Ultima Thule Read Online Free PDF Page B

poor Tilly's gingerbread in earnest.
    But, in listening, she had also cocked an attentive ear, and now she said: "Tilly, there's something about that child's cry . . . there's a tone in it -- a . . ."
    "'Ungry . . .!" said Tilly fiercely. "'E's starving -- that's what it is."
    "Of course, hungry, too. But I must say it sounds to me more angry. And then look how he beats the air with his little fists. He's not trying to suck them or even get them near his mouth. What I'm wondering is . . . Richard can't, of course, touch the case, now it's in MacMullen's hands. But I'm going home to tell him all about it. He used to have great luck with children in the old days. There's no saying. He might be able to suggest something. In the meantime, my dear, keep a good heart. Nothing is gained by despairing."
    "Bless you, Mary! If any one can put spunk into a mortal it's you."
    "Starving?" said Mahony on hearing the tale. "I shouldn't wonder if starving itself was not nearer the mark."
    "But Richard, such a young child . . . do you really think. . . Though -- I must say when I heard that exasperated sort of cry . . ."
    "Exactly. Who's to say where consciousness begins? . . . or ends. For all we know, the child in the womb may have its own dim sentience. Now I don't need to give you my opinion of the wet-nurse system. None the less, if the case were mine, I should urge the mother to leave no stone unturned to find the person who first had it at the breast. A woman of her class will still be nursing."
    "Mary! I'll give 'er the 'alf of what I 'ave. I'll make a spectacle of myself -- go on me knees down Sturt Street if need be; but back she comes!" were Tilly's parting words as she stepped into the train.
    And sure enough, not a week later a letter arrived to say that, by dint of fierce appeals to her motherhood and unlimited promises ("What it's going to cost me, Purd will never know!"), the woman had been induced to return. A further week brought a second communication to the breakfast-table, scrawled in a shaky hand and scrappily put together, but containing the glad news that the child had actually gained a few ounces in weight, and, better still, had ceased its heartrending wail. Tilly's joy and gratitude were of such a nature that Mary did not dare to deliver the message she sent Richard, as it stood. She just translated the gist of it into sober English.
    And a good job, too, that she had watered it down. For Richard proved to be in one of his worst, early-morning moods; and was loud in scorn of even the little she passed on.
    He ended by thoroughly vexing her. "Never did I know such a man! Things have come to such a pass that people can't even feel grateful to you, without offending you. Your one desire is to hold them at arm's length. You ought to have been born a mole."
    In speaking she had hastily reinserted Tilly's letter in its envelope. A second letter was lying by her plate. This she read with wrinkled brows, an occasional surreptitious glance at Richard, and more than one smothered: "Tch!" She also hesitated for some time before deciding to hand it, past three pairs of inquisitive young eyes, over the table.
    "Here! I wonder what you'll say to this? It's not my fault this time, remember."
    Mahony incuriously laid aside his newspaper, took the sheet, frowned at the writing, and tilted it to the correct angle for his eyes, which were "not what they used to be."
    The letter ran:
    My dear Mrs. Mahony,
    My dear wife has been ordered a sea-voyage for the benefit of her health, and before sailing, wishes, as ladies will, to visit the Melbourne emporiums and make some additions to her wardrobe. It is impossible for me to accompany her, though I shall hope to bid her "au revoir" before she sails, a fortnight hence. May I trespass upon your goodness, and request you to be Agnes's cicerone and escort, while in Melbourne for the above object? I need not dwell on her preference for you in this role, over every one else.
    Give my due regards