In a minute or so he placed a large pan on the table, and then he got two empty barrels and laid a plank across them to make a seat for the children. Sylvia whispered rather anxiously to Gorbo, who had been watching their host with a discontented expression, and indicated that Tiger’s contour was losing its curves.
“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “can you give this little dog something to eat?”
Golithos scratched his head. “Let me see—I suppose he doesn’t eat salad?”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s a dog, not a grasshopper. Haven’t you got any bread?”
“I may have some odd bits in a sack somewhere. You see I don’t eat bread very much. I find its heating to the blood. But I’ll try to find some nice bits for him later. In the meantime, let us eat heartily. Would you like the chair or do you prefer standing?”
“Chair for me, thanks,” replied Gorbo, seating himself. “Look here, Golithos, this is all very kind and considerate and jolly of you, but these young ones will want something a bit solider than this.”
“No solids here,” said Golithos quickly. “It wouldn’t do.”
“Well, you’ve got a cow outside. Why don’t you give them some milk?”
“Milk? Yes, but do you think it would be good for them? It’s rather heady stuff.”
Gorbo clapped the table smartly. “You hop out and milk that old cow of yours!” he said loudly. “These children want milk. They can’t live on lip and lettuce.”
Golithos looked fearfully abashed. “Yes, yes, I’ll go,” he said. “Don’t be violent.” He blundered out and down the steps.
“Can’t quite make him out,” said Gorbo. “He was a wicked old rascal once, but if he was rough he was ready—and a bit interesting if you’re not too particular. But I think the watercress diet has weakened his brain.”
He felt his responsibility in the matter keenly; if he had not been a born fool he would not have got the children into this mess; and his easy-going disposition seemed to have suddenly disappeared with regard to his host. After a minute he jumped out of the big chair and ran to the window and poked his head out. “Golithos!” he called in a warning voice. “Waiting!”
Golithos appeared, bearing a pitcher of milk and looking highly flustered. “Shall I put some water in it?” he asked.
“Give it to me,” ordered Gorbo, taking the pitcher. He looked round the littered table and found two earthenware mugs. “Wash them,” he said, passing them over his shoulder to Golithos. “Dear, dear, this is barely decent!”
The milk at any rate was nice and warm, and the children felt greatly refreshed by it. A small bowlful was given to Tiger, who lapped it up and then went to sleep on a sack. Then all set to on the salad, Golithos standing by and pressing them to take more whenever they paused. Gorbo took his portion in a dissatisfied way, sometimes looking at a morsel with scorn before putting it into his mouth (I may mention that they were eating with their fingers; there were no forks in this disgusting ménage). After a time he made a crude attempt at polite conversation.
“Doing well here, Golithos?” he asked.
“Pretty well, thank you. Oh, yes. It’s lonely, of course; people seem to shun me so. But I have plenty of time to meditate on my past sins.”
“Ah, that ought to fill in the time. Keeping pretty fit, Golithos?”
“Tolerably so, thank you. I suffer from stomach trouble occasionally.”
“Only occasionally, eh? That’s strange. Sleep well, Golithos?”
“Fairly well, I thank you. I have nightmares sometimes.”
“What do you expect? This all you’re going to give us, Golithos?”
“I’m really afraid I haven’t anything else—Yes, I have! I can give you a fine fresh young cucumber.”
“Keep it, Golithos.” Gorbo stretched himself and yawned and turned to the children. “Well, Sylvia, what do you think of this for a hole?”
Sylvia glanced at the feeble though gigantic face of the once child-eater and felt some pity for him. “Oh, it’s very nice,” she answered, though not, I am afraid, very truthfully. “Isn’t it, Joe?”
“It’s fine,” said Joe. Then he put his hands before his mouth and spluttered, for his manners were not good. Their host looked very unhappy.
“Just fancy it on a rainy day,” went on Gorbo. “Well, Golithos, what’s the country like in these parts?”
“I don’t know very much about it, because I don’t go about very much, but I’ve heard it’s very bad. You see there’s the land of King Kul not so very far off, and he’s got a very bad character.”
“Yes, we’ve heard of him. What does he do especially?”
“Well, he persecutes the people. You see he makes a hobby of it. And from what I’ve heard they’re the sort of people who ought to be persecuted. But I don’t really know much about them because I don’t often see any of them. And when I do I lock myself up tight until they’ve gone. Old Mother Meldrum comes over to see me sometimes and she tells me about the goings-on.”
“And who’s old Mother Meldrum?”
“Well, she’s a witch, that’s what she is. She says nothing will go right until King Kul is laid out, and she keeps trying to get me to go for it. But somehow or other I don’t feel up to violent exercise since I got reformed.”
“You’re losing your nerve, Golithos. But why doesn’t somebody else try to do him in?”
“I think it’s because they’re afraid. It’s risky, you see. Mother Meldrum says that his castle is three-quarters dungeons. And he keeps six headsmen busy all the time except on Saturday afternoons and Sundays.”
“That fits in with what I’ve heard of him myself,” said Gorbo, looking anxiously at Sylvia and Joe, who were taking all this in. “But cheer up, Sylvia, we’ll soon get out of it. Now, Golithos, what about how to get across the river?”