Uneasy Money · Chapter 5 (2/2)

Nutty got the water. Life is like that. There is nothing clean cut about it, no sense of form. Instead of being permitted to concentrate his attention on his tragedy, Nutty had to trudge three-quarters of a mile in a hot sun, conciliate a temperamental bull terrier, and trudge back again carrying a heavy pail. It was as if one of the heroes of Greek drama, in the middle of his big scene, had been asked to run round the corner to a delicatessen store.

The exercise did not act as a restorative. The blow had been too sudden, too overwhelming. Nutty’s reason⁠—such as it was⁠—tottered on its throne. Who was Lord Dawlish? What had he done, the smooth crook, to ingratiate himself with Uncle Ira? By what insidious means, with what devilish cunning, had he wormed his way into the old man’s favor? These were the questions that vexed Nutty’s mind when he was able to think at all coherently.

Back at the farm Elizabeth cooked breakfast and awaited her brother’s return with a sinking heart. She was a softhearted girl, easily distressed by the sight of suffering; and she was aware that Nutty was scarcely of the type that masks its woe behind a brave and cheerful smile. Her heart bled for Nutty.

There was a weary step outside. Nutty entered, slopping water. One glance at his face was enough to tell Elizabeth that she had formed a too conservative estimate of his probable gloom. Without a word he coiled his long form in a chair. There was silence in the stricken house.

“What’s the time?”

Elizabeth glanced at her watch.

“Half-past nine.”

“About now,” said Nutty sepulchrally, “that pill is ringing for his man to prepare his bally bath and lay out his gold-leaf underwear. After that he will drive down to the bank and draw some of our money.”

The day passed wearily for Elizabeth. Nutty having the air of one who is still engaged in picking up the pieces, she had not the heart to ask him to play his customary part in the household duties, so she washed the dishes and made the beds herself. After that she attended to the bees. After that she cooked lunch.

Nutty was not chatty at lunch, Having observed, “About now the pill is cursing the waiter for bringing the wrong brand of champagne,” he relapsed into a silence which he did not again break.

Elizabeth was busy again in the afternoon. At four o’clock, feeling tired out, she went to her room to lie down until the next of her cycle of domestic duties should come round.

It was late when she came downstairs, for she had fallen asleep. The sun had gone down. Bees were winging their way heavily back to the hives with their honey. She went out into the grounds to try to find Nutty. There had been no signs of him in the house. There were no signs of him in the grounds. It was not like him to have taken a walk, but it seemed the only possibility. She went back to the house to wait. Eight o’clock came, and nine, and it was then that the truth dawned upon her⁠—Nutty had escaped. He had slipped away and gone up to New York.