“You’ll be witness that I delivered it constitutionally,” he said, “for I can’t be expected to come a third time.”
“’Tis a windfall your coming a second,” cried Caleb eagerly, “bein’ as we can’t read the letter.”
Martha made facial contortions to remind him that Bundock was barred. “’Tain’t you we want to read it,” he hurriedly added, “but when a letter comes all of an onplunge, time a man’s peacefully trimmin’ the werges, he ain’t prepared like. You haven’t got a moment—did, Oi’d be glad o’ your counsel on the matter.”
“Well, since I’ve wasted so much of the Queen’s time——!” said Bundock, flattered.
They adjourned to the parlour to give him a rest, and denuding himself of both cap and bag of office, he occupied oracularly the long-unused arm-chair, while Caleb, uncomfortably perched on a seat of slippery horsehair, started to unfold the situation.
“Take off your hat,” broke in Martha. “Mr. Bundock will be thinking you’ve no manners.”
“Oi’ll be soon gooin’ outside again,” said Caleb obstinately, and re-started his story.
“Do let me explain,” interrupted Martha at last.
“Oi’ll be gooin’ outside soon, Oi tell ye.”
“Oi shall never make Bundock sensible, ef you keep interruptin’ me.”
“You see, Mr. Bundock, it’s this way——” began Martha.
“Oi’ve told him all that,” said Caleb. “Let _me_ speak.”
“Oi’ll be gooin’ outside agen, won’t Oi?”
Bundock was examining the letter which had been laid on the table as for an operation.
“But it don’t look like a woman’s writing,” he interrupted. “That would be spidery.”
“’Tain’t likely she could write herself in that condition,” began Caleb, but Martha’s face again hushed him down.
“There’s neither seal nor sticking envelope,” pursued the expert. “Nothing but a wafer. Comes from a poor man.”
“Her new husband,” said Caleb, and set Martha grimacing again.
“Oi’ll be soon gooin’ outside,” he protested, misunderstanding.
“What you want,” summed up Bundock judicially, “is a mixture of discretion with matrimony, seasoned with a sprinkle of learning.”
“He talks like the Book!” said Caleb admiringly.
“But where _is_ this mixture?” inquired Martha eagerly.
“She don’t exist,” said Bundock. “But Miss Gentry is the nearest lady that can read, and Fate is just sending me with a letter and a packet to her.”