"Pooh, I've got 'em digging into me everywhere! I'm the latest thing in
pin-cushions! Nell O'Brien, when at the post mortem the verdict is
'Death due to an overdose of pins,' you'll repent, perhaps--"
"O.B., _will_ you let that bit of shawl go? Or tear off the corner
you've taken such a fancy to!"
"Oh, no, it's Aunt Kezia's," squealed Molly, "oh--_do_ be careful!"
"Oh, _Lor'_," gasped Denis, in exhausted tones, "I'm done! And with my
last breath I maintain 'tis _my_ shawl."
"There, now, I've let everything go. Twirl me--twist me--do what you
will with me," said Ted. "Get up, O.B.! I say, ware shins, old man!"
They stumbled to their feet and stood and surveyed the row of
dilapidated candles--bent double, lying full length on the ground,
squashed flat, and one only still alight.
"Ted, shake hands. In face of the sad and gloomy year I see before us,
I can harbour no ill feeling towards you; though _'twas_ my shawl, yet
let us be as brothers in misfortune."
"January, February, March, April, May, June, July--July is to be our one
and only joyful month, O.B.!"
"And now," pursued Denis, "let us bow to the ladies of the company. Our
awe and admiration--always intense--have increased by five hundred
yards, four inches, during the last half hour of sad experience. Amn't
I right, sweet brother?"
Ted bowed; then his eyes twinkled as he fixed them on the Atom's long
legs.
"My awe and admiration for Sheila Pat remain as they were," he announced
firmly.
The Atom sat down suddenly on the floor.
"Oh, the mess!" sighed Nell, "the awful mess!"
"Who is it who speaks?" inquired Denis, in tragic tones. "I have no
twin. In my direst need she deserted me--her one and only twin--her
Irish boy--her brown-haired brother--oh, by Jove!" with a sudden shout
of laughter, _"suppose Aunt Kezia were to walk in now_!"
*CHAPTER XXV*
Nell conned her accounts and sighed worriedly. They were in a hopeless
muddle; the only clear thing about them was--the unexpectedness of the
size of the total. Then she turned to Aunt Kezia's books and her own
separate account of what they were spending. Finally she took a long
letter from the pocket of her pinafore, and studied it anxiously. Then
she rose and went slowly downstairs to the kitchen.
"What'll you 'ave for lunch, miss?" queried Sarah.
"There was some chicken left, wasn't there?"
"Nothing to speak of, miss."
"You might get it up and let me see it Sarah."
Sarah left the kitchen, and Nell sat on the table and studied the
butcher's account, and her brow grew puckered.
"There, miss, not more'n enough for two."
Nell eyed the diminutive wing and leg and bit of breast anxiously. Then
she laughed.
"Sarah, we'll have it curried--with plenty of rice!"
"It'll never do, miss."
"I shall be quite content with rice. It will have to do, and that's all
about it. We're spending too much, Sarah!"
"Well, miss, it's the little things somehow. I don't know 'ow it is,
but you have such a _lot_ of extrys--pretty jim-crams I calls 'em to
myself."
"And the baker's account is so much larger too, Sarah." Nell wandered
over to the bread-pan and looked in. Some words in Miss Kezia's letter
were in her mind: "Keep a strict watch on the bread, and see that the
stale is all used up. Servants never will trouble to do this."
"Oh, Sarah, what a heap of stale bread!"
"Well, miss, I can't help it. You all like new bread. Mr. Denis said
only t'other morning at breakfast when I tried to use up a bit o' stale,
'e said, 'I _wondered_, where that old pair of shoes of mine had got
to!'"
Her tone was full of admiration of Denis's wit.
"But--I don't understand--couldn't we order less, or something?"
"Oh, no, miss, sure as you did that, you'd come short."
"I know! I read once of a way to make stale bread new, Sarah, and I
tried it for fun, and it acted beautifully."
Sarah looked sceptical.
"I'll show you with a small piece. Now let me see--first you pass it
under the cold-water tap--like this--then you put it in the oven for
about ten minutes."
At the end of the ten minutes she brought it forth triumphantly.
"Well, I never!" exclaimed Sarah, admiringly. "I must tell mother that!
And oh, miss, I meant to tell you butter's gone up tuppence, and we do
use such an orful lot!"
