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Tommy Traddles

           

           Thevoiceoftheyouthfulservantbecamefaint,butsheseemedtome,fromtheactionofherlips,againtomurmurthatitwouldbeattendedtoimmediate.

           ‘Itellyouwhat,’saidthemilkman,lookinghardatherforthefirsttime,andtakingherbythechin,‘areyoufondofmilk?’

           ‘Yes,Ilikesit,’shereplied.‘Good,’saidthemilkman.‘Thenyouwon’thavenonetomorrow.D’yehear?Notafragmentofmilkyouwon’thavetomorrow.’

           Ithoughtsheseemed,uponthewhole,relievedbytheprospectofhavinganytoday.Themilkman,aftershakinghisheadatherdarkly,releasedherchin,andwithanythingratherthangood-willopenedhiscan,anddepositedtheusualquantityinthefamilyjug.Thisdone,hewentaway,muttering,andutteredthecryofhistradenextdoor,inavindictiveshriek.

           ‘DoesMr.Traddleslivehere?’Itheninquired.

           Amysteriousvoicefromtheendofthepassagereplied‘Yes.’Uponwhichtheyouthfulservantreplied‘Yes.’

           ‘Isheathome?’saidI.

           Againthemysteriousvoicerepliedintheaffirmative,andagaintheservantechoedit.Uponthis,Iwalkedin,andinpursuanceoftheservant’sdirectionswalkedupstairs;conscious,asIpassedthebackparlour-door,thatIwassurveyedbyamysteriouseye,probablybelongingtothemysteriousvoice.

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Roboto Lora
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