The sisters repaired to Edgware Road, and after much searching finally
ran to earth a desirable hat for at least the odd farthing less than it
would have cost round the corner in Oxford Street. This saving would
have existed only in imagination to the ordinary customer, who is
presented with a paper of nail-like pins, a rusty bodkin, or a highly-
superfluous button-hook as a substitute for lawful change; but Margot
took a mischievous delight in collecting farthings and paying down the
exact sum in establishments devoted to eleven-threes, to the disgust of
the young ladies who supplied her demands.
The hat was carried home in true Bohemian fashion, encased in a huge
paper bag, and a happy hour ensued, when the contents of the scrap-box
were scattered over the bed, and a dozen different effects studied in
turn. Edith sat on a chair before the glass with the skeleton frame
perched on her head at the accepted fashionable angle, criticising fresh
draperies and arrangement of flowers, and from time to time uttering
sharp exclamations of pain as Margot's actions led to an injudicious use
of the dagger-like pins. Her delicate finely-cut face and misty hair
made her a delightful model, and she smiled back at the face in the
mirror, reflecting that if you happened to be a pauper, it was at least
satisfactory to be a pretty one, and that to possess long, curling
eyelashes was a distinct compensation in life. Margot draped an old
lace veil over the hard brim, caught it together at the back with a
paste button, and pinned a cluster of brown roses beneath the brim, with
just one pink one among the number, to give the _cachet_ to the whole.
"There's Bond Street for you!" she cried triumphantly; and Edith flushed
with pleasure, and wriggled round and round to admire herself from
different points of view.
"It _is_ a tonic!" she declared gratefully. "You are a born milliner,
Margot. It will be a pleasure to go out in this hat, and I shall feel
quite nice and conceited again. It's so long since I've felt conceited!
I'm ever and ever so much obliged. Can you stay on a little longer,
dear, or are you in a hurry to get back?"
"No! I shall get a scolding anyway, so I might as well have all the
fling I can get. I'll have tea with you and the boys, and a little
private chat with Jack afterwards. You won't mind leaving us alone for
a few minutes? It's something about Ron, but I won't promise not to get
in a little flirtation on my own account."
Jack's wife laughed happily.
"Flirt away--it will cheer him up! I'll put the boys to bed, and give
you a fine opportunity. Here they come, back from their walk. I must
hurry, dear, and cut bread and butter. I'll carry down the hat, and put
it on when Jack comes in."
Aunt Margot's appearance at tea was hailed with a somewhat qualified
approval.
"You must talk to _us_, mother," Jim said sternly; "talk properly, not
only, `Yes, dear,' `No, dear,' like you do sometimes, and then go on
speaking to her about what we can't understand. She's had you all
afternoon!"
"So I have, Jim. It's your turn now. What do you want to say?"
Jim immediately lapsed into silence. Having gained his point, he had no
remark to offer, but Pat lifted his curly head and asked eagerly--
"Muzzer, shall I ever grow up to be a king?"
"No, my son; little boys like you are never kings."
"Not if I'm very good, and do what I'm told?"
"No, dear, not even then. No one can be a king unless his father is a
king, too, or some very, very great man. What has put that in your
head, I wonder? Why do you want to be a king?"
Pat widened his clear grey eyes; the afternoon sunshine shone on his
ruffled head, turning his curls to gold, until he looked like some
exquisite cherub, too good and beautiful for this wicked world.
"'Cause if I was a king I could take people prisoners and cut off their
heads, and stick them upon posts," he said sweetly; his mother and aunt
exchanged horrified glances. Pat alternated between moods of angelic
tenderness, when every tiger was a "good, _good_ tiger," and naughty
children "never did it any more," and a condition of frank cannibalism,
when he literally wallowed in atrocities. His mother forbode to
lecture, but judiciously turned the conversation.
"Kings can do much nicer things than that, Patsy boy. Our kind King
Edward doesn't like cutting off heads a bit. He is always trying to
prevent men from fighting with each other."
"Is he?"
"Yes, he is. People call him the Peace-maker, because he prevents so
many wars."
"_Bother_ him!" cried Pat fervently.
Margot giggled helplessly. Mrs Martin stared fixedly out of the
window, and Jim in his turn took up the ball of conversation.
"Mummie, will you die before me?"
"I can't tell, dear; nobody knows."
"Will daddy die before me?"
"Probably he will."
"May I have his penknife when he's dead?"
"I think it's about time to cut up that lovely new cake!" cried Margot,
saving the situation with admirable promptitude. "We bought it for you
this afternoon, and it tastes of chocolate, and all sorts of good
things."
