Barney's infectious spirits were a godsend to his sisters, who, truth to
tell, were beginning to experience a reaction from their first elation,
and to realise how many weary rungs of the ladder had to be ascended
before success was gained. Theo felt that she was condescending sadly
when she sent off her MS to the editor of a threepenny magazine; but
that gentleman evidently differed from her opinion, for he sent it back
again with admirable promptitude, with only a printed rejection by way
of criticism. Hope received no answer from Miss Minnie Caldecott, and
Madge found herself ranked with other new-comers in the antique room at
the Slade School, and treated with patronising disdain by the older
pupils. These latter worked "in the life," and had merry little lunches
together in the corridors, while she ate sandwiches in the dreary
cloak-room in the basement, and sadly reflected that she was not the
genius she had imagined. Her talent lay in caricature and bright
original design, and pray how was she to have a chance of exhibiting
these gifts in a copy of the Venus de Milo? The probabilities of
earning money seemed to retreat into the dim distance, and poor Philippa
realised as much, and sighed more and more heavily over the weekly
bills.
It was a relief to all to listen to Barney's merry voice, and to sun
themselves in his radiant presence. The account of his luncheon in town
was a daily amusement; for he had strongly objected to coming home in
the middle of the day, and had finally been allowed the lordly sum of
eight-pence by the head of the exchequer.
"It is twice as much as your return fare in the Tube, so I calculate
that would be about the cost of your lunch here. If you go to the right
places, Steve says, you can get quite a comfortable meal for
eight-pence--a plate of warm, nourishing soup, or a cup of chocolate and
sandwiches."
So spoke Philippa in her wisdom, but Barney was too much of a schoolboy
to condescend to warm and nourishing diet while sweetmeats were within
his reach. On a chill and rainy day he would make a selection of three
custard-tarts and a bottle of lemonade, or a cold mince-pie, a slice of
plum-cake, and a glass of milk; after which exploit he would return home
in the best of health and spirits, to eat at one meal as much as his
four sisters put together.
As to his business experiences, Barney was curiously reticent, but he
pronounced the office "not bad sport," talked of the heads of
departments by their Christian names, alluded to the manager as "Old
Waxworks," and was so uncomplaining about the long confinement that
Philippa cherished the fondest hopes of his success. The boy had
settled down far better than she had expected, and if he were a trifle
uproarious at home, it was not to be wondered at. Before his arrival
Hope had played favourite classics for the amusement of her sisters
during the evening, but Master Barney had little patience with such a
tame performance. He preferred to hear popular street ditties, coached
Hope in the airs in a loud, cracked treble, and insisted on a chorus, as
often as not throwing in a step-dance by way of improvement. From time
to time one of his sisters would offer a mild protest: "Don't, Barney--
don't!" "Barney, be quiet!" Whereupon Barney would give a louder stamp
than before, or, by way of reply, elegantly wave a foot over the head of
the protester.
On one of these convivial occasions there sounded once again that
eloquent echo from below; but the performer was happily unconscious, and
his sisters, rolling meaning eyes, exerted every device to divert his
attention in another direction. Well they knew that if Mr Barney once
grasped the nature of the message his energy would increase tenfold, and
he would dance until he dropped, if only to prove his free and
independent spirit!
Then one evening came the formal opening of the war.
At an unorthodox hour of the night the letter-box clanked, and an
undirected note fell into the box. Philippa read it, and grew pale with
anger; Madge read it, and grew flaming red; Hope cried, "Oh! oh!" and
Theo tossed her head like a tragedy queen. The note was short and to
the point; it bore neither address nor signature:
"If the occupants of flat Number 10 would have the consideration to
remember the existence of their neighbours, it would add greatly to the
comfort of the other dwellers in the mansions. Such establishments
could not continue to exist if rowdiness and horseplay were permitted
without protest. It is sincerely to be hoped that the matter may be
remedied before appeal be necessary to those in authority."
"Anonymous, too! As if we did not know perfectly well who wrote it!"
Philippa cried, with curling lip. "Cranky, sallow-faced wretch! He
ought to live in a den, and not among ordinary flesh-and-blood mortals.
_I'll_ write an answer! _I'll_ settle him!"
"He banged on the ceiling one day when I was practising," chimed in
Hope, with smouldering resentment. "It isn't as if I were a schoolgirl
and couldn't play."
"Thinks we make too much noise, does he?" murmured Barney thoughtfully.
"Sweet innocent! He doesn't know he is born. Wait a bit until I have
really given my mind to the subject."
