The Case of Richard Meynell | Page 3

it open, read it with slightly
frowning brows and a mouth that worked unconsciously, then thrust it
into his pocket and returned to his sitting-room.
"All right!" he said to himself. "He's got an odd list of 'aggrieved
parishioners!'"
The tidings, however, which the letter contained did not seem to

distress him. On the contrary, his aspect expressed a singular and
cheerful energy, as he sat a few moments on the sofa, softly whistling
to himself and staring at the floor. That he was a person extravagantly
beloved by his dogs was clearly shown meanwhile by the exuberant
attentions and caresses with which they were now loading him.
He shook them off at last with a friendly kick or two, that he might turn
to his letters, which he sorted and turned over, much as an epicure
studies his menu at the Ritz, and with an equally keen sense of pleasure
to come.
A letter from Jena, and another from Berlin, addressed in small German
handwriting and signed by names familiar to students throughout the
world; two or three German reviews, copies of the Revue Critique and
the _Revue Chrétienne_, a book by Solomon Reinach, and three or four
French letters, one of them shown by the cross preceding the signature
to be the letter of a bishop; a long letter from Oxford, enclosing the
proof of an article in a theological review; and, finally, a letter sealed
with red wax and signed "F. Marcoburg" in a corner of the envelope,
which the Rector twirled in his hands a moment without opening.
"After tea," he said at last, with the sudden breaking of a smile. And he
put it on the sofa beside him.
As he spoke the door opened to admit his housekeeper with the tray, to
the accompaniment of another orgie of barks. A stout woman in a
sun-bonnet, with a broad face and no features to speak of, entered.
"I'll be bound you've had no dinner," she said sulkily, as she placed the
tea before him on a chair cleared with difficulty from some of the
student's litter that filled the room.
"All the more reason for tea," said Meynell, seizing thirstily on the
teapot. "And you're quite mistaken, Anne. I had a magnificent bath-bun
at the station."
"Much good you'll get out of that!" was the scornful reply. "You know
what Doctor Shaw told you about that sort o' goin' on."

"Never you mind, Anne. What about that painter chap?"
"Gone home for the week-end." Mrs. Wellin retreated a foot or two and
crossed her arms, bare to the elbow, in front of her.
The Rector stared.
"I thought I had taken him on by the week to paint my house," he said
at last.
"So you did. But he said he must see his missus and hear how his little
girl had done in her music exam."
Mrs. Wellin delivered this piece of news very fast and with evident
gusto. It might have been thought she enjoyed inflicting it on her
master.
The Rector laughed out.
"And this was a man sent me a week ago by the Birmingham Distress
Committee--nine weeks out of work--family in the
workhouse--everything up the spout. Goodness gracious, Anne, how
did he get the money? Return fare, Birmingham, three-and-ten."
"Don't ask me, sir," said the woman in the sun-bonnet. "I don't go pryin'
into such trash!"
"Is he coming back? Is my house to be painted?" asked the Rector
helplessly.
"Thought he might," said Anne, briefly.
"How kind of him! Music exam! Lord save us! And three-and-ten
thrown into the gutter on a week-end ticket--with seven children to
keep--and all your possessions gone to 'my uncle.' And it isn't as though
you'd been starving him, Anne!"
"I wish I hadn't dinnered him as I have been doin'!" the woman broke
out. "But he'll know the difference next week! And now, sir, I suppose

you'll be goin' to that place again to-night?"
Anne jerked her thumb behind her over her left shoulder.
"Suppose so, Anne. Can't afford a night-nurse, and the wife won't look
after him."
"Why don't some one make her?" said Anne, frowning.
The Rector's face changed.
"Better not talk about it, Anne. When a woman's been in hell for years,
you needn't expect her to come out an angel. She won't forgive him,
and she won't nurse him--that's flat."
"No reason why she should shovel him off on other people as wants
their night's rest. It's takin' advantage--that's what it is."
"I say, Anne, I must read my letters. And just light me a bit of fire,
there's a good woman. July!--ugh!--it might be February!"
In a few minutes a bit of fire was blazing in the grate, though the
windows were still wide open, and the Rector, who had had