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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Oh, all right," said Tony, "but don' you get los'." We helped him to carry the organ. It was a new one he said, and very expensive to hire. We asked him endless questions we had always been wanting to ask about Italy, and his parents, and sisters, and we told him about father in South America, and about the party that night for Mr. Watlin.
"Och," she laughed, "I'm done wid followers, me dear. To tell ye the truth, Mr. Watlin and I are plannin' to git hitched up, before the New Year. An uncle of his have died and left him enough to start him in the butcherin' business on his own account. So maybe you'll dance at me weddin' yet." "I'll give you a nice present, Mary Ellen, dear," I promised, putting my arm around her.
"Oh, no, no, dey are not for a poor fella lak me!" "Watlin," said Harry, "did you say you were a Kent man?" "Ay, from Kent, the garden of England." "Are you related to Carrot Bill Watlin, then?" "Carrot Bill!" shouted Mr. Watlin, "Carrot Bill! Am I related to 'im? W'y 'e's my uncle, 'e is! And do you know 'im then?" "I've seen him hundreds of times," said Harry.
She was obliged to retire hastily to her room because of the arrival of Mr. Watlin. It was some time before Mary Ellen, and The Seraph, and I could make him understand what had happened, though we all tried at once. "And you mean to tell me that he's in there?" he asked, at last, grinning broadly. "Sorra a place else," replied Mary Ellen, "and you're to guard the door till the police comes."
It was a colourful spectacle to visualize, and we dallied with it a space before abandoning it as impracticable. It seemed too much to hope that Mrs. Handsomebody, the bath-tub and Giftie could all be assembled at the critical moment. But Mr. Watlin was not to be rebuffed. "Then there's burglars," he went on. "Suppose Mrs. 'Andsomebody's valuables was to be rescued from a burglar for 'er.
Who can describe the babble of our explanations and appeals to Mary Ellen's hospitality, and her reproaches for the fright we had given her? Howbeit, when the first clamour subsided, we perceived that Mary Ellen's Mr. Watlin was ensconced behind the stove, looking tremendously dressed up and embarrassed.
I hadn't eaten since last night, you know, and when I heard about the oysters and coffee, I just couldn't refuse, and I came." "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, "I'm sorry, Harry! I like you awfully!" I gave him my hand and, hearing the voices of Mr. Watlin and Tony, he hurried to the street. I stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.
"You shall see wot you shall see, and 'ear wot you shall 'ear," he replied. Mary Ellen, full of dignity, seated herself in Mrs. Handsomebody's place behind the coffee urn, while Mr. Watlin drew forward the heavy armchair, which since the demise of Mr. Handsomebody, had been occupied by no one save the Unitarian minister when he took tea with us.
Watlin, helping himself to his third lemon turnover. "Sub-stantial food is all right. I shouldn't care to do without meat and the like, but it's the fancies that seems to tickle all the w'y down. Sub-stantial foods is like hugs, but fancies might come under the 'ead of kisses you don't know when you get enough on 'em, hey Tony? You lika da kiss?" Tony turned up his palms.
And, instead of Mrs. Handsomebody's austere figure dominating our repast, there was Mary Ellen, resting her red knuckles on the table-cloth, and fairly bubbling over with plans for the prospective entertainment of her lover! Our hearts went out to the good girl and her Mr. Watlin. We began to think of him as a dear friend.
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