Chapter IV: A Visitor

HALF the evening went as nicely as possible, all the four being pleased and happy. Then, with no previous warning, a cloud came. The look which the girls well knew, came over Mrs. Plunkett's face—her "temper-look" they called it between themselves—and all brightness was gone. She lagged slowly by her husband's side, snapped at Marigold, silenced Narcissus, disagreed with whatever was said, refused to be interested, and finally declared that it was time to go home.

"But we can't! Father, need we? There's ever so many more creatures to see. Why, we haven't come across the snakes yet," protested Narcissus.

"You'll just do whatever you are told," said Mrs. Plunkett.

"Need we go?" implored Narcissus, appealing to her father.

Plunkett was at a loss. His wife turned her face towards the main entrance, with the air of one who had made up her mind; and he knew that she did not intend to go alone. He was capable of a blustering resistance under excitement, but in cooler moments, his extreme good nature made him yielding.

"Well, but now, Jane—" he expostulated.

"We've been long enough. A set of nasty beasts! I've had enough of 'em; and the girls aren't going to stay behind alone."

"Maybe you'll sit down here, and rest a bit, while I take them round," suggested Plunkett.

"Maybe I'll do nothing of the sort," returned she.

"But you'd like to see the snakes too, mother," urged Marigold, dismayed with the results of her own kind action. "The boa constrictor, you know, and the—"

"I don't care. I'm tired. Much you all care for that! I'm not going a step farther, not for nobody."

"Come now, Jane. You don't want to spoil the girls' treat. You don't really, you know," urged Plunkett. "And they haven't seen half yet."

"Then they needn't!" snapped Mrs. Plunkett. "It's time to get home."

But the blank face of Narcissus was too much for her father. "Well, then, if you're bent on going, you'll just have to go alone," he said, speaking roughly by way of showing courage. "I ain't going yet, nor the girls neither. We've lots more to look at. And you'll sit here quiet, till we're ready."

Mrs. Plunkett's face worked. "I'm not a-going to sit here, like a naughty child, and you three enjoying of yourselves," said she.

The others exchanged looks.

"Yes, of course, that's it! That's all you want. Just to get rid of me! Well, you may get along, and leave me; I'll manage." Wherewith she began to cry, and people around began to stare.

"I'll stay with mother, if you like, while you take Narcissus to see the snakes," proposed Marigold, with a mighty effort at self-denial.

"I say, now, you know that's all rubbish, Jane," protested the husband, direfully conscious of being under observation. "Nobody don't want to get rid of you. That's all nonsense. The girls want to see the snakes, and that's natural enough; and if you can't walk no farther, why then—"

Mrs. Plunkett jerked herself away, with a kind of indignant grunt, and went swiftly off towards the entrance, crying still. Marigold made a half movement to follow, and paused, because the other two waited.

"It don't matter," said Plunkett easily. "She's best at home; and we'll find her all right there by-and-by. Shouldn't wonder if she isn't well, and that makes folks cross, you know. Anyway, I don't mean to have you two disappointed. I promised you should see it all, and you shall."

"But if I ought to go after Mother?" said Marigold.

"She'll be a deal better, left alone for a while. Come—here's the way to the snakes."

"You can't go now. Mother would be home before you could get there; and father don't like us wandering about the streets alone so late," said Narcissus.

"No, that I don't," promptly added Plunkett. "It's a bad way girls get into, and I don't mean my girls to get into it. And Mrs. Heavitree don't allow it neither."

Marigold felt the matter to be settled for her, and settled as she wished; yet the thought of Mrs. Plunkett weighed upon her enjoyment like a wet blanket. Narcissus wont into raptures of admiration and disgust over the snakes; and Marigold looked on soberly, only half disposed to smile.

"That sort's a boa constrictor, Narcissus. He'd squash you to a jelly, if he got a chance, and swallow you whole," said Plunkett, who liked to air such knowledge as he had, and who, in so doing, was rather apt to outrun his knowledge.

"Would it really? But, father, I shouldn't think he was big enough! Not nearly!"

"Can't judge, looking at him so. Them boa constrictors can swallow pretty near anything. Make nothing of a man or two for a mouthful. And here's another sort—a small follow—and that's the kind that kills by stinging. You just see his forked tongue. If it wasn't for the glass, he'd stick his tongue into you, in a moment, and you'd be dead of the poison in an hour."

Plunkett suddenly found the General to be looking at the same object—not only looking, but listening, with an amused curl of his military moustache,—and the confident tone was lowered.

"That's it, sir, ain't it?" Plunkett ventured to ask.

"Well, no—not precisely 'it'," responded the General. "There is a widespread delusion afloat on the subject, and snakes are popularly said to 'sting.' The tongue, however, is perfectly harmless, though I grant that it has a vicious look."

"And wouldn't a man die of that creature's sting?" asked Plunkett, privately holding to his own view.

"Of its bite certainly, for the cobra is a deadly snake. But the mischief is in the teeth, not in the tongue. He has poison fangs,—sharp hollow teeth, each with a little bag of virulent poison at its root. If he could strike at you, and bite you, one tiny drop of that poison getting into the wound would be enough to put a quick end to your life. Sometimes the poison fangs are taken away from a living snake; and then, though he has the forked tongue still, he is powerless to injure anybody."

