Last summer Fitz-Jones had spent four torrid days with the thermometer at 75 degrees, winding up his pipes in straw "against" the winter. I had seen his purple face as I hammocked it with an iced drink. He had seen and heard me laugh.
"Ah," he croaked, "you may laugh on the other side of the hedge now, but you'll laugh on the other side of your face later."
So now I knew that he was thudding after me in the snow, bursting to hear that my pipes had burst or were about to burst.
"Hallo, Browne," he began, "how'd you like this?"
"Oh, all right," I said airily. Here I did a wonderful step. Slide on the right heel--hesitation shuffle on the left toe--two half slips sideways. Wave both arms--backward bend. Recover. Jazz--tangle--tickle-toe was nothing to it.
"Slippery, isn't it?" he said. "My flannel was frozen to the wash-stand to-day--had to get it off with a chisel."
I was prepared for these travellers' tales. I knew he was leading up to water-pipes.
"Couldn't get my cold tub," he went on; "frozen solid overnight."
I had heard of this cold tub before. "My tooth-brush froze on to my teeth," I capped him; "the teapot spout was hung with icicles, and the cat's tongue froze on to the milk when it was drinking."
"How about your pipes?" he began, "Who was right about wrapping?"
"Rapping," I said in well-feigned innocence--"rapping? Who rapped? Rapped on what?"
I gathered when we reached the station there was a strike on. But we found a milk-lorry travelling our way. So Smith had the entire use of my right ear into which to say, "I told you so," for an hour, while we travelled to the spot on which we win our bread. He had dragged from me the fact that our hot-water tap had also struck. The milk cans clattered. Smith chattered. So did my teeth.
When I got home that night our house seemed to be more handsomely garnished with icicles than any other house I had seen that day.
"Keep the home fires burning!" I said to my wife on entering. "If need be, burn the banisters and the bills and my boot-trees and everything else beginning with a 'b.' Keep us thawed and unburst, or Fitz-Jones will feel he has scored a moral victory; he will strut cross-gartered, with yellow stockings, for the rest of his days."