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Show 172 "The poor dear lad," she commiserated when Sam had finished his speech. "Let you bring him inside, then, out of the cold. God's hand is in this, I'm sure, for this very day the master told me to get rid of a coat and hat he wants no longer. He was for givin' them to the stableboy, but they're far too grand for the likes of that loafer. And they'll fit your poor son much better." She'd crossed the room to return holding the coat and a narrow-brimmed Homburg. "Do you know why the master don't want these no more?" she asked, raising the garments, which looked brand-new. Even before she answered her own question, her laughter rang out in such infectious, full-throated merriment that it brushed a bit of warmth against the coldness inside Karl, made him feel a touch of interest. "Because...," the woman gasped, her eyes teary with mirth, "...while he had them on outside, a pigeon dropped a load on him! I cleaned them good so you'd never tell, but the master...!" She was laughing so hard she could hardly go on, "...the divil himself couldn't make him put them on again, he's that finicky." Dabbing her eyes with her apron, she said, "God forgive me for hooting about the gent that pays me wages. Here, lad, try them on, unless a little pigeon muck offends yourself, as well. No, truly, it's all cleaned off," she said, still giggly. She held the overcoat so that Karl could slip his arms through the sleeves. It fit as though it had been cut to his shape by a fine tailor. |