"Could that other big snake swallow a man, sir?" asked Marigold shyly; for she, like Narcissus, felt sceptical on the subject.

"The boa yonder? No! He might manage to get down something rather bigger than a rabbit, possibly. Boa constrictors do exist big enough to swallow a man, or even an ox; but these are comparatively small specimens. Not that you would enjoy a squeeze, even from them," added the General, smiling, as he again passed on.

"Well, I suppose he knows," said Plunkett dubiously.

"Why, father, he has been in India for years and years," said Marigold.

Plunkett rather objected to being found out in a mistake. He turned to other subjects, and soon led the girls away from the snakes.

Time passed more quickly than any of them knew; and though they meant to be home early, it was considerably past ten before they really did arrive. Mrs. Plunkett was still up. This they expected, and they expected also to find her crouching over the kitchen fire, peevish and unhappy. Instead of which she sat at the table, needlework in hand, and opposite to her sat a big fresh-faced young man, apparently doing his best to make himself agreeable.

"Todd himself? Well, I never," said Plunkett. "Why, I thought you was off in Africa for the rest of your life."

"So I thought, too," Todd answered, with an admiring glance at Marigold. "How d'you do,—eh? Not forgot your old playfellow?" he asked, as he shook hands with both the girls. "So I thought, too; but I got tired of Africa. Didn't seem to pay somehow. And I thought I'd come home."

Plunkett moved his head dubiously. There was nothing of the rolling stone in Plunkett's nature. He liked to see an old acquaintance, but to approve was not possible. James Todd was one of those people who are always turning up on hand, when their friends count them to be comfortably disposed of. He was so big, bodily, that there was no chance of overlooking him, wherever he might happen to be; and he had such a genial manner, that everybody liked him; but, none the less, what to do with Todd had been a problem of long standing, and it recurred with embarrassing frequency. Two years earlier he had gone out as an emigrant to South Africa, having failed to find at home any work suited to his capacities and inclinations.

His affectionate relatives did at last hope that he was safely off their hands; but the hope proved futile. Here he was again, big and good-humoured, self-satisfied and lazy, as ever.

"Thought you'd come home—for what?" asked Plunkett.

"That's what I've been asking," put in Mrs. Plunkett. "And he don't know."

"I am ready for anything as may turn up. That's what it is," declared Todd cheerfully.

"Things don't turn up without they're looked for," said Plunkett.

"I'll look for 'em. Never you fear. I'm not come back to live an idle life." Todd spoke with an air of virtuous resolution. "There's always something wants doing, and there ain't many things I can't do." He kept his seat with the air of one very much at home, and in no hurry to depart.

Narcissus gaped sleepily.

"Getting late, and we're early folks," said Plunkett, glancing round the untidy kitchen. "Should have thought—she might ha' put things a bit straight,—" in an undertone, as he noted the supper things still unwashed on the table. His mutter was audible, and Mrs. Plunkett's face gloomed over.

"I'll clear away," said Marigold.

"No, you won't; it's time to go to bed, and I ain't going to have no more sitting up," said Mrs. Plunkett. "Them things can wait till morning."

"But—" began Marigold, and stopped.

"So good-night," said Mrs. Plunkett to Todd.

Todd smiled good-temperedly, rose slowly, lounged against the table for a few last words with Plunkett,—and failed to calculate his own weight. The loose leaf upon which he rested collapsed without warning, and the crockery thereupon descended to the floor with a startling crash. Todd nearly went down backwards, and a mass of broken china lay upon the ground.

"Oh!" Marigold exclaimed.

"There now!" said Plunkett. "If that had been put away—as it ought to ha' been—"

"Well now, I'm sure I'm very sorry. Didn't mean to do no harm," apologised Todd, regarding the ruin with mild amazement. "Why, the leaf o' the table couldn't ha' been properly fastened up."

"Shouldn't wonder! Nothing never is properly done in this house,—without Marigold has the doing of it," declared Plunkett.

"You needn't stand staring there!" said Mrs. Plunkett shortly to Marigold. "What's done can't be undone. You'd best sweep it up sharp."

Marigold flushed at the tone, but she at once knelt to obey; and James Todd, after looking slowly from one to the other, as if trying to understand the position of affairs, followed suit, with much deliberation.

"Take care, don't you cut your hands," he said to Marigold. "Them edges are worse than a knife. I say,—" in a lower tone, as Mrs. Plunkett moved off—"she wasn't here when I went away. Nor she don't seem improved by marrying. Why, she was as different—"

Marigold made no answer, and Todd was impressed with her silence. She carefully lifted away the larger pieces of broken china, gathered together the smaller bits, and swept into a dustpan all the finer remains. After which, Todd stood up to say good-bye, with a promise to reappear speedily, and Mrs. Plunkett shut the door behind him with an air of satisfaction.

"He won't come here often if I've my way," she said.

"Why, there's no harm in Todd. He's a nice young fellow. Not but what he might be more fond of work, but I always did like him," responded Plunkett. "One would ha' thought you was enjoying your talk with him. When we come in, you looked as if you was enjoying of it."

"Which, I wasn't! I just wished he'd make haste and go."

"He's seen a lot o' queer things abroad, no doubt. We'll get him to tell us all about it. As good as going to a beast show," laughed Plunkett.