“They’ve never complained to me yet,” said Bill. He placed his finger on the paper. “See that thing? The sterilizer!”
“Wonderful,“ said Sally.
“That’s the boiler there. At seventy degrees centigrade the obligatory and optional bacteria are destroyed.”
“Serve them right!“ said Sally. She looked at him with almost uncontrollable excitement.
“Do you mean seriously to tell me,” she asked, “that you are familiar with the bacteria of milk?”
“Of course I am.”
Sally’s eyes danced delightedly.
“But this is extraordinary!“ she cried. “The Cavillus acidi lactici—”
“The Bacillus lactis acidi—”
“The Bactorium koli—’
“The Bacillus erogenes—”
“The Protens vulgaris—”
“The Streptococci—”
“The Colosiridium butiricum—”
“The Bacillus butiricus,“ cried Bill, rolling the words round his tongue in an ecstasy.” The Bacillus sluorovenus. And the Peniclium glaucum!”
Sally leaned on the desk. She felt weak.
“Great heavens!”
“What’s the matter?”
“It can’t be possible!”
“What?”
“That you actually do know something about something after all,“ said Sally, staring at him.” You do do work—decent, honest, respectable work!”
The fanatic milk-gleam died out of Bill’s eyes. Her words had reminded him that this was no congenial crony who stood before him, but the girl who had flouted his deepest feelings; who had laughed and mocked at his protestations of love; who had told him in so many words that he was not a person to be taken seriously.
He stiffened. His manner took on a cold hostility once more.
“I do,” he said.” And from now on I’m going to work harder than ever. Don’t you imagine,” he went on, his eyes stony and forbidding, “that, just because you’ve turned me down, I’m going to sit moaning and fussing over my broken heart. I’m going to work, and not think about you any more.”
Sally beamed.
“That’s the stuff!”
“I shall forget you.”
“Fine!”
“Completely.”
“Splendid!”
“Put you right out of my mind for ever.”
“Magnificent!”
Bill thumped the desk with a ham-like fist.
“As soon as you have left this house,” he said, “I shall order new tractors.”
“Yes, do,” said Sally.
“New harrows,” said Bill remorselessly.
“Bravo!”
“And fertilizers.”
Sally’s eyes were shining.
“Fertilizers, too!”
“Also,“ thundered Bill, “Chili saltpetre and Thomas tap-cinders.”
“Not Thomas tap-cinders!”
“Yes, Thomas tap-cinders,” said Bill uncompromisingly.
“I never heard anything so absolutely glorious in my life,” said Sally.
The telephone bell rang sharply. Bill took up the receiver.
“Hullo? This is Mr. Bannister…. For you,” he said, handing her the instrument.
Sally sat on the desk.
“Hello?” she said.” Yes, speaking…. Now…. Quite impossible, I’m afraid…. You might try Dr. Borstal. He substitutes for me…. I can’t possibly leave here now…. The case I am attending to is very serious—much more serious than I thought…. Good-bye.”
The interruption had caused another radical alteration in Bill Bannister’s feelings. Forgotten were the stout-hearted words of a moment ago. Looking hungrily at Sally, as she sat swinging her feet from the desk, he melted again. Forget her? Put her right out of his mind? He couldn’t do it in a million years.
“Sally!” he cried.
She had jumped off the desk and was fumbling in her bag.
“One moment,” she said. “I’m looking for my thermometer.”
“Are you feverish?”
“That’s just what I want to find out.”
“Sally!”
“Go on,” she said, “I’m listening.”
She put the thermometer in her mouth. Bill stood over her, though every instinct urged him to grovel on the floor. He was desperate now. The thought that soon she would be gone—right out of his life— lent him an unusual eloquence. Words poured from him like ashes from a Thomas tap-cinder.
“Sally … Sally … Sally … I love you! I know you’re sick of hearing me say it, but I can’t help myself. I love you. I love you!”
Sally nodded encouragingly.
“M’m,” she said.
“I never knew how much I loved you till I saw you here—among my things—sitting on my desk. Won’t you marry me, Sally? Think of all the fun we’d have. You would love this place. We would ride every morning through the fields, with the clean, fresh wind blowing in our faces.”
“M’m.”
“And all around us there would be life and movement … things growing … human beings like carved statues against the morning sky…. The good smell of the earth…. Animals…. Benzine and crude oil…. Benzine and crude oil. Sally!”
“M’m!”
“It’s summer. The fields would be like gold in the morning. Sparkling in the sun. Harvest-time. Ripe wheat. Do you hear, Sally? Ripe wheat shining in the summer sun, and you and I riding together…. Oh, Sally!”
She drew the thermometer from her mouth.
“I have no fever,” she said.
“Sally!”
“But I’m trembling, and my pulse is a hundred and ten. And—do you know—”
“What?”
“I’ve lost control of my vascular motors.”
“Sally!”
“One moment. I am faced with the most difficult diagnosis of my career. I ascertain the following: the organs are intact. I have no pain, no fever; but the pulse is a hundred and ten. The reflexes are heightened. On the periphery of the skin I note a strong radiation of warmth. A slight twitching in the, nape of the neck. The hands tremble. The heart action is quickened. Every symptom points to something serious—something very serious indeed.”
“You’re ill.”
“I’m not ill. I’m in love. Yes, that is what I diagnose: acute love!”
She looked at him.
“Do you remember what I said to you that day we met? If I ever found a man I could love I would tell him so as frankly as if I were saying good morning.”
She came towards him, holding out her hands.
“Good morning, Bill!”
“I say,” said Lord Tidmouth, manifesting himself suddenly in the doorway, “do you two know that breakfast—”’ He broke off. His educated eyes, trained by years of marrying one woman after another with scarcely a breathing-space in between, had taken in the situation at a glance. “Sorry!“ he said. “Excuse it, please!”
The door closed. From the passage beyond they heard his voice announcing that he feared no foe in shining armour.
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