"No, no; none of that now, Barney! If we live in a flat we are bound to
keep within bounds," interrupted Stephen anxiously. He reviewed the
past fortnight, and was bound to acknowledge that the writer of the note
had some just ground for complaint. "I am afraid we have been rather
noisy since you arrived.--But perhaps you can explain in your reply,
Phil, that there have been--er--special circumstances--er--not likely to
occur again. Smooth him down. Great mistake to quarrel with one's
neighbours."
Philippa looked her brother over, her head erect, her shoulders squared
in the defiant manner he had learned to know. She made no reply in
words, but he understood full well what was meant by that look. If he
were prepared to give in meekly, she was not; if he would not fight for
the rights of the family, she would do it for him; and it would not be
to-day nor to-morrow either that she would write an apology in response
to so audacious a complaint.
All that evening Philippa sat with pursed-up lips, composing and
revising an answer which should be at once haughty, sarcastic, and to
the point; and no sooner was Stephen safely out of the way next morning
than it was written, submitted to Theo for professional revision, and
safely deposited in the "Hermit's" letter-box:
"Miss Charrington is in receipt of an anonymous letter, the source of
which, however, she is at no lose to decide. She agrees with the writer
that forbearance and consideration are necessary where several tenants
live beneath the same roof, but she would impress upon his notice that
such consideration should be mutual and not one-sided. It is
unreasonable to expect a large and still young family"--["Still young!
he won't like that--it implies that he is so old himself!"]--"to live in
a condition of absolute inaction; and repeated and varied
complaints"--["That means the rapping on the ceiling"]--"are at least as
disagreeable to its members as their musical efforts appear to be to
their neighbour."
"That ought to settle him for some time to come," cried the girls
complacently; and when by chance they met the "Hermit" on the stairs
they stared at him beneath haughtily contracted brows, and held their
skirts well to the side, lest by chance they should brush against him as
they passed.
November was half-way through when a second letter arrived to introduce
a little excitement into the daily routine. It bore the postmark of a
small Norfolk township, on the borders of which Mr Loftus had his
shooting-box. It was addressed to Hope, and was of an import which
brought a flush of excitement to her cheeks. Her "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of
surprise were aggravatingly uninstructive, and in the end Madge took
forcible possession of the sheet, and glancing over it rapidly, read out
the sentences in slow, sententious accents:
"My dear Hope,--As the address will show, we are staying in Norfolk, and
I write to ask if you would pay us a visit from Monday next to Tuesday
the 30th. We expect to have several big shoots during the week, and as
you are distinctly the most presentable of the family, and your musical
abilities can be usefully employed in providing free amusement for my
guests, I think you will be quite a valuable addition to our
house-party. You will find the 11:15 a convenient train, and we will
send to the station to meet you, if we have no better use for the
carriages."
"_Madge_!" cried Hope, aghast.
"What an extraordinary letter!" gasped Philippa, too much stunned by
surprise to protest. "Give it to me. Let me see."
Madge handed it over, with a shrug of the shoulders and a slow,
whimsical smile.
"Oh, well," she admitted, "that's not a literal rendering. I read
between the lines and found the true meaning. Aunt Loftus is all
politeness, of course. `You don't look strong--would be better for a
change. Can leave London more easily than your sisters. Be sure to
bring plenty of music.' But my reading is the right one, all the same.
Bah! Sickening! If you want to be mean, _be_ mean, and don't try to
wrap it up in the form of philanthropy. _I_ might be as ill as _I_
liked, but I should never be asked. Your face is your fortune, Hope.
Make the most of it before you grow old and ugly."
"I won't go. I shall write and refuse," said Hope quickly; for she had
noticed a shadow fall across Theo's face, and divined the reason of its
presence. Theo would not grudge her a pleasure, but from a professional
point of view, could not help wishing that the invitation had fallen to
her own share. Life at a shooting-box would be a new experience, a
useful background for future stories; and the guests would supply the
young author with the opportunity of valuable character-study.
Unfortunately Theo's talent was not of value to a hostess, and she was
conscious that her chance of an invitation to her uncle's shooting-box
was not much greater than that of Madge herself. For a moment she was
silent, battling against a host of conflicting emotions; then she said
bravely:
"You must go, Hope; it is your duty. You may meet people who will take
an interest in you and be able to help you on, and we can't afford to
lose opportunities. You can take your own compositions, and sing them
whenever you have a chance; it will be quite an advertisement in a small
way."
"It seems mean to pay a visit with an idea of making something out of
it," said Hope, with a sigh. "That is the worst of being poor. The
money question seems eternally hovering in the background, whatever one
may do. I shall enjoy seeing Avice, of course; and if I can really help
Aunt Loftus, it will be comforting to feel that the advantage is mutual.
I wonder--What about clothes?"