Nell sighed. "I've noticed we spend much more on it than Aunt Kezia
did."
"Oh, yes, that's because you none liked the second best, miss, so I
hordered the best. Even Miss Sheilerpat said she would as soon 'ave her
bread buttered with candle grease, a little bit of a thing like 'er!
You see, miss, you've been used to country butter and the best, living
in a castle as you did--"
Nell hardly smiled.
"But which does Aunt Kezia have, Sarah?"
"The second best. She's a Scotch lady, you see, miss, and different
and--it seemed to grow worse lately--"
"It can't be helped, Sarah. Candle grease or lamp oil, we must have it,
if Aunt Kezia did. And--don't you think you could use less butter in
your cooking, Sarah?" She felt distinctly mean as she said it, but it
was only in accordance with strict injunctions in Miss Kezia's letter.
"Oh, well, miss," Sarah's tone grew ruffled, "I couldn't cook proper
with less! And as for dripping--_you_ wouldn't like that!"
"But you must use it if you do when Aunt Kezia is at home, Sarah," said
Nell, preparing to flee. Now dripping was to Sarah as a red rag to a
bull. Nell was pursued across the hall and into the morning room with
an avalanche of excited eloquence, the refrain of which was: "Castle
folk to eat dripping! Why, you'll turn sick at it, miss!"
Nell, in a perfect excess of goodness, went up to the Stronghold once
more, and averting her eyes from a study of foxhounds on her easel, took
up the account-book once more. She sent Molly and the Atom out with
Kate Kearney, and then she wrestled. The end of it was flushed cheeks,
angry eyes, worried brows, and a ruffled head of hair. Then Nell flung
the book into a corner of the room.
"That's where you ought to be, you nasty, sordid, money-grubbing little
worm!"
"Hulloa," cried Denis, suddenly appearing with Ted. "Whom on earth are
you talking to, and swearing at, what's more?"
"How-do-you-do?" said Nell to Ted.
"Been washing your head, twin?"
"No."
"It looks like it, and you look pretty warm."
"Oh, do leave my looks alone!" petulantly.
Denis's eyebrows went up.
Ted looked out of the window and whistled with soft energy to himself.
"Silly old bounder wouldn't come in for ages," observed Denis, sitting
astride a chair; "says he was here to lunch yesterday."
He paused, and waited for her to speak. She gave a little gasp, as she
remembered the curried chicken, and was silent.
Denis's brows drew together in a great frown.
Ted broke in with a laugh.
"I'm not going to stay now! I only came in to pacify O.B."
With a little flush of horror all her instincts of hospitality awoke.
"Shut the door, Denis! Guard it! Don't let him go, except over your
dead body!"
His brow cleared at once; laughing, he placed himself before the door.
"Oh, but," expostulated Ted, "I--er--I--really, you know, I just _live_
here!"
"Wish you did, old man!"
"It's awfully kind, you know, and all that, but--"
"Oh, Ted, what a lot of breath you do waste!" ejaculated Nell. She
spoke heartily, because she felt that if he went away, she would be
shamed forever; but she was still cross, and inclined to make molehills
into mountains.
She took her place at the table and watched Denis moodily as he peered
into the dish before him.
"I say, Sheila Pat, fetch me the fairy spectacles of Karring Glen! I'll
need 'em! Bothered if my own unaided mortal eyes can find any meat or
snails or puppy-dogs' tails here!"
"It's curried chicken," said Nell, austerely.
"_Thanks_, my dear! But are you sure 'tisn't curried rice?"
"I'm in luck," Ted observed quietly; "I adore rice."
"Glad to hear it, old man! It's pretty well all you'll get to-day.
Sarah, are you trying to starve your youthful charges?"
"It is my fault; I said it would do," Nell said clearly.
"How awfully nice of you," Ted cut in; "you must have known I was coming
along."
"Denis, I don't want any chicken--only rice, please."
"You've got to have it, anyway."
"I don't _want_ it!"
"Leave it, then."
She knew that tone. She frowned and bit her lip, but rather than make
more fuss, she gave in.
"No one's cut any bread," observed Molly.
Ted seized the loaf. Nell glanced at him, saw his face was red and
puzzled, looked at the loaf, which wore a somewhat grimy and cindery
appearance, leant forward, and gave it a squeeze. Then suddenly she
began to laugh and laugh: "Oh--it's an experiment!" she gasped.
