“Your brother-in-law and sister have talent, I feel,” said Mr Higgin. “One develops an instinct for such things. And you, too, Mrs Little; I feel that you are by no means the least talented of this gifted family. But your flair is for the serious rather than the comic. You and your sister might pose for a study of Comedy and Tragedy. You know the famous portrait of Garrick between Comedy and Tragedy? What a tableau you might make, with you, Mr Morphew, as Garrick, of course.”

“Never heard of Garrick, but I’m strong on garlic,” roared George. He was one of those men to whom onions, in all forms, were exquisitely comic.

“Oh, Mr Morphew, what an impromptu!” cried Mr Higgin, tee-heeing until his face was a deep carrot colour. “What a radio MC you might make! Or television!” Mr Higgin waved a tiny hand, as though indicating boundless vistas of achievement before George. But George was not the only one who had fallen under his spell.

“Funny you should compare Kitten and I with Comedy and Tragedy,” said Edith, “because that’s the way our lives have always worked out. Hers is a great big joke, all the time, but I’ve always seemed to get the dirty end of the stick.”

“Aw now, Ede, it’s not as bad as that,” said Kitten.

“That’s how it seems to you,” said Edith, “but you haven’t gone through what I’ve gone through.”

“Husband ran out on her,” said George, who had no sense of artistic form and did not understand that such a revelation as this should have come after much preliminary hinting. “Left her with the kid.”

“Left her before the baby came,” said Kitten. “What I said at the time was, how big of a stinker can a fella get?”

Mr Higgin said nothing, but he looked at Edith very seriously, his mouth so pursed as to be completely circular. At last he said, “Perhaps you were well rid of him.”

“I was,” said Edith, who was enjoying the situation. “But if there’s one thing means more to me than anything else, it’s duty, and he’s got a duty to little Earl, and the dearest wish of my life is to see that duty done.”

“Yes?” said Mr Higgin, for that seemed to be what was wanted of him. But once again George clumsily robbed Edith of her moment.

“Wants to catch up with him,” said he, “to dig money out of him for the kid’s education. But no luck, so far.”

“Your boy will bless you for it,” said Mr Higgin, turning his eyes solemnly upon Edith. “A parent cannot give a child anything finer than an education to fit it for life. As I was suggesting a few moments ago to Mrs Morphew, I might perhaps undertake the little lad’s speech-training; a really well-trained voice, from his earliest years, would put him far beyond ordinary children, who speak very carelessly in Canada, I must say. And in such a talented family—”

“No, Ede, don’t you do anything that’ll make the kid talk different from other kids,” said George. “A kid’s got to be regular. Other kids hate a stuck-up kid. If a kid isn’t just like other kids it keeps him from getting to be outstanding, and going ahead in the world. Nope, I won’t go for any teaching the kid to speak like a sissy.”

“And what’s it got to do with you?” said Edith coldly.

“The kid’s got no father and I feel a kind of a duty to give the advice a father’d give. You want the kid to grow up regular, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I want him to grow up to travel in canned goods,” said Edith.

“Oh, and what’s wrong with travelling in canned goods? Just as good as being a house-painter, I’d say.”

“Earl’s father was a sign-painter and letterer,” said Edith haughtily.

“And you have found no trace of him?” said Mr Higgin, who wanted to steer the conversation into calmer waters.

“Not hide nor hair,” said Kitten, and added portentously, “and from that day to this Ede has lived without men. Bob Little was the first and the last.”

“Oh, not the last, I’m sure,” said Mr Higgin gallantly. “He will be presumed dead, after a time, and then I am sure that you will have suitors galore. Galore,” he repeated, savouring this fine word.

“A widda with a kid isn’t going to draw much of a crowd,” said George, with more gloom than seemed really necessary.

“Oh, I must contradict you,” said Mr Higgin, tee-heeing. “A widow is a very attractive creature,” and he began to sing softly:

This outburst was so surprising that no one offered to speak immediately after it, and Mr Higgin followed up his advantage.

“Not only a rare melancholy beauty, but also literary taste and intellect, Mrs Little,” and with his hand he indicated the newspaper and the pencil which she was holding.

“Oh, that,” said Edith, blushing for no reason that she could think of. “Oh, that’s just a hobby of mine; every night I go through and mark the mistakes.”

“Ede keeps house for the editor,” said George. “Fella by the name of Ridley.”

“Mr Gloster Ridley,” said Edith primly. “I oblige him as a daily homemaker.”

“Washes the dishes after he cooks,” sniggered George. “Cooks all his own meals. Wears an apron too, I bet. That’s what happens to kids that aren’t regular.”

“Mr Gloster Ridley?” said Mr Higgin. “And you mark errors in the paper for him. Do you find many?”

“Not really for him,” said Edith. “But I feel I ought to help all I can. I can’t say he’s very grateful. In fact, I don’t mention it very often; I just take my marked paper and leave it where he’ll see it. Usually he doesn’t look.”

“How interesting. What kind of errors do you find?”

“All kinds. Names reversed under pictures, and misprints, and that kind of thing. Like this—” She pointed to a mark she had made on the social page. “See here, in this report of the Catholic Women’s League tea, it says: “The table was centred with a mass of dwarf nuns.” Of course, that ought to read ‘dwarf mums’.” “Mums? Mothers, do you mean?”

“No. Chrysanthemums. He’ll be sore when he sees that. But I won’t be the one to point it out. Sometimes he’s as good as hinted that he’d as soon I didn’t mark the paper.”

“Ah, touchy?”

“Very touchy. Yesterday there was a wrong date in an engagement notice. Said a marriage would take place on November 31st. What do you think of that?”

“I think some poor guy is probably making the mistake of his life,” said George, winking at Kitten, who punched him affectionately.

“I wouldn’t mention it to him. He marks a paper himself, and I just happened to see it this morning, before he went to work, and he hadn’t caught it. There’ll be trouble about that.”

“I should think so,” said Mr Higgin, his eyes wide. “Was it the engagement of anyone you knew?”

“Not to say I actually know them,” said Edith. “One was the daughter of a professor at the University and the other was Solly Bridgetower. I guess everybody knows about him; a while ago he was chasing after that Griselda Webster, but you wouldn’t catch a rich girl like that marrying a poor wet like him. They said his mother broke it up.”

“Well, wouldn’t it be interesting to know what happened about that,” said Mr Higgin, laughing his little laugh. “If you know this young Bridgetower, you will probably hear all about it.”

“Oh, it isn’t as if we actually know him,” said Kitten. “But you know how it is; we’ve lived in Salterton all our lives, and we get to know about a lot of people we don’t actually know to speak to, if you understand me.”

“I must speak to my friend Mr Shillito about it,” said Mr Higgin. “He is very highly placed on The Bellman, and he has been most kind to me since I came to town. Indeed, it was he who sent me to see Mr Bridgetower at the University.”