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''Tis your own fault, I had a mind to tell him, 'for not having looked after your business. Pounds and pounds of public money that Nanjivell must have drawn first and last for Reservist's pay, and nobody takin' the trouble to report on him." "I suppose," said Miss Oliver, "the man really is lame, and not shamming?" "The Lord knows, my dear.
"The good Lord in Heaven behear us! . . . Whose money be this, an' where dropped from?" "There piles of it " panted 'Beida. "Lashin's of it " echoed 'Bert. "An' it all belongs to Mr Nanjivell, that we used to call Nicky-Nan, an' wonder if we could get a pair o' father's old trousers on to him with a little tact an' him all the while as rich as Squire Tresawna!"
Do I step into your dam Bank an' ask where you picked up the coin? No? Well then, get out o' this an' take your Policeman with 'ee. Fend off, I say!" he snapped, as Rat-it-all touched him by the arm. "No offence, Mr Nanjivell," said the Policeman coaxingly. "But merely as between naybours, if I might advise.
Look at him And you, 'Biades, can stand there an' look up at him so long as you like, provided you don't bust out cryin' at his altered appearance: no, nor crick your neck in doin' it, but bear in mind that mother used up the last of the arnica when you did it last time tryin' to count the buttons up Policeman Rat-it-all's uniform, an' that if the wind should shift of a sudden and catch you with your eyes bulgin' out of your head like they'm doin' at this moment, happen 'twill fix you up comical for life: an' then instead of your growin' up apprenticed to a butcher, as has been your constant dream, we'll have to put you into a travellin' show for a gogglin' May-game, an' that's where your heart will be turnin' ever, far from the Old Folks at Home. . . . You'll excuse me, Mr Nanjivell, but the time an' trouble it costs to wean that child's eyes off anything in the shape of a novelty you'd hardly believe. . . . Well, what do you say to 'Bert?"
I fell back last week upon treacle. Beer, in small glass jars, is also recommended. I trust that if you ladies see me issuing from the Three Pilchards to-morrow with a jug of beer, you will make it your business to protect my character. The purchase will not escape your knowledge, I feel sure. . . . But we were talking of Nanjivell.
Yours faithfully, Walter P. Schmidt, Managing Director. So that was all right! It might defer building operations, but it need not defer his dealing with Nanjivell, his own tenant, who paid nothing. His brow cleared. He opened the next letter, with the handwriting of which he was familiar enough. One Retallack, a speculative builder, suggested a small increase on his overdraft, offering security.
"Yes," she sighed, "that's just the plumb-silly way my Sam would talk: and often enough he've a-driven me just wild with it. Men be all of one mould. . . . Mr Nanjivell, you've no great experience o' women. But did 'ee ever know a woman druv to the strikes by another woman?
But, as fate would have it, she had scarcely reached the porch of the Old Doctor's house when Nicky-Nan himself emerged from it: and at the sight of him her fatal curiosity triumphed. "Mr Nanjivell!" she called. Nicky-Nan turned about. "Good mornin', Miss. Was that you a-callin'?" Having yielded to her impulse, Miss Oliver suddenly found herself at a loss how to proceed.
There was that Nicholas Nanjivell called up to take his marching-orders, and well, you know how the man has been limping these months past. The thing was so ridic'lous, the other men shouted with laughter; and prettily annoyed the Customs Officer, for he went the colour of a turkey-cock.
Nicky-Nan, startled, raised himself upright on his knees and called in a tremor "No admittance!" As he staggered up and made for the door, to press his weight against it, Mrs Penhaligon spoke on the other side. "Mr Nanjivell!" "Ma'am?" "The postman, with a letter for you! I'll fetch it in, if you wish: but the poor fellow 'd like a clack, I can see."
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