that’s choked—no structural defect in the stack.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Puffett, mollified by finding him self appreciated, ‘the pot’s where your trouble is.’ He stripped off another sweater to reveal himself in emerald green. ‘I’m a-goin’ to try it with the rods alone, without the brush. Maybe, with my power be’ind it, we’ll be able to get the rod through the sut. If not, then we’ll ’ave to get the ladders.’
‘Ladders?’
‘Access by the roof, my lady,’ explained Bunter.
‘What fun!’ said Harriet. ‘I’m sure Mr Puffett will manage it somehow. Can you find me a vase or something for these flowers, Bunter?’
‘Very good, my lady.’ (Nothing, thought Mr Bunter, not even an Oxford education, would prevent a woman’s mind from straying away after inessentials; but he was pleased to note that the temper was, so far, admirably controlled. A vase of water was a small price to pay for harmony.)
‘Peter!’ cried Harriet up the staircase. (Bunter, had he remained to witness it, might after all have conceded her an instinct for essentials.) ‘Peter darling! the sweep’s here!’
‘Oh, frabjous day! I am coming, my own, my sweep.’ He pattered down briskly. ‘What a genius you have for saying the right thing! All my life I have waited to hear those exquisite words, Peter darling, the sweep’s come. We are married by god! we are married. I thought so once, but now I know it.’
‘Some people take a lot of convincing.’
‘One is afraid to believe in good fortune. The sweep! I crushed down my rising hopes. I said. No—it is a thunderstorm, a small earthquake, or at most a destitute cow dying by inches in the chimney. I dared not court disappointment. It is so long since I was taken into anybody’s confidence about a sweep. As a rule, Bunter smuggles him in when I am out of the house, for fear my lordship should be inconvenienced. Only a wife would treat me with the disrespect I deserve and summon me to look upon the—good lord!’
He turned, as he spoke, to look upon Mr Puffett, only the soles of whose boots were visible. At this moment a bellow so loud and prolonged issued from the fireplace that Peter turned quite pale. ‘He hasn’t got stuck, has he?’
‘No—it’s the power he’s putting behind it. There’s corroded soot in the pot or something, which makes it very hard work.... Peter, I do wish you could have seen the place before Noakes filled it up with bronze horsemen and bamboo what-nots and aspidistras.’
‘Hush! Never blaspheme the aspidistra. It’s very unlucky. Something frightful will come down that chimney and get you—boo! ... Oh, my god! look at that bristling horror over the wireless set!’
‘Some people would pay pounds for a fine cactus like that.’
‘They must have very little imagination. It’s not a plant it’s a morbid growth—something lingering happening to your kidneys. Besides, it makes me wonder whether I’ve shaved. Have I?’
‘M’m—yes—like satin—no, that’ll do! I suppose, if we shot the beastly thing out, it’d die to spite us. They’re delicate, though you mightn’t think it, and Mr Noakes would demand its weight in gold. How long did we hire this grisly furniture for?’
‘A month, but we might get rid of it sooner. It’s a damn shame spoiling this noble old place with that muck.’
‘Do you like the house, Peter?’
‘It’s beautiful. It’s like a lovely body inhabited by an evil spirit. And I don’t mean only the furniture. I’ve taken a dislike to our landlord, or tenant, or whatever he is. I’ve a fancy he’s up to no good and that the house will be glad to be rid of him.’
‘I believe it hates him. I’m sure he’s starved and insulted and ill-treated it. Why, even the chimneys—’
‘Yes, of course, the chimneys. Do you think I could bring myself to the notice of our household god, our little
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Puffett, mollified by finding him self appreciated, ‘the pot’s where your trouble is.’ He stripped off another sweater to reveal himself in emerald green. ‘I’m a-goin’ to try it with the rods alone, without the brush. Maybe, with my power be’ind it, we’ll be able to get the rod through the sut. If not, then we’ll ’ave to get the ladders.’
‘Ladders?’
‘Access by the roof, my lady,’ explained Bunter.
‘What fun!’ said Harriet. ‘I’m sure Mr Puffett will manage it somehow. Can you find me a vase or something for these flowers, Bunter?’
‘Very good, my lady.’ (Nothing, thought Mr Bunter, not even an Oxford education, would prevent a woman’s mind from straying away after inessentials; but he was pleased to note that the temper was, so far, admirably controlled. A vase of water was a small price to pay for harmony.)
‘Peter!’ cried Harriet up the staircase. (Bunter, had he remained to witness it, might after all have conceded her an instinct for essentials.) ‘Peter darling! the sweep’s here!’
‘Oh, frabjous day! I am coming, my own, my sweep.’ He pattered down briskly. ‘What a genius you have for saying the right thing! All my life I have waited to hear those exquisite words, Peter darling, the sweep’s come. We are married by god! we are married. I thought so once, but now I know it.’
‘Some people take a lot of convincing.’
‘One is afraid to believe in good fortune. The sweep! I crushed down my rising hopes. I said. No—it is a thunderstorm, a small earthquake, or at most a destitute cow dying by inches in the chimney. I dared not court disappointment. It is so long since I was taken into anybody’s confidence about a sweep. As a rule, Bunter smuggles him in when I am out of the house, for fear my lordship should be inconvenienced. Only a wife would treat me with the disrespect I deserve and summon me to look upon the—good lord!’
He turned, as he spoke, to look upon Mr Puffett, only the soles of whose boots were visible. At this moment a bellow so loud and prolonged issued from the fireplace that Peter turned quite pale. ‘He hasn’t got stuck, has he?’
‘No—it’s the power he’s putting behind it. There’s corroded soot in the pot or something, which makes it very hard work.... Peter, I do wish you could have seen the place before Noakes filled it up with bronze horsemen and bamboo what-nots and aspidistras.’
‘Hush! Never blaspheme the aspidistra. It’s very unlucky. Something frightful will come down that chimney and get you—boo! ... Oh, my god! look at that bristling horror over the wireless set!’
‘Some people would pay pounds for a fine cactus like that.’
‘They must have very little imagination. It’s not a plant it’s a morbid growth—something lingering happening to your kidneys. Besides, it makes me wonder whether I’ve shaved. Have I?’
‘M’m—yes—like satin—no, that’ll do! I suppose, if we shot the beastly thing out, it’d die to spite us. They’re delicate, though you mightn’t think it, and Mr Noakes would demand its weight in gold. How long did we hire this grisly furniture for?’
‘A month, but we might get rid of it sooner. It’s a damn shame spoiling this noble old place with that muck.’
‘Do you like the house, Peter?’
‘It’s beautiful. It’s like a lovely body inhabited by an evil spirit. And I don’t mean only the furniture. I’ve taken a dislike to our landlord, or tenant, or whatever he is. I’ve a fancy he’s up to no good and that the house will be glad to be rid of him.’
‘I believe it hates him. I’m sure he’s starved and insulted and ill-treated it. Why, even the chimneys—’
‘Yes, of course, the chimneys. Do you think I could bring myself to the notice of our household god, our little
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