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William Geake opened his eyes wide and answered curtly, "Yes: that's my wife Naomi Geake. What then?" The man scratched his head, contemplating William as he might some illegible sign-post set up at an unusually bothersome cross-road. "She keeps very han'some, I will say." His smile grew still more ingratiating. "Was you wishin' to speak wi' her?" "Well, there! I was an' yet I wasn't.
The Chy-pons is the narrowest street in Troy, and Colliver's driver could hardly pass now, except over William Geake's legs. "Draw in your feet, brother Geake," he called out, "or else pray short." One or two women giggled at this. But Geake did not seem to hear.
First of all I was minded to play off a little surprise 'pon old Toms, the landlord, who didn' know me from Adam. But hearin' this, just as I was a-leadin' up to my little joke, I thought maybe 'twould annoy Na'mi. She used to be very strict in some of her notions." William Geake took two hasty turns up and down the little parlour.
I dessay it took me half an hour to get out over the side: an' all the time I kept hold o' the broken oar. I dunno why I did this: but it saved my life afterwards. Hav'ee got such a thing as a drop o' cider in the house?" "We go upon temperance principles here," said Geake. He rose and brought a jug of water and a glass. "That'll do," said the wanderer, and helped himself.
And that's about the last thing, Mister Geake, I can mind doin'. 'Tis all foolishness after that. They tell me that a 'Merican schooner, the Shawanee, sighted my shirt flappin', an' sent a boat an' took me off an' landed me at New Orleens. My head was bad oh, very bad an' they put me in a 'sylum an' cured me. But they took eight year' over it, an' I doubt if 'tis much of a job after all.
But he marched down Chy-pons with head erect and eyes fixed straight ahead. On the following Saturday, when Geake called, Naomi was standing at her wash-tub.
On Sundays he put on a long black coat, and became a Rounder, or Methodist local-preacher, walking sometimes twenty miles there and back to terrify the inhabitants of outlying hamlets about their future state. "Woman!" cried William Geake, "Down 'pon your knees an' pray God the roof don't fall on 'ee for your vile words."
"I didn't call " he began, with a glance towards the shilling. "No; I know you didn't. But you may so well take it all the same." Geake had rehearsed a small speech, but found himself making out and signing the voucher as usual; and, as usual, when it was signed, he drew over a chair, and dropped on his knees.
"Ay, I feel that." At twenty minutes to five that evening, Long Oliver pulled up again by the green garden-gate. William Geake from his workshop had caught the sound of the mare's hoofs three minutes before, and awaited him. "One, two, three, four, five." The notes were counted out deliberately. Long Oliver, having been thanked, gathered up his reins and suddenly set them down again.
"I reckon," retorted Naomi quietly, with a glance up at the worm-riddled rafters, "you'd do more good by speakin' to the landlord." William Geake had a high brow and bright, nervous eyes, betokening enthusiasm; but he had also a long and square jaw that meant stubbornness. This jaw now began to protrude and his lips to straighten. "Down 'pon your knees!" he repeated.
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