IN the course of the next morning, June was informed by Uncle Si, with his most sanctimonious air that “he could not pass over her impudence, and that she had better pack her box and go.” Moreover, that force might be lent to this ukase, he sternly summoned William from the lumber room, and ordered the young man to help her down with her box as soon as it was ready; and then he must fetch her a cab.
This was more than June had bargained for. She was expecting to be kicked out; but she had not looked for the process to be quite so summary. It did not suit her plans at all.
“Get a room for yourself in a decent neighbourhood,” said the old man. “Mrs. Runciman will know of one, no doubt. You’ve money enough to keep you while you look for work.”
June’s swift mind, however, saw instant disadvantages. Secretly, she cherished the hope, a slender one, no doubt, of being able to discover where the picture was hid. Once, however, she left the house that hope would vanish. And it was painfully clear that it was Uncle Si’s recognition of this fact which now made him so determined to be quit of her.
The old serpent was fully alive to what lay at the back of her mind. He knew that so long as she slept under his roof the picture could never be safe.
She was shrewd enough to size up the position at once. Reading the purpose in the heart of Uncle Si she told him plainly that much as she disliked her present address she did not propose to change it until her lawful property had been restored to her.
“You are going to leave this place within an hour, my girl, for good and all.”
“I shall not,” said June flatly. “Until you give me the picture, I don’t intend to stir.”
“The picture is not yours. You are not a fit person to have it. And if you don’t go quietly your box will be put into the street.”
“Dare to touch my box again, and I shall go straight to the police.”
Uncle Si didn’t care a straw for the police. She had not the slightest claim upon him; in fact she was living on his charity. As for the picture, it had nothing whatever to do with the matter.
At this point it was that William came out in his true colours. He had been standing by, unwilling witness of these passages. Anxiously concerned, he could no longer keep silent.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said, stammering painfully, and flushing deeply, “but if Miss June leaves the house, I’m afraid I’ll have to go as well.”
This was a thunderbolt. S. Gedge Antiques opened his mouth in wide astonishment. He gasped like a carp. The atmospheric displacement was terrific. Slowly the old man took off his “selling” spectacles, and replaced them with his “buying” ones. Certainly the effect was to make him look a shade less truculent, but at the moment there was no other result. “Boy, don’t talk like a fool,” was all he could say.
William, however, was not to be moved. He never found it easy to make up his mind; for him to reach a decision in things that mattered was a slow and trying process. But the task achieved it was for good or ill. His stammers and blushes were a little ludicrous, he seemed near to tears, but the open hostility of his master could not turn him an inch.
“Never in my born days did I hear the like.” S. Gedge Antiques seethed like a vipers’ nest. “Boy, you ought to be bled for the simples to let a paltry hussy get round you in this way.”
“Give me the picture, Uncle Si,” cried the paltry hussy, with a force that made him blink, “and I’ll take precious good care you don’t see me again.”
The old man whinnied with rage. But he had not the least intention of giving up the picture; nor had he the least intention of giving up that which was almost as valuable, the services of his right-hand man. William was irreplaceable. And the instant his master realised that this odd fellow was very much in earnest, he saw that there was only one line to take. He must temporize. With all the tact he could muster, and on occasion the old man could muster a good deal, the Old Crocodile proceeded to do so.
The “firing” of his niece should stand in abeyance for the time being. He gave solemn warning, however, that she must get a job right away, as his mind was quite made up that he was not going to find house room for the likes of her an hour longer than he could help. As for the boy, of whom he had always held such a high opinion ever since the day he had first picked him out of the gutter and upon whom he had lavished a father’s kindness, he was really quite at a loss—with a snuffle of heart-melting pathos—to know how to put his deeply wounded feelings into words.
For June, all the same, the upshot was victory. The inevitable packing of her box could be postponed to her own good time. But well she knew that the reprieve was due to William and to him alone. It was his splendidly timed intervention that had enabled her to win the day.
The previous evening harsh thoughts of the Sawney had crept into her heart. After giving her the picture, surely it was his duty to take a stronger line upon the rape of it. But that phase of weakness was forgotten now. He had come out nobly. At a most critical moment he had fought her battle; and he had fought it with magical effect.
All was forgiven. He was O. K.