the kitchen, would you?" says the
witch without the broomstick, as familiar as if she had been Trottle's
mother, instead of Benjamin's. "There's a bit of fire in the grate, and
the sink in the back kitchen don't smell to matter much to-day, and it's
uncommon chilly up here when a person's flesh don't hardly cover a
person's bones. But you don't look cold, sir, do you? And then, why,
Lord bless my soul, our little bit of business is so very, very little,
it's hardly worth while to go downstairs about it, after all. Quite a
game at business, ain't it, sir? Give-and-take that's what I call
it—give-and-take!"
With that, her wicked old eyes settled hungrily on the region round about
Trottle's waistcoat-pocket, and she began to chuckle like her son,
holding out one of her skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully in the palm
with the knuckles of the other. Agravating Benjamin, seeing what she was
about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped in imitation of her, got
an idea of his own into his muddled head all of a sudden, and bolted it
out charitably for the benefit of Trottle.
"I say!" says Benjamin, settling himself against the wall and nodding his
head viciously at his cheerful old mother. "I say! Look out. She'll
skin you!"
Assisted by these signs and warnings, Trottle found no difficulty in
understanding that the business referred to was the giving and taking of
money, and that he was expected to be the giver. It was at this stage of
the proceedings that he first felt decidedly uncomfortable, and more than
half inclined to wish he was on the street-side of the house-door again.
He was still cudgelling his brains for an excuse to save his pocket, when
the silence was suddenly interrupted by a sound in the upper part of the
house.
It was not at all loud—it was a quiet, still, scraping sound—so faint
that it could hardly have reached the quickest ears, except in an empty
house.
"Do you hear that, Benjamin?" says the old woman. "He's at it again,
even in the dark, ain't he? P'raps you'd like to see him, sir!" says
she, turning on Trottle, and poking her grinning face close to him. "Only
name it; only say if you'd like to see him before we do our little bit of
business—and I'll show good Forley's friend up-stairs, just as if he was
good Mr. Forley himself.
My
legs are all right, whatever Benjamin's
may be. I get younger and younger, and stronger and stronger, and
jollier and jollier, every day—that's what I do! Don't mind the stairs
on my account, sir, if you'd like to see him."
"Him?" Trottle wondered whether "him" meant a man, or a boy, or a
domestic animal of the male species. Whatever it meant, here was a
chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, and,
better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the secrets of the
mysterious House. Trottle's spirits began to rise again and he said
"Yes," directly, with the confidence of a man who knew all about it.
Benjamin's mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle briskly to
the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as usual. But getting
up several flights of stairs, even helped by the bannisters, was more,
with his particular complaint, than he seemed to feel himself inclined to
venture on. He sat down obstinately on the lowest step, with his head
against the wall, and the tails of his big great-coat spreading out
magnificently on the stairs behind him and above him, like a dirty
imitation of a court lady's train.
"Don't sit there, dear," says his affectionate mother, stopping to snuff
the candle on the first landing.
"I shall sit here," says Benjamin, agravating to the last, "till the milk
comes in the morning."
The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first floor,
and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open. He had seen
nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the staircase, so
far. The House was dirty and dreary and close-smelling—but there was
nothing about it to excite the least
witch without the broomstick, as familiar as if she had been Trottle's
mother, instead of Benjamin's. "There's a bit of fire in the grate, and
the sink in the back kitchen don't smell to matter much to-day, and it's
uncommon chilly up here when a person's flesh don't hardly cover a
person's bones. But you don't look cold, sir, do you? And then, why,
Lord bless my soul, our little bit of business is so very, very little,
it's hardly worth while to go downstairs about it, after all. Quite a
game at business, ain't it, sir? Give-and-take that's what I call
it—give-and-take!"
With that, her wicked old eyes settled hungrily on the region round about
Trottle's waistcoat-pocket, and she began to chuckle like her son,
holding out one of her skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully in the palm
with the knuckles of the other. Agravating Benjamin, seeing what she was
about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped in imitation of her, got
an idea of his own into his muddled head all of a sudden, and bolted it
out charitably for the benefit of Trottle.
"I say!" says Benjamin, settling himself against the wall and nodding his
head viciously at his cheerful old mother. "I say! Look out. She'll
skin you!"
Assisted by these signs and warnings, Trottle found no difficulty in
understanding that the business referred to was the giving and taking of
money, and that he was expected to be the giver. It was at this stage of
the proceedings that he first felt decidedly uncomfortable, and more than
half inclined to wish he was on the street-side of the house-door again.
He was still cudgelling his brains for an excuse to save his pocket, when
the silence was suddenly interrupted by a sound in the upper part of the
house.
It was not at all loud—it was a quiet, still, scraping sound—so faint
that it could hardly have reached the quickest ears, except in an empty
house.
"Do you hear that, Benjamin?" says the old woman. "He's at it again,
even in the dark, ain't he? P'raps you'd like to see him, sir!" says
she, turning on Trottle, and poking her grinning face close to him. "Only
name it; only say if you'd like to see him before we do our little bit of
business—and I'll show good Forley's friend up-stairs, just as if he was
good Mr. Forley himself.
My
legs are all right, whatever Benjamin's
may be. I get younger and younger, and stronger and stronger, and
jollier and jollier, every day—that's what I do! Don't mind the stairs
on my account, sir, if you'd like to see him."
"Him?" Trottle wondered whether "him" meant a man, or a boy, or a
domestic animal of the male species. Whatever it meant, here was a
chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, and,
better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the secrets of the
mysterious House. Trottle's spirits began to rise again and he said
"Yes," directly, with the confidence of a man who knew all about it.
Benjamin's mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle briskly to
the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as usual. But getting
up several flights of stairs, even helped by the bannisters, was more,
with his particular complaint, than he seemed to feel himself inclined to
venture on. He sat down obstinately on the lowest step, with his head
against the wall, and the tails of his big great-coat spreading out
magnificently on the stairs behind him and above him, like a dirty
imitation of a court lady's train.
"Don't sit there, dear," says his affectionate mother, stopping to snuff
the candle on the first landing.
"I shall sit here," says Benjamin, agravating to the last, "till the milk
comes in the morning."
The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first floor,
and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open. He had seen
nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the staircase, so
far. The House was dirty and dreary and close-smelling—but there was
nothing about it to excite the least
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