Rosy Is My Relative Read Online Free

misunderstood the letter or had taken leave of his senses.
    “But how can I?” he said, his voice rising. “How can I take on a strange female . . . a strange, drunken female? Mrs. Dredge would never allow her in the house . . . then there’s my job. Good Lord, if they got to know about it they’d sack me. And suppose she’s one of those female acrobats, what do I do then?”
    “I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” said Mr. Pucklehammer judicially. “Saw one of them myself once. Nice fleshy piece she was too. Had sequins all over her. Lovely bit of dolly-roll.”
    “Oh, my God,” said Adrian hi agony, “I hope she’s not going to arrive here all covered with sequins.”
    “There’s no denying,” said Mr. Pucklehammer musingly, “there’s no denying that five hundred pounds is a very generous sum, very generous indeed. Why, with that sort of money you could give up your job . . . you’ve often said you wanted to.”
    “And what about this inebriated female?” asked Adrian sarcastically.
    “Well, you two could live very comfortably on a hundred and twenty a year and in four years you could set up a little business,” said Mr. Pucklehammer. “If she’s one of the fair folk you want to go in for something like a Punch and Judy. I’ve got a nice Punch and Judy I could let you have cheap.”
    “I have no intention of spending the next four years with a large, sequin-covered drunk playing at Punch and Judy,” said Adrian loudly and clearly. “I wish you’d be more constructive.”
    “I don’t see what you’re flapdoodling about, boy,” said Mr. Pucklehammer severely. “Here you’ve got a nice legacy with a female thrown in. Lots of young men would give anything to be in your shoes.”
    “I wish they were in my shoes,” said Adrian desperately. “If they want to spend the rest of their lives with a drunken acrobat, they’re welcome.”
    “Your uncle didn’t say she was drunk all the time,” said Mr. Pucklehammer fairly. “She might be quite nice. Why don’t you just wait and see what she’s like when she turns up?”
    “I can imagine what she’s like, and the thought appals me,” said Adrian. “Why, I don’t even know her surname.”
    “Well, as long as you know her Christian name that’s the main thing,” said Mr. Pucklehammer philosophically. “Gets you on to a more intimate footing straight away.”
    “I don’t want to get on an intimate footing with her,” shouted Adrian, and the; smitten by a dreadful thought, “My God! What happens if she turns up while I’m at work and Mrs. Dredge meets her?”
    “Ah, yes,” said Mr. Pucklehammer musingly, “that’s a point. You want to avoid that if you can.”
    Adrian paced up and down, thinking desperately, while Mr. Pucklehammer finished off the remains of his beer and wiped his mouth.
    “I’ve got it,” said Adrian at last, “It’s Mrs. Dredge’s Day to-day . . . you know, she goes to visit Mr. Dredge at the cemetery and spends the whole day there. She doesn’t generally get back until evening. If I could send a message to work to say that I’m ill, or something, then I could hang around and wait for this Rosy person.”
    “Good idea,” agreed Mr. Pucklehammer. “Look, I’ll send young Davey round to the shop to tell ’em you’re not well. Don’t you worry about that. What you’d better do is to nip back smartish and keep an eye on the house. I’ll be here if you want me.”
    So Adrian, cursing the day he said he wanted adventure, made his way back to Mrs. Dredge’s establishment, and lurked furtively on the corner. Presently, to his relief, Mrs. Dredge appeared, clad in flowing black bombazine and with a large, purple hat on her head, clasping in her hand an enormous bunch of roses which were her weekly tribute to Mr. Dredge’s grave. She passed down the road like a large and ominous galleon in full sail, and disappeared from sight.
    Adrian paced up and down, his mind filled with wild, impracticable