Page:The Toll of the Bush.pdf/70

‘I propose to occupy a portion of your valuable time in the discussion of my worthless self.’

‘Very well—when we get inside. What’s stirring in the settlement? Anything fresh?’

‘Nothing much.’ Then, after a moment’s thoughtfulness, ‘I saw Mrs. Andersen as I came by; things seem to be in a bad way with her.’

‘Do you mean that you judged so from her appearance, or that she told you so?’ Mrs. Gird asked sharply.

‘The latter.’

‘Then why not say so. She told you things were in a bad way with her—well?’

‘That’s all.’

‘H’m. Well, it’s a fact; they are in a bad way, and they are likely to be, unless———’ she pursed up her lips. ‘Do you know a man called Beckwith?’

‘Fairly well.’

‘What kind of a creature is he?’

‘I suspect him of honesty,’ Geoffrey replied thoughtfully. ‘He never stops working, and he’s deadly silent. I think these be virtues.’

Mrs. Gird nodded, as though some previous account had received confirmation, then she laughed.

‘Sven Andersen talks a great deal,’ she said, ‘and his English is as broken as his adopted country, ergo he is a fool.’

‘No doubt you are right,’ Geoffrey said.

‘It is one of the data upon which our constitution is founded,’ Mrs, Gird condescended to explain, ‘that a foreigner whose English betrays him is necessarily an idiot.’

‘Quite so; pardon my momentary forgetfulness. But what is your conclusion?’