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Updated: June 19, 2025
George Aspel had long ago given up all hope of winning May Maylands.
Though little it was a tremendous bay, with mighty cliffs landward, and jutting ledges on either side, and forbidding rocks at the entrance, which waged continual warfare with the great Atlantic billows that rolled into it. The whole place suggested shipwreck and smugglers. The small family of Mrs Maylands consisted of three babes so their mother styled them.
George Aspel and Philip Maylands, with their backs to the storm, hurried homewards; the former exulting in the grand though somewhat disconnected thoughts infused into his fiery soul by the fire-water he had imbibed, and dreaming of what he would have dared and done had he only been a sea-king of the olden time; the latter meditating somewhat anxiously on the probable nature of his sister's telegram.
"Well, well, it's too bad," said Phil slowly, "it says here that I'm to have `no claim on the superannuation fund. Isn't that hard?" A smile from Mrs Maylands, and a laugh from Madge, greeted this. It was also received with an appalling yell from the baby, which caused mother and nurse to leap to the rescue.
Regardless of the fall, she gathered herself up, and, with the light heart of one who has gained a victory in the performance of duty, ran off to her miserable home in the back slums. Some time after the small tea-party described in our last chapter, Philip Maylands was invested with all the dignity, privileges, and emoluments of an "Out-door Boy Telegraph Messenger" in the General Post-Office.
May Maylands chanced, by a strange coincidence, to command the instrument in direct connection with Cork. The telegrams just laid beside her were those destined for that city, and the regions to which it was a centre of redistribution.
These were so arranged as to catch the faint gleam of light that penetrated the window; but as there was a twenty-foot brick wall in front of the window at a distance of two yards, the gleam, even on a summer noon, was not intense. In winter it was barely sufficient to render darkness visible. Poor May Maylands!
Instead of pushing through, George took advantage of his height, stretched his long arm over the heads of the people, and, with a good aim, pitched the box into the postal jaws. For a few seconds he stood still, meditating a call on Phil Maylands. But he was not now as eager to meet his friend as he used to be.
I've been thinkin' about 'im the whole time, an' I've made up my mind what to do. The only thing I ain't sure of is whether I shouldn't take my friend Phil Maylands into partnership." "Oh, please, don't," pleaded Tottie; "I shouldn't like 'im to know about father." "Well, the less he knows about 'im the better. P'r'aps you're right. I'll do it alone, so you cut away home.
"Come, now, don't stop there," observed Miss Stivergill calmly, "go on to tell me that Phil Maylands has also had a fortune left him, or become Postmaster-General and got married, or is going to be."
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