The bait was successful, and a silence followed, eloquent of intense
enjoyment; then the table was cleared and various games were played, in
the midst of which Jack's whistle sounded from without, and his wife and
sons rushed to meet him. They looked a typical family group as they re-
entered the room, Edith happily hanging on to his arm, the boys prancing
round his feet, and the onlooker felt a little pang of loneliness at the
sight.
John Martin was a tall, well-made man, with a clean-shaven face and
deep-set grey eyes. He was pale and lined, and a nervous twitching of
the eyelids testified to the strain through which he had passed, but it
was a strong face and a pleasant face, and, when he looked at his wife,
a face of indescribable tenderness. At the moment he was smiling, for
it was always a pleasure to see his pretty sister-in-law, and to-night
Edith's anxious looks had departed, and she skipped by his side as eager
and excited as the boys themselves.
"Dad, dad, has there been any more 'splosions?"
"Hasn't there been no fearful doings on in the world, daddy?"
"Jack! Jack! I've got a new tonic. It has done me such a lot of
good!"
Jack turned from one to the other.
"No, boys, no,--no more accidents to-day! What is it, darling? You
look radiant. What is the joke?"
"Look out of the window for a minute! Margot, you talk to him, and
don't let him look round."
Edith pinned on the new hat before the mirror, carefully adjusting the
angles, and pulling out her cloudy hair to fill in the necessary spaces.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled; it was no longer the worn
white wife, but a pretty, coquettish girl, who danced up to Jack's side
with saucy, uplifted head.
"There! What do you think of that?"
The answer of the glowing eyes was more eloquent than words. Jack
whistled softly beneath his breath, walking slowly round and round to
take in the whole effect.
"I say, that _is_ fetching! That's something like a hat you wore the
summer we were engaged. You don't look a day older. Where did you run
that to earth, darling?"
"Can't you see Bond Street in every curve? I should have thought it was
self-evident. Margot said I was shabby, and that a new hat would do me
good, so we went out and bought it. Do you think I am extravagant?
It's better to spend on this than on medicine, and three guineas isn't
expensive for real lace, is it?"
She peered in her husband's face with simulated anxiety, but his smile
breathed pleasure unqualified.
"I'm delighted that you have bought something at last! You have not
spent a penny on yourself for goodness knows how long."
"Goose!" cried Edith. "He has swallowed it at a gulp. Three guineas,
indeed--as if I dare! Four and eleven-pence three-farthings in Edgware
Road, and my old lace veil, and one of the paste buttons you gave me at
Christmas, and some roses off last year's hat, and Margot's clever
fingers, and my--pretty face! Do you think I am pretty still?"
"I should rather think I do!" Jack framed his wife's face in his hands,
stooping to kiss the soft flushed cheeks as fondly as he had done in the
time of that other lace-wreathed hat six years before. Pat and Jim
returned to their dominoes, bored by such foolish proceedings on the
part of their parents, while Margot covered her face with her hands,
with ostentatious propriety.
"This is no place for me! Consider my feelings, Jack. I'm like a story
I once read in an old volume of _Good Words_, `Lovely yet Unloved!'
When you have quite finished love-making, I want a private chat with
you, while Edie puts the boys to bed. They will hate me for suggesting
such a thing, but it is already past their hour, and I must have ten
minutes' talk on a point of life and death!"
"Come away, boys; we are not wanted here. Daddy will come upstairs and
see you again before you go to sleep."
Mother and sons departed together, and Jack Martin sat down on the
corner of the sofa and leant his head on his hand. With his wife's
departure the light went out of his face, but he smiled at his sister-
in-law with an air of affectionate _camaraderie_.
"You are a little brick, Margot! You have done Edie a world of good.
What can I do for you in return? I am at your service."
Margot pulled forward the chair that her sister had chosen as the least
lumpy which the room afforded, and seated herself before him, returning
his glance with an odd mixture of mischief and embarrassment.
"It's about Ron. The year of probation is nearly over."
"I know it."
"Two months more will decide whether he is to be a broker or a poet. It
will mean death to Ronald to be sent into the City."
"You are wrong there. If he is a poet, no amount of brokering will
alter the fact, any more than it will change the colour of his eyes or
hair. It is bound to come out sooner or later. You will probably think
me a brute, if I suggest that a little discipline and knowledge of the
world might improve the value of his writings."
"Yes, I will! What does a poet want with a knowledge of the world, in
the common, sordid sense? Let him keep his mind unsullied, and be an
inspiration to others. When we were children, we used to keep birds in
the nursery, in a very fine cage with golden bars, and we fed them with
every bird delicacy we could find. They lived for a little time, and
tried to sing, poor brave things! We threw away the cage in a fury,
after finding one soft dead thing after another lying huddled up in a
corner. No one shall cage Ronald, if I can prevent it! It's no use
pretending to be cold-blooded and middle-aged, Jack, for I know you are
with us at heart. This means every bit as much to Ron as your business
troubles do to you."
