Over a week elapsed before Madge was able to carry out Barney's
suggestion and offer the race-course advertisement to the tobacconist
who had been mentioned as a likely purchaser. As a preliminary measure
she thought it wise to prospect the shop itself to see if it boasted any
speciality which could be introduced into the sketch, and also to study
the neighbourhood in search of further customers. When the first sketch
had been touched up, and two more executed, she sallied forth to try her
fate once more. She was less fortunate this time than on her first
expedition, inasmuch as she met with two decided refusals. The
tobacconist came last on the list, and Madge's thin face shone with the
light of battle as she stepped across his threshold; for hers was one of
the fortunate natures which holds the more firmly to its purpose when
face to face with difficulty. To return home without one single sheaf
to flourish was not to be thought of for a moment; by cajolery, tact, or
insistence, this last chance must be turned into a success, and a bright
half-sovereign transferred from the till to her purse.
It was already late in the afternoon, the gas was lit, and the master of
the shop was sitting behind his counter reading an evening newspaper.
He looked up in astonishment as Madge entered, for his clientele was
almost exclusively masculine, and there was something about this quiet,
black-robed girl which made him rise hastily and put on his best
manners, as he inquired with what he could have the pleasure of serving
her. She was a lady--not a pretty lady, yet there was something very
taking about the way in which she smiled and said frankly:
"Well, do you know, I want _you_ to be my customer to-day! I have heard
that you are enterprising and fond of taking up new ideas, and I have
drawn a picture advertisement which I thought you might like to buy to
paste in your window."
The man looked dubious and disappointed. "I hardly think"--he began
uncertainly; but Madge was already unrolling her paper, and what living
tobacconist could have withstood the picture that was then revealed!
This one, at least, was profoundly impressed; but when the money
question was approached he showed a shocking ignorance of the value of
artistic efforts. "If you 'ad said 'arf-a-crown, now," he said sadly;
and then Madge thought it was time to cease cajolery and show a firm
front. She spoke to him seriously on the subject of an artist's
education--of its duration, its cost, its difficulties; she hinted at a
reputation which would be seriously injured by the receipt of silver
coins, and gave him to understand that the day was near at hand when the
sketch might be resold at a fabulous profit. The bargaining was
continued for a considerable time, but Madge was sharp enough to see
where she could afford to be firm, and would not concede a point.
In the end the tobacconist sighed and succumbed, but not without making
a stipulation on his own side. There were one or two trifling additions
which he wished made to the advertisement, and these Madge offered to do
then and there if he could accommodate her with a table. There was no
room in the tiny shop, but he looked towards the half-open door which
led into the room behind, and whistled a summons, in response to which a
thin, sad-faced woman made her appearance.
"Mother, will you give this young lady a seat in the parlour? She's got
a drawing here that you will like to see, and there are one or two
little things she is going to put in to make it better still."
"Come in, miss," said the woman curiously; and Madge walked into a
little oven of a room, which was, however, clean and tidy, and not
without a certain homely charm. The pictures on the walls were almost
without exception prints of racing horses, and while the tobacconist's
wife examined her sketch, Madge studied these prints with interest, and
could not resist remarking on their number.
"You must be very fond of horses."
"My husband is!" The woman spoke shortly, and in a tone which made
Madge regret her thoughtlessness. The thin face grew lined and
troubled; her voice sank to a whisper. "I hate 'em!" she whispered. "I
hate the sight of 'em. They have been the ruin of us. We used to be in
quite a big way. We've come down and down. I don't know what will
happen next."
Madge murmured sympathetically and bent her head over her work. All
unwillingly she had touched upon the family skeleton, and it was
difficult to know how to offer consolation when the offender himself was
within hearing distance. She worked steadily at her sketch, while the
woman sat down to her sewing, and for several moments the silence was
unbroken. Then came the tinkle of the little bell, and two customers
entered the shop. Madge heard a request for tobacco and a sporting
paper, but she was in the middle of some fine printing and did not lift
her head from her sheet. The proprietor was evidently weighing out the
tobacco while his customers studied the paper. Suddenly one of them
spoke in a reproachful voice:
"You were wrong about Friday's race, Mr Edwards. Brownie was not in it!
You have not been fortunate in your tips lately."
"Jolly bad tips!" cried another voice, at the sound of which Madge's
pencil slipped from her hand and rolled across the table. She bent
forward to rescue it, casting at the same time a lightning glance
through the half-opened door. The two customers were still standing
before the counter, the younger of the two speaking in hot, excited
tones: "I wish I had never taken your advice. It's been a bad business
for me. I've lost five pounds this last fortnight."
"I wish _I_ had got off with five pounds, sir," sighed the tobacconist;
and his wife echoed the sigh with hopeless resignation. Then the bell
jingled once more, the customers left the shop, and five minutes later
Madge pushed back her chair and prepared to follow their example.
"Bless me, miss, you _are_ white!" cried the woman anxiously. "Have you
turned faint? Sit down, my dear, and I'll make you a cup of tea."
"Thank you, you are very kind, but I shall be all right when I get into
the air. The room--the room is rather warm."
