Shortly afterwards Jack went away to sea again; and
after his departure there were several furious quarrels
between the women down below, which filled the whole
house with treble reproaches and repartees. At last one
evening Miss Williams--the quiet one--came to me and
announced with sobs that she must go. Mrs. Wotton made
her life unbearable, she said. She was determined to be
independent, and had fitted up a small shop in a poor
quarter of the town. She was going now, at once, to take
possession of it.
I was sorry, because I liked Miss Williams, and I
said a few words to that effect. She got as far as the
hall door, and then came rustling back again into the
consulting room. "Take a drink of your own beer!" she
cried, and vanished.
It sounded like some sort of slang imprecation. If
she had said "Oh, pull up your socks!" I should
have been less surprised. And then suddenly the words
took a dreadful meaning in my mind, and I rushed to the
cellar. The cask was tilted forward on the trestles. I
struck it and it boomed like a drum. I turned the tap,
and not one drop appeared. Let us draw a veil over the
painful scene. Suffice it that Mrs. Wotton got her
marching orders then and there--and that next day Paul
and I found ourselves alone in the empty house once more.
But we were demoralised by luxury. We could no
longer manage without a helper--especially now in the
winter time, when fires had to be lit--the most heart-
breaking task that a man can undertake.
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