The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [45]
of play, it would be done. The boy would offer no resistance, and in a few minutes it would all be over.
He threw down the book and pressed his hands over his ears: he fancied he could hear the boy's hands and feet beating against the panels of the door as he struggled in his death agony.
Then, as his arms fell nervelessly by his side again, he thought that he heard Frankie's voice calling.
`Dad! Dad!'
Owen hastily opened the door.
`Are you calling, Frankie?'
`Yes. I've been calling you quite a long time.'
`What do you want?'
`I want you to come here. I want to tell you something.'
`Well, what is it dear? I thought you were asleep a long time ago,' said Owen as he came into the room.
`That's just what I want to speak to you about: the kitten's gone to sleep all right, but I can't go. I've tried all different ways, counting and all, but it's no use, so I thought I'd ask you if you'd mind coming and staying with me, and letting me hold you hand for a little while and the p'raps I could go.'
The boy twined his arms round Owen's neck and hugged him very tightly.
`Oh, Dad, I love you so much!' he said. `I love you so much, I could squeeze you to death.'
`I'm afraid you will, if you squeeze me so tightly as that.'
The boy laughed softly as he relaxed his hold. `That WOULD be a funny way of showing you how much I love you, wouldn't it, Dad? Squeezing you to death!'
`Yes, I suppose it would,' replied Owen huskily, as he tucked the bedclothes round the child's shoulders. `But don't talk any more, dear; just hold my hand and try to sleep.'
`All right,' said Frankie.
Lying there very quietly, holding his father's hand and occasionally kissing it, the child presently fell asleep. Then Owen got up very gently and, having taken the kitten out of the bed again and arranged the bedclothes, he softly kissed the boy's forehead and returned to the other room.
Looking about for a suitable place for the kitten to sleep in, he noticed Frankie's toy box, and having emptied the toys on to the floor in a corner of the room, he made a bed in the box with some rags and placed it on its side on the hearthrug, facing the fire, and with some difficulty persuaded the kitten to lie in it. Then, having placed the chairs on which his clothes were drying at a safe distance from the fire, he went into the bedroom. Nora was still awake.
`Are you feeling any better, dear?' he said.
`Yes, I'm ever so much better since I've been in bed, but I can't help worrying about your clothes. I'm afraid they'll never be dry enough for you to put on the first thing in the morning. Couldn't you stay at home till after breakfast, just for once?'
`No; I mustn't do that. If I did Hunter would probably tell me to stay away altogether. I believe he would be glad of an excuse to get rid of another full-price man just now.'
`But if it's raining like this in the morning, you'll be wet through before you get there.'
`It's no good worrying about that dear: besides, I can wear this old coat that I have no now, over the other.'
`And if you wrap your old shoes in some paper, and take them with you, you can take off your wet boots as soon as you get to the place.'
`Yes, all right,' responded Owen. `Besides,' he added, reassuringly, `even if I do get a little wet, we always have a fire there, you know.'
`Well, I hope the weather will be a little better than this in the morning,' said Nora. `Isn't it a dreadful night! I keep feeling afraid that the house is going to be blown down.'
Long after Nora was asleep, Owen lay listening to the howling of the wind and the noise of the rain as it poured heavily on the roof ...
Chapter 7
The Exterminating Machines
`Come on, Saturday!' shouted Philpot, just after seven o'clock one Monday morning as they were getting ready to commence work.
It was still dark outside, but the scullery was dimly illuminated by the flickering light of two candles which Crass had lighted and stuck on the shelf over the fireplace in order to enable him to see
He threw down the book and pressed his hands over his ears: he fancied he could hear the boy's hands and feet beating against the panels of the door as he struggled in his death agony.
Then, as his arms fell nervelessly by his side again, he thought that he heard Frankie's voice calling.
`Dad! Dad!'
Owen hastily opened the door.
`Are you calling, Frankie?'
`Yes. I've been calling you quite a long time.'
`What do you want?'
`I want you to come here. I want to tell you something.'
`Well, what is it dear? I thought you were asleep a long time ago,' said Owen as he came into the room.
`That's just what I want to speak to you about: the kitten's gone to sleep all right, but I can't go. I've tried all different ways, counting and all, but it's no use, so I thought I'd ask you if you'd mind coming and staying with me, and letting me hold you hand for a little while and the p'raps I could go.'
The boy twined his arms round Owen's neck and hugged him very tightly.
`Oh, Dad, I love you so much!' he said. `I love you so much, I could squeeze you to death.'
`I'm afraid you will, if you squeeze me so tightly as that.'
The boy laughed softly as he relaxed his hold. `That WOULD be a funny way of showing you how much I love you, wouldn't it, Dad? Squeezing you to death!'
`Yes, I suppose it would,' replied Owen huskily, as he tucked the bedclothes round the child's shoulders. `But don't talk any more, dear; just hold my hand and try to sleep.'
`All right,' said Frankie.
Lying there very quietly, holding his father's hand and occasionally kissing it, the child presently fell asleep. Then Owen got up very gently and, having taken the kitten out of the bed again and arranged the bedclothes, he softly kissed the boy's forehead and returned to the other room.
Looking about for a suitable place for the kitten to sleep in, he noticed Frankie's toy box, and having emptied the toys on to the floor in a corner of the room, he made a bed in the box with some rags and placed it on its side on the hearthrug, facing the fire, and with some difficulty persuaded the kitten to lie in it. Then, having placed the chairs on which his clothes were drying at a safe distance from the fire, he went into the bedroom. Nora was still awake.
`Are you feeling any better, dear?' he said.
`Yes, I'm ever so much better since I've been in bed, but I can't help worrying about your clothes. I'm afraid they'll never be dry enough for you to put on the first thing in the morning. Couldn't you stay at home till after breakfast, just for once?'
`No; I mustn't do that. If I did Hunter would probably tell me to stay away altogether. I believe he would be glad of an excuse to get rid of another full-price man just now.'
`But if it's raining like this in the morning, you'll be wet through before you get there.'
`It's no good worrying about that dear: besides, I can wear this old coat that I have no now, over the other.'
`And if you wrap your old shoes in some paper, and take them with you, you can take off your wet boots as soon as you get to the place.'
`Yes, all right,' responded Owen. `Besides,' he added, reassuringly, `even if I do get a little wet, we always have a fire there, you know.'
`Well, I hope the weather will be a little better than this in the morning,' said Nora. `Isn't it a dreadful night! I keep feeling afraid that the house is going to be blown down.'
Long after Nora was asleep, Owen lay listening to the howling of the wind and the noise of the rain as it poured heavily on the roof ...
Chapter 7
The Exterminating Machines
`Come on, Saturday!' shouted Philpot, just after seven o'clock one Monday morning as they were getting ready to commence work.
It was still dark outside, but the scullery was dimly illuminated by the flickering light of two candles which Crass had lighted and stuck on the shelf over the fireplace in order to enable him to see