Madge gave a nickering smile, pulled herself together, and went through
the concluding interview with the shopman with creditable composure; but
once outside in the street, and lost in the deadliest of all solitudes--
a London crowd--her agitation could no longer be restrained.
Oh Barney! beloved Benjamin of the family--radiant, clear-eyed child--
honest, fearless boy--have you come to this? Betting, Barney! Losing
five pounds in a fortnight--throwing it away with both hands--while at
home Philippa sat sewing--sewing from morning to night--mending,
turning, contriving, to save a penny--while Steve became old before his
time, and Hope grew pale and thin with anxiety. A rush of colour
flooded Madge's cheeks, and the indignant blood tingled in her veins.
Then came a sudden terrifying thought before which she paled again.
_Where had Barney got this money_? It was impossible that he could have
saved it out of his pittance of a salary; the home exchequer could not
furnish it; then how had he come by it? Madge walked along the busy
streets pondering on this question, and on another equally important--
her own course of action. If she could save her sisters from this
painful discovery, if she could bring Barney to a sense of his
wrong-doing, and pay off his debts by her own work, Madge felt that she
would not have lived in vain. It did not matter how hard she had to
work; she would sit up half the night gladly--gladly; and her experience
had been so encouraging as to justify her in more ambitious flights.
She would set to work at once on a design for a nursery frieze which had
been in contemplation for some time past, offer it to a West End firm,
and boldly ask a good price. If only Barney would be frank, and confess
the whole truth! She reviewed his conduct for the last few weeks, and
realised that, with the exception of one outburst of spirits, the boy
had been preoccupied, silent, inclined to be irritable. She studied his
face throughout the evening which followed, and was startled at what it
told, even as Hope had been before her.
It was not until the house was quiet, and Barney had retired to his
room, that Madge found her opportunity. Then she knocked softly at the
door, was told to come in, and entered, to find Barney hastily covering
up a bundle of papers. The action, the glimpse at the papers which
showed them so surely to be tradesmen's bills, fired Madge with fresh
indignation. She looked fixedly at the boy, and he returned her gaze
with surprised inquiry.
"Well! What do you want?"
"I want a little conversation with you apart from the rest. I was in
that tobacconist's shop this afternoon when you came in, Barney--that is
to say, I was in the room behind the shop putting a few last touches to
my sketch."
"Well!"
"The door was open, and I heard what you said."
Barney sat down on a chair, stretched out his legs, stuck his hands in
his pockets, and looked at her with an air of insolent calm. The
worried, downcast air which he had worn on her entrance disappeared as
if by magic; his face was hard, stubborn, and defiant.
"Well--and what if you did?"
"What if I did? You can ask me that, when by your own confession you
are betting and gambling, and leading a double life--when you are
throwing away money which is needed for daily bread!"
"I never threw away any of your money, did I? You mind your own
business, Madge, and leave me to mind mine."
"It is my business to look after you and keep you out of mischief.
Where did you get that five pounds? It is bad enough that you should
have lost it, but did you get it honestly, in the first place?"
"You'd better be careful what you say. You are not talking to a thief,
remember!"
"How am I to know that?" cried Madge wildly. "If a man begins to bet,
one can never tell to what he may sink next. And how could a boy like
you have such a sum to spare? Where did you get it, Barney? Wherever
you got it, it must be paid back at once."
There was no reply. Barney folded his arms, and set his lips in sullen
determination. The question was repeated, to be ignored once more, when
the tide of the girl's indignation could no longer be restrained.
"Coward! Despicable! To see your sisters slaving for a pittance, and
to be content to be a shame and a burden! If you cannot work, at least
you might try to be a man, and not disgrace our name."
Bitter words--bitter words I what need to repeat them? The girl had
worked herself into a frenzy of anger, and hardly realised what she was
saying, and the boy eat still and listened--the boy of seventeen, who
all his life had been the spoiled darling of the household. Ten minutes
before the stress of accumulated troubles was upon him, and he had been
wrestling with an agony of repentance. A kiss from Philippa, a soft
word from Hope, would have brought him to his knees in a flood of
penitent tears; but the lash of Madge's words hardened his heart within
him. He made no attempt to stop the torrent of reproach, but when at
last she came to a pause he rose slowly, and standing at his full
height, looked down upon her.
"If you have quite finished, will you kindly leave my room?" He pointed
to the door as he spoke, and there was a look on his face which Madge
had never seen before. Barney the boy was dead: Barney the man
confronted her with haggard face, and spoke in a tone of authority which
she dared not disobey. She turned towards the door, murmuring
disjointed words of warning:
"If you will not tell, I must. Philippa--she will have to know."
"There is no necessity to disturb Philippa to-night. In the morning, no
doubt, she will hear that--and other things!"
There was an ominous sound in those last three words which chilled Madge
with a sense of trouble to come, but the door was closed against her
even as they were spoken, and she crept back to bed shivering and
dismayed. Perhaps if she had been gentler, more conciliating--if she
had fought with the weapons of love instead of anger--she would not have
been so signally defeated. Like many another quick-tempered sister,
Madge's anger ended in self-reproach, and when too late she would have
given the world to withdraw her bitter, pitiless words.