp knocks. Despite my three years' absence from worldly affairs, I recognized the unmistakable touch of a telegraph-boy.
A telegraph-boy handed him two messages, with a receipt-book and pencil. "John Allison," was all he said. "I don't think he's home," said Elmendorf. "Did you try the club?" For answer the boy sleepily pointed with grimy finger to the address on the envelope. Street and number were distinct.
The sender had paid an answer. The telegraph-boy was waiting in the hall. Malling only kept him five minutes. He went away with this reply: "Accept with pleasure will take four twenty train at Victoria Saturday Malling." Malling could not have said with truth that he had expected a summons from Mr. Harding, yet he found that he was not surprised to get it. The man was in a bad way.
She might not walk on the highway, but a steep short-cut that joined the main road at the bottom of the hill was quite at her disposal She walked up and down for more than an hour. At last she saw some one on the Florence road. She walked on quickly. It was the telegraph-boy. She tore open the envelope and read: "Venice. Exam. on Wednesday. Start at once. A rivederci."
She might not walk on the highway, but a steep short cut that joined the main road at the bottom of the hill was quite at her disposal. She walked up and down for more than an hour. At last she saw some one on the Florence road. She walked on quickly. It was the telegraph-boy. She tore open the envelope and read: "Venice. Exam. on Wednesday. Start at once. Arivederci."
But whatever he had meant to say remained unspoken, for a telegraph-boy, with the impudence natural to his kind, was forcing his way into and through the crowded room. "James Tapster, Esquire?" he cried in a high, childish treble. The master of the house held out his hand mechanically.
"Yes, sir." Allsopp crossed the hall. As the door was opened Chilcote passed his handkerchief from one hand to the other in the tension of hope and fear; then, as the sound of his own name in the shrill tones of a telegraph-boy reached his ears, he let the handkerchief drop to the ground. Allsopp took the yellow envelope and carried it to his master. "A telegram, sir," he said.
And at the beating of the telegraph-boy upon the door, within a few feet of the bed where he lay, he had gnashed his teeth and stopped his ears. He had pictured the lad standing there, just beyond his partition, among packets of provisions and bundles of dead and dying flowers. For his outer landing was littered with these. Oleron had feared to open his door to take them in.
A nurse was wheeling a perambulator along the pavement, a milkman's cart was making slow progress from door to door, a telegraph-boy was sauntering down the middle of the road whistling a popular air. Sylvia wondered where he was going, and what was the nature of the message which he bore. Some people were so nervous about telegrams Aunt Margaret, for instance!
"We will give him five or ten minutes," decided Carrados. "Harris is behaving very naturally." Before even the shorter period had run out they were repaid. A telegraph-boy cycled leisurely along the road, and, leaving his machine at the gate, went up to the cottage. Evidently there was no reply, for in less than a minute he was trundling past them back again.
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