"I'm--afraid--it isn't--a success!"
Ted was smiling amusedly.
Denis seized the loaf.
"Great Scott, it's as hard as stone! Shake her, Ted, shake the
explanation out of her!"
"I--I told Sarah--to wet it and put it in the oven--to make it new! O
dear!"
He rang the bell.
"You might experiment on lump sugar next time, old girl, 'twon't affect
me, you see!"
"The rest's all the same, miss! I did it all at once just as you told
me to, and you said as I wasn't to horder any more till the stale was
used up--"
"All right, Sarah," Denis broke in impatiently; "go to the nearest
baker's, and get a loaf at once."
"Mistress won't 'ave nothink to do with Brown, sir; she says they give
short weight--"
"Then go to Smith or Robinson's!" he shouted impatiently.
"I don't know either of them, sir, if you'll hexcuse me--"
"Go to the next nearest to Brown's, Sarah," he said in a gentle,
lamblike voice.
"Yessir. I 'aven't any money."
He found a sixpence and handed it to her with a bow.
Ted was calmly eating his lunch.
"Servants," observed Denis, "are born without brains, and with the bump
of unconscious aggravation dumped in the place where the brains ought to
be."
Later, they found that the butter was rank. Before Nell knew what he
was going to do Denis had attacked Sarah about it and out came a voluble
and injured explanation about the best butter being so dear, and Miss
Nell had said they were to have the second best because they ate such a
lot and were spending too much money. Nell sat quite calm and quiet;
she made no attempt to stop Sarah. She had got beyond that. Ted
meanwhile had helped himself to the rank butter, and was heroically
eating it, his face stolid.
Denis's brow was thunderous; in a curt voice that set poor Sarah weeping
in the kitchen he told her to go.
Then there was an uncomfortable pause.
Ted broke it with an anecdote. He told it, and Nell smiled politely.
Sheila Pat sat and considered awhile, then she observed clearly, "I
don't see anythin' to laugh at in that story at all!"
Ted grew scarlet.
"I--I believe I left out the point, acushlum!"
"Please tell it me!"
He did--laboriously, and with none of the dry humour that usually
distinguished his stories.
Nell looked at him, heroically retelling his poor little anecdote, and
heroically eating his bread and rank butter, and she burst out laughing.
"Oh, poor Ted, do give K.K. the rest of that crust!"
"Should think it would poison her," said Denis, moodily.
"I like it," declared Ted, with obstinate mendacity. "You're all so
particular!"
And he ate it down to the very last crumb.
After lunch Denis went off to the bank, and Ted went with him.
"Nell," at the end of the afternoon Denis burst in, "I'm all bottled up!
Let me explode! Wasn't it a beastly lunch, old girl? I know we've got
to be poor,--horribly, beastly poor,--but I can't stand making a show
like that before a guest--making him think he oughtn't to be there at
all--hang it all, to be stingy to one's friends!"
"You see," said Nell, in quite a weary old little voice, "poverty isn't
so picturesque out of books as in them."
"Rice and rank butter--bricky bread! It's all rot! We can stint more
when we're alone."
"I didn't know Ted was coming."
"Good Heavens, are we to live like pigs, that we can't ask anyone to
lunch without an elaborate warning beforehand?"
"You just said we could stint--"
"I don't care what I said! It was a ridiculous and needless fiasco!
And you know it! Why are we living so much worse all of a sudden? When
Aunt Kezia's here we do have something decent to eat, though it _is_
plain."
Nell sprang up. She flung her palette, her brush, down.
"Why don't you telegraph for her to come back since you miss her so
terribly? _I_ can't do any better! It's so beautifully easy to stand
and look on, and then grumble because you can't live on the fat of the
land! What do you care if the butcher's bill runs to a disgraceful
total--if we're spending six times as much as we ought--if we have, in
the end, to beg money of Aunt Kezia, because ours has all gone--if the
bread-pan is full of stale bread? No, you're the lordly male creature
who ordains impossibilities and expects them to be carried out with a
smiling face! Oh, I'm sick--_sick_ of it all! And I loathe and
_abominate_ housekeeping on farthings! It's sordid and hateful!" And
she fled from the room.