Jack drew in his breath with a wince of pain.
"Well, what is it you wish me to do? I am afraid I have very little
influence in the literary world, and I have always heard that
introductions do more harm than good. An editor would soon ruin his
paper if he accepted all the manuscripts pressed upon him by admiring
relatives."
"But you see I don't ask you for an introduction. It's just a piece of
information I want, which I can't get for myself. You know the
_Loadstar Magazine_?"
"Certainly I do."
"Well, the _Loadstar_ is--the _Loadstar_! The summit of Ron's ambition.
It's the magazine of all others which he likes and admires, and the
editor is known to be a man of great power and discernment. It is said
that if he has the will, he can do more than any man in London to help
on young writers. It is useless sending manuscripts, for he refuses to
consider unsolicited poetical contributions. He shuts himself up in a
fastness in Fleet Street, and the door thereof is guarded with dragons
with lying tongues. I know! I have made it my business to inquire, but
I feel convinced that if he once gave Ron a fair reading, he would
acknowledge his gifts. There is no hope of approaching him direct, but
I intend to get hold of him all the same."
Jack Martin looked up at that, his thin face twitching into a smile.
"You little baggage! and you expect me to help you. I must hear some
more about this before I involve myself any further. What mischief are
you up to now?"
"Dear Jack, what can I do; a little girl like me?" cried Miss Margot,
mightily meek all of a sudden, as she realised that she had ventured a
step too far. "I wouldn't for the whole world get you into trouble.
It's just a little, simple thing that I want you to find out from some
one in the office."
"I don't know any one in the office."
"But you could find out some one who did? For instance, you know that
Mr Oliver who illustrates? I've seen his things in the _Loadstar_.
You could ask him in a casual, off-hand manner without ever mentioning
our name."
"What could I ask him?"
"Such a nice, simple little question! Just the name of the place where
the editor proposes to spend this summer holiday, and the date on which
he will start."
Jack stared in amazement, but the meekest, most demure of maidens
confronted him from the opposite chair, with eyes so translucently
candid, lips so guilelessly sweet, that it seemed incredible that any
hidden mischief could lurk behind the innocent question. Nevertheless
seven years' intimacy with Miss Margot made Jack Martin suspicious of
mischief.
"What do you know about this editor man? Have you seen him anywhere?
He is handsome, I suppose, and a bachelor?"
"You're a wretch!" retorted Miss Margot. "I don't know the man from
Adam, and he may be a Methuselah for all I care; but if possible I want
it to happen that Ron and I chance to be staying in the same place, in
the same house, or hotel, or _pension_, whichever it may be, when he
goes away for his yearly rest. We are going to the country in any
case--why should we not be guided by the choice of those older and wiser
than ourselves? Why should we not meet the one of all others we are
most anxious to know?"
"Just so! and having done so, you will confide in the editor that Ronald
is an embryo Poet Laureate, and try to enlist his kind sympathy and
assistance!"
Margot smiled; a smile of lofty superiority.
"No, indeed! I know rather better than that! He will be out on a
holiday, poor man, and won't want to be troubled with literary
aspirants. He has enough of them all the year round. We'll never
mention poetry, but we will try to get to know _him_, and to make him
like us so much that he will want to see more of us when we return to
town. No one can live in the same house with Ron, and have an
opportunity of talking to him day by day, without feeling that he is
different from other boys, and alone together in the country one can
never tell what may happen. Opportunities may arise, too; opportunities
for help and service. We would be on the look-out for them, and would
try by every means in our power to forge the first link in the chain.
Don't look so solemn, old Jack, it's all perfectly innocent! You can
trust me to do nothing you would disapprove."
"I believe I can. You are a madcap, Margot, but you are a good girl.
I'm not afraid of you, but I imagine that the editor will be a match for
a dozen youngsters like you and Ron, and will soon see through your
little scheme. However, I'll do what I can. In big offices holiday
arrangements have to be made a good while ahead, so it ought not to be
difficult to get the information you want. Now I must be off upstairs
to see the boys before they get into bed. Shall I see you again when I
come down?"
"No, indeed! I've played truant since half-past eleven, so I shall have
to hang about the end of the terrace until father appears, and go in
under his wing, to escape a scolding from Agnes. I had arranged to pay
calls with her this afternoon. I wonder how it is that my memory is so
dreadfully uncertain about things I don't want to do! Good-bye then,
Jack, and a hundred thanks. Posterity will thank you for your help."
Jack Martin laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He had a man's typical
disbelief in the ability of his wife's relatives.