Just as the bag was tied up and the amounts noted down, there was a light tap at the door, and Mr Chute stepped in, glancing quickly up at the slit made by the half-closed partition shutters to see if it was observable from this side.
I just came in to say, Miss Thorne well, that is odd now, really.
Hazel looked her wonder, and he went on:
Its really quite funny. I said to myself, the pence will mount up so that they will be quite a nuisance to Miss Thorne, and Ill go and offer to get them off her hands.
Thank you, Mr Chute, I wont trouble you, replied Hazel.
Trouble? Oh, its no trouble, he said, laughing in a peculiar way. I get rid of mine at the shops, and I can just as easily put yours with them, and of course its much easier to keep shillings than pence; and then when youve got enough you can change your silver for gold.
By-the-way, said Hazel, when do we have to give up the school pence and club money?
Only once a year, said Mr Chute, who was in high glee at this approach to intimacy. Youll have to keep it till Christmas.
Keep it till Christmas! What! all that money!
To be sure! Oh, it isnt much. May I send your coppers with mine?
Hazel paused for a moment, and then accepted the offer, the schoolmaster noting in his pocket-book the exact amount, and waiting while Hazel went into the cottage to fetch the other sums she had received, the whole of which Mr Chute bore off in triumph, smiling ecstatically, and exclaiming to himself as soon as he was alone:
Shes mine!
shes mine! shes mine!
After which he performed a kind of triumphal dance around the bags of copper, rubbing his hands with satisfaction at this step towards making himself useful to Hazel Thorne, until Mrs Chute came into the room, and asked him what he meant by making such a fool of himself.
Mrs Chute was a hard-looking little woman, with fair hair and a brownish skin, and one who had probably never looked pleasant in her life. She was very proud of her son, My Samoowel, as she always persisted in calling him, in despite of large efforts upon the part of that son to correct her pronunciation; and she showed her affection by never hardly speaking to him without finding fault, snapping him up, and making herself generally unpleasant; though, if anybody had dared to insinuate that Samuel Chute was not the most handsome, the most clever, and the best son in the world, it would have been exceedingly unpleasant for that body, for Mrs Chute, relict of Mr Samuel Chute, senior, of The Docks, possessed a tongue.
What Mr Samuel Chute, senior, had been in The Docks, no one ever knew, and it had not been to any ones interest to find out. Suffice it that, after a long course of education somewhere at a national school in East London, Mr Samuel Chute, junior, had risen to be a pupil-teacher, and thence to a scholarship, resulting in a regular training; then after a minor appointment or two, he had obtained the mastership at Plumton School, where he had proved himself to be a good son by taking his mother home to keep house for him, and she had made him miserable ever since.
Why, what are you thinking about, Samoowel, dancing round the money like a mad miser?
Oh, nonsense, mother! I was only only
Only, only making a great noodle of yourself. Moneys right enough, but Id be ashamed of myself if I cared so much for it that I was bound to dance about that how.
Mr Chute did not answer, so she went on:
I dont think much of these Thornes, Samoowel.
Not think much of them, mother?
There, bless the boy, didnt I speak plain? Dont keep repeating every word I say. I dont think much of them. That Mrs Thornes the stuck-uppest body I ever met.
Oh no, shes an invalid.
I daresay she is! But Id have every complaint under the sun, from tic to teething, without being so proud and stuck-up as she is. I went in this afternoon quite neighbourly like, but, oh dear me! and lor bless you! she almost as good as ast me what I wanted.
But but I hope you didnt say anything unpleasant mother?
Now, am I a woman as ever did say anything unpleasant, Samoowel? The most unpleasant thing I said was that I hoped she was as proud of her daughter as I was of my son.
And did you say that mother?
Of course I did, and then she began to talk about her girl, and grew a little more civil; but I dont like her, Samoowel. She smells of pride, orrid; and as for her girl there
Mr Samuel Chute did not stop to hear the latter part of the ladys speech, for just then he caught sight of the top of a bonnet passing the window, and he ran into the next room, so as to be able to see its wearer going along the road towards the market-place.
What is the matter, Samoowel? Is it an acciden? cried Mrs Chute, running after him.
No, no, nothing, mother, he replied, turning away from the window to meet the lady. Nothing at all!
Why, Samoowel, she cried, looking at him with an aspect full of disgust, dont tell me that you were staring after that girl!
I wasnt going to tell you I was looking after her, mother, said the young man sulkily.