Denis stood and stared at the door; then he gave a low whistle, and
walked slowly up and down the room. Finally, he strode out and banged
on to Nell's door.
"May I come in, twin?"
"Yes," said a very small voice. He rushed at her and butted his cheek
against hers, which was suspiciously wet.
"I was a beast, mavourneen! I'm sorry, Nell--all through. By Jove, to
think I'm growing into a grumpy old curmudgeon all along o' these London
fogs! Why didn't we just laugh at it all, I wonder? I'm sure it _was_
funny! You're not cross with poor bad-tempered old Snarly-Jaw, are you,
Nell?"
"No! You know quite well that it was _I_--"
"I say, Nell, stick on a hat! We'll go and get some kippers for tea!
Savory and economical and charmingly vulgar! I'm pretty hungry--I am.
And we'll haul Ted along, shall we? To get the taste of that grumpy
lunch out of him, eh? Here's a hat!" He seized one up from the bed and
stuck it on her head. She looked up at him from under its brim, her
pretty eyes still wet, her dimples dancing.
He seized her face in his hands, and gave her cheek a great, hearty
kiss.
"Denis," she said, "suppose Fate had given me Patsy O'Neil for a twin!"
"You desecrate the annals of our house by such an infamous and
unalluring supposition."
Ted was easily persuaded to come back to tea: he jumped at the
invitation before it was finished. He would have agreed to come and
stay for a week, a month, so terrified was he that he should betray
remembrance of that luckless luncheon.
The Stronghold greeted them with a great, glowing fire, before which Jim
O'Driscoll sat eating a biscuit; the table glimmered in its light, set
out with a special daintiness; poor Sarah also was doing her best to
obliterate memories. There was a raid on the kitchen for forks; a
hustling and pushing for places at the fire in the Stronghold. Ted
pushed and hustled Denis with all his strength, but his politeness stood
in his way with the others. There was a food deal of noise and a good
many tumbles as they fought and elbowed each other, and of course
Molly's kipper fell into the fire.
"Oh! Oh, _Denis_--get it out!"
"I will!" cried Ted, and gallantly hied to the rescue.
They shouted with joy at his wild plunges after the kipper, and when he
at last held it proudly aloft, minus a tail, and scorched and shrivelled
into a sprat, it was met with a torrent of rude remarks.
Ted handed Molly his own kipper with an air of offended pride; in vain
she protested.
"Here--catch, old man!" Denis flung a fresh kipper to him. "The burnt
one will do for your second help!"
And sure enough it did. Ted found kippers, cooked by himself and eaten
for tea, so good that he ate up every blackened bit of the luckless
burnt fish, and declared he regretted the lost tail.
He looked round on the scorched cheeks and smiled benignly. "Isn't it
good?" he said, with the simplicity that made Nell so fond of him.
"Oh, Ted, what a dear old man you will make some day!"
"Cantankerous old beast, I think!" observed Denis.
"Isn't it funny that things one cooks one's self are always so much
nicer than kitchen-cooked things?" reflected Molly. "But I wish I
hadn't cooked my nose quite so much."
"A cape is a promontory projecting from the land," suddenly declaimed
Denis, and they all laughed.
"Ware noses!" exclaimed Ted, tenderly fingering his own.
"I like big noses," Sheila Pat said thoughtfully. "There's a more--sort
of--_understandin'_ look about them--for boys."
"Acushlum, _what_ made you think of big noses just then?" he urged
reproachfully.
"Let's play hide-and-seek all over the house!" exclaimed Molly. Sheila
Pat slid from her chair.
"The benighted Englishman shall be seeker first!" she decreed, and with
a little squeal of laughter darted from the room.
*CHAPTER XXVI*
"Seen any Irish pictures?" Ted's tone was labouredly casual.
They were talking about the various picture galleries they had revelled
in. Nell turned a suspicious eye on him; she was beginning to know that
casual tone. He had used it when he had suggested that Denis might
exercise Rowena for him--"Pity to let her eat her head off in the
stable, and I'm off for the day to a cousin who's passing through town
on her way to Paris." He had used it too in connection with flowers and
sweets, and on appearing in a dog-cart one day had observed--"Struck
me--room for all--squeeze acushlum in anywhere--pity to waste it."