(9/20) Tyler's Row by Miss Read Read Free Book Online Page B

Mary.
    'Sent to us in the Great War,' said the sergeant, with pride. 'We was in the trenches at the time. Christmas present, it was, filled with tobacco. We all thought a lot of that, I can tell you. My old pal, Jim Bennett, he treasured his too. It gets a rub-up every Saturday.'
    'I should think that all your lovely things get a rub-up weekly,' said Diana, handing back the box. 'Does anyone come to help you?'
    'Not a soul,' said Sergeant Burnaby proudly. 'I don't want no help. That Mrs Fowler come once, early on, but it was only to snoop round. I sent her packing.'
    He stirred his cup with a large teaspoon, and looked fierce.
    'I'm not one to speak ill,' he continued. Diana waited for him to do just that, and was not disappointed.
    'But that old besom needs watching, sir. Tongue like a whip-lash, and not above nicking anything that's going. Why, the moment the Coggses and Waitses left, she was in them gardens diggin' up what she fancied! They come back, a week after they'd moved, to dig up a row of potatoes, but they was gone. "Next door," I told'em! "You have a look in the shed next door. You'll find 'em all right. Sacked up for the winter!"'
    He sniffed at the remembrance.
    'Them Waitses never done nothing about it. Too easy-going by half. Always was. But good neighbours to me. I miss 'em.'
    Diana exchanged a glance with her husband. Peter's face bore the impatient look of a schoolmaster suffering taletelling, and about to take retaliatory action.
    'Your flowers are so pretty,' said Diana hastily, rising to look out of the window.
    The rain drummed down relentlessly, spinning silver coins on the flagstones and the seat of the wooden armchair outside the back door. The bright patch of marigolds, cornflowers and shirley poppies, was a blur through the streaming window, but Diana's comment had succeeded in stemming the old man's venom and in soothing her husband's irritation.
    'I like a bit of colour,' said Sergeant Burnaby. 'I dig over a bit near the house and fling in packets of seeds—annuals, you know, all higgledy-piggledy. Don't take a minute, and there's a fine bright sight for the summer.'
    He turned to Peter.
    'You plannin' to do anything about the thatch?' he asked. Peter looked cautious.
    'Not at the moment,' he replied. 'The architect is still studying things.'
    He did not care to tell the sergeant that the thatch would probably be renewed, or at least repaired in stage two, after the demise of his host.
    'The window frames are rotten,' continued the sergeant. 'And my chimney don't look too healthy.'
    'They'll be seen to,' said Peter, more frankly. These things were included in stage one, he seemed to remember. 'Can't do it all at once, you know, but we'll put things ship-shape as soon as we can.'
    'You see,' said Sergeant Burnaby, filling Peter's cup again before he could refuse, 'my end of this row gets all the weather. You'll find that's true, sir. Now, old Mrs Vinegar-Bottle up the other end, she'll worry the guts out of you—pardon me, ma'am—about what wants doin', but her place is a king to this. Sheltered, see, from the westerlies. And her old man kept things up together, so I'm told, when he was alive.'
    He spooned sugar briskly from a glass bowl into his cup.
    'One, two, three, four,' he counted under his breath. Diana suppressed a shudder. It must taste like thin golden syrup.
    'Poor devil!' commented the sergeant. 'He's better off, wherever he is. That old cat must have helped him to the grave, I don't doubt.'
    Peter drained his cup, and stood up.
    'Time we were off. Very kind of you to give us tea.'
    'Very kind,' echoed Diana.
    The old man looked suddenly old and pathetic.
    'Must you go? Don't see much company, you know. No need to hurry away on my account. I've got some old photos of this place you might like to see.'
    He began to open the table drawer, in a flustered way. Diana's heart smote her.
    'We'd love to, some other time. We really must go now, and pack up our tools.'
    'But it's still