The first that Ted Bilborough knew of his wife's good fortune was when one of his friends, an elderly wag, shook his hand with mock gravity and murmured a few words of manly but inappropriate sympathy. Ted didn't know what to make of it. He had just stepped from the stairway on to the upper deck of the 6:15 P.M. ferry from town. Fred Lewis seemed to have been waiting for him, and as he looked about he got the impression of newspapers and grins and a little flutter of half derisive excitement, all focused on himself. Everything seemed to bulge towards him. It must be some sort of leg pull. He felt his assurance threatened, and the corner of his mouth twitched uncomfortably in his fat cheek, as he tried to assume a hard boiled manner.
"Keep the change, laddie," he said.
"He doesn't know, actually he doesn't know."
"Your wife's won the lottery!"
"He won't believe you. Show him the paper. There it is as plain as my nose. Mrs.Grace Biborough, 52 Cuthbert Street," A thick, stained forefinger pointed to the words. First prize, five thousand pounds, Last Hope Syndicate."
"He's taking it very hard," said Fred Lewis, shaking his head.
They began thumping him on the back. He had traveled on the ferry every week-day for the last ten years, barring a fortnight's holiday in January, and he knewnearly everyone. Even those he didn't know entered into the spirit of it. Ted filled his pipe nonchalantly but with unsteady fingers. He was keeping that odd unsteadiness, that seemed to begin somewhere deep in his chest, to himself. It was a wonder that fellows in the office hadn't got hold of this, but they had been busy today in the hot loft under the chromium pipes of the pneumatic system, sending down change and checking up on credit accounts. Sale time. Grace might have let him know. She could have rung up from Thompson's. Bill was always borrows the lawn mower and the step ladder, so it would hardly be asking a favour in the circumstances. But that was Grace all over.
"If I can't have it myself, you're the man I like to see get it."
They meant it too. Everyone liked Ted in a kind sort of way. He was a good fellow in both senses the word. Not namby pamby, always ready for a joke but a good citizen too, a good husband and father. He wasn't the sort that refused to wheel the perambulator. He flourished the perambulator. His wife could hold up her head, they paid their bills weekly and he even put something away, not much but something, and that was a triumph the way things were, the ten per cent knocked off his salary in the depression not restored yet. and one thing and another. And always cheerful, with a joke for everyone. All this was vaguely present in Ted's mind. He'd always expected in a trusting sort of way to be rewarded. but not through Grace.
"What are you going to do with it, Ted?
"You won't see him for a week, he's going on a jag." This was very funny because Ted never did, not even on Anzac Day.
A voice with a grievance said, not for the first time, "I've had shares in a ticket every week since it started, and I've never won a cent." No one was interested.
"You'll be going off on a trip somewhere?"
"They ll make you president of the Tennis Club and you'll have to donate a silver cup."
They were flattering him underneath the jokes.
"I expect Mrs. Bilborough will want to put some of it away for the children's future." he said. It was almost as if he was giving an interview to the press, and he was pleased with himself for saying the right thing. He always referred to Grace in public as Mrs Bilborough. He had too nice a social tense to say "the Missus.
The first that Ted Bilborough knew of his wife's good fortune was when one of his friends, an elderly wag, shook his hand with mock gravity and murmured a few words of manly but inappropriate sympathy. Ted didn't know what to make of it. He had just stepped from the stairway on to the upper deck of the 6:15 P.M. ferry from town. Fred Lewis seemed to have been waiting for him, and as he looked about he got the impression of newspapers and grins and a little flutter of half derisive excitement, all focused on himself. Everything seemed to bulge towards him. It must be some sort of leg pull. He felt his assurance threatened, and the corner of his mouth twitched uncomfortably in his fat cheek, as he tried to assume a hard boiled manner.
"Keep the change, laddie," he said.
"He doesn't know, actually he doesn't know."
"Your wife's won the lottery!"
"He won't believe you. Show him the paper. There it is as plain as my nose. Mrs.Grace Biborough, 52 Cuthbert Street," A thick, stained forefinger pointed to the words. First prize, five thousand pounds, Last Hope Syndicate."
"He's taking it very hard," said Fred Lewis, shaking his head.
They began thumping him on the back. He had traveled on the ferry every week-day for the last ten years, barring a fortnight's holiday in January, and he knewnearly everyone. Even those he didn't know entered into the spirit of it. Ted filled his pipe nonchalantly but with unsteady fingers. He was keeping that odd unsteadiness, that seemed to begin somewhere deep in his chest, to himself. It was a wonder that fellows in the office hadn't got hold of this, but they had been busy today in the hot loft under the chromium pipes of the pneumatic system, sending down change and checking up on credit accounts. Sale time. Grace might have let him know. She could have rung up from Thompson's. Bill was always borrows the lawn mower and the step ladder, so it would hardly be asking a favour in the circumstances. But that was Grace all over.
"If I can't have it myself, you're the man I like to see get it."
They meant it too. Everyone liked Ted in a kind sort of way. He was a good fellow in both senses the word. Not namby pamby, always ready for a joke but a good citizen too, a good husband and father. He wasn't the sort that refused to wheel the perambulator. He flourished the perambulator. His wife could hold up her head, they paid their bills weekly and he even put something away, not much but something, and that was a triumph the way things were, the ten per cent knocked off his salary in the depression not restored yet. and one thing and another. And always cheerful, with a joke for everyone. All this was vaguely present in Ted's mind. He'd always expected in a trusting sort of way to be rewarded. but not through Grace.
"What are you going to do with it, Ted?
"You won't see him for a week, he's going on a jag." This was very funny because Ted never did, not even on Anzac Day.
A voice with a grievance said, not for the first time, "I've had shares in a ticket every week since it started, and I've never won a cent." No one was interested.
"You'll be going off on a trip somewhere?"
"They ll make you president of the Tennis Club and you'll have to donate a silver cup."
They were flattering him underneath the jokes.
"I expect Mrs. Bilborough will want to put some of it away for the children's future." he said. It was almost as if he was giving an interview to the press, and he was pleased with himself for saying the right thing. He always referred to Grace in public as Mrs Bilborough. He had too nice a social tense to say "the Missus.
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