"That is just what I have been thinking. We can't afford anything new
just now, for the bills are to heavy," replied Philippa sadly. "We can
only bestow our united treasures upon you, dear, and make you as smart
as possible. You shall have mother's old lace for your evening-frock;
but be careful of it, for if you damage it you need never face me again!
It is going to trim my wedding-dress one of these days."
"When the lordly male arrives before whom she is to grovel in the dust!
You shall have my feather boa, too. It will hide the shabby front of
your jacket;" and Theo sighed, for the feather boa was the pride of her
wardrobe, and represented months of saving and self-denial. It was none
of your thin, lanky wisps, but a really handsome boa, with a bloom on
the feathers like that on a hot-house grape. Theo was fastidious, and
would rather do without a thing altogether than accept a poor imitation.
She thought of her reduced appearance without the beloved fluffiness,
and heaved another sigh.
"Nothing to offer you, my dear. My wardrobe is of so limited a
character that if I gave anything away I should have to stay in bed
until it was returned," cried Madge cheerfully in her turn. "Accept my
blessing, and my earnest hope that the head of a great musical
publishing house may be among the guests, and will recognise in you the
coming genius of the day."
"So likely, isn't it? That sort of thing happens only in novels. The
house will probably be full of sporting men, who don't know one composer
from another, but who find it enlivening to listen to a `tune' in the
evening. Oh, if Minnie Caldecott would only write! I look out for that
letter every morning, but it never comes. Do you think I might send a
little note to jog her memory?"
"Certainly I do. I should think she was the sort of woman who needed a
good deal of jogging. Say that you are anxious to know whether she
wishes to secure the song, as, if not, you will offer it elsewhere.
There is nothing like appearing confident and unperturbed. I am sorry
you are going away, Hope, for I wanted you to sit for me as fair
Rosamond in the picture I have to show to get permission to draw in the
life-room. I'll have to send in an old one, I suppose. Look over these
for me, and tell me which you like best."
Hope turned over the sketches in the portfolio, smiling with sisterly
pleasure as she recognised one old favourite after another. It seemed
incredible to her partiality that Madge should not have immediately
ranked as a genius among the students of the school, for surely there
was something peculiarly original in the treatment of these figures!
She held out a sheet towards her sisters, and cried eagerly, "There!
That is my choice. What do you think of that?"
"Good--suggestive--full of atmosphere!" pronounced Theo in her most
professional manner; while Philippa put her head on one side, and in all
innocence of heart launched a bombshell into their midst.
"Wouldn't it make a good poster? Doesn't it look exactly like some of
the posters you see upon the hoardings?"
It was seldom indeed that a speech of Philippa's could wound her
faithful friend and admirer, but this time the arrow went home, and
Madge's thin cheek flushed with displeasure. She gathered together the
scattered sketches in silence, keeping her head rigorously turned aside,
while Hope made strenuous efforts to redeem the situation.
"Well, really, so it does! They say poster-painting is quite an art
nowadays. I hear it pays so well that many artists would be thankful to
take it up, if it were not that it requires a special talent.
Personally I hope it will be cultivated. It would be so delightful to
see the old eyesores replaced by really artistic pictures."
In vain! Madge remained silent, red, and angry. Poster-painting may be
admirable in its way, but when a student dreams of becoming a female
Leighton or Alma Tadema, the alternative is not welcomed with
enthusiasm. Philippa reflected sadly that another unfortunate remark
was scored against her; but Madge was of too happy a disposition to
harbour a grudge, and in half-an-hour's time the grievance was dismissed
from her mind, and she was once more her own sunny self.
When Barney returned home that evening he joined in the general chorus
of lament at Hope's departure, though his sorrow flowed from a somewhat
different source from that of his sisters.
"What a fag!" he cried. "Now that old Hermit Johnny will think that we
are quiet because he complained. I wish to goodness I had taken up the
flute; I would tootle all the evening for his amusement." He sat for a
while gazing at the ceiling in deep reflection, then slapped his knee
ecstatically. "There's a fellow in the office who belongs to the London
Scottish and has a bigpipe. I say, wouldn't it make the Hermit sit up
if I borrowed it and practised reels! McGregor wouldn't lend it,
though. He is a stingy beast who will never do a fellow a good turn. I
have a score against him! Well, cheer up, Hope; I'll do my best to fill
your place while you're away. I'll find some way of keeping our friend
alive, or I'm mistaken."
"Barney dear--Barney!" murmured Philippa softly.
Barney smiled at her with indulgent tenderness. "Keep your hair on, old
lady!" he said encouragingly; and Philippa could only gasp and pant
beneath his bear-like hug, and declare that never--no, never--had she
met such an unmanageable, disrespectful, vulgar boy!