_September 23rd_.
The next morning we went to a paperhanger's shop and asked to see the
very newest and most artistic designs in stock. There were lots of
lovely things, but after great discussion we decided on a thick white
paper, perfectly plain, except in each corner of the room, where there
was a sort of conventional rose tree, growing up about seven feet high,
with outstanding branches laden with the most exquisite pink roses. The
white of the background was partly tinged with blue, with here and there
a soft, irregular blue like a cloud. Looking up suddenly, you might
imagine you were in the open air in the midst of a rose garden, and that
would be a very pleasant delusion in Onslow Square.
The salesman asked how many pieces he should send, and whether we wished
it hung at once. When I said we intended to hang it ourselves, he
said--
"Oh, indeed, madam!" and looked unutterable things.
We were so quelled that we did not dare to ask him about the enamel and
paste as we intended, but bought those at a modest little shop further
on, and went home rejoicing.
Mrs Forbes had laughed and shaken all over in the most jovial manner
when we told her of our plans, but she didn't approve of the white paper
and paint, because, forsooth, it would get soiled. Of course it would
get soiled! Things always do sooner or later. Old people are so
dreadfully prudent that they get no pleasure out of life. When this
paper is shabby Lorna can get a new one, or she may be married, or dead,
or half a dozen different things. It's absurd to plan years ahead. I
cheered up poor Lorna, who is of a sensitive nature and easily
depressed, and when she recovered asked what she thought we ought to do
next.
"The first thing to settle," she said decidedly, "is Midas! He can help
us in a dozen ways if he will, for he is really wonderfully handy for a
boy of his age. He will do nothing unless we consult him formally, and
make a definite business arrangement, but it pleases him and won't hurt
us, as it will be only a few coppers. He is saving up for a motor-car
at the present moment, and Wallace says that by steady attention to
business he really believes he will get one by the time he is sixty."
We called Midas in and consulted him professionally. He is tall and
lanky, and has pale blue eyes with long light eyelashes. You would
think to look at him that he was a gentle, unworldly creature, addicted
to poetry, but he isn't! He sat astride the table and viewed the
landscape o'er.
"The first thing will be to take every stick of furniture out of the
room, and have the carpet up. I know what girls are when they do jobs
of this kind. You will be up to your eyes in paste, and it won't be
safe to leave anything within touching distance. The furniture must be
removed and stored. I'll store it for you in my room. Then you'll need
a ladder, and some planks for the lengths of paper to lie on, while you
paste 'em. I'll hire you the old shutter from the drawing-room."
"The shutters are as much mine as yours," said Lorna. "I don't need to
hire them; I can have them if I want!"
"That's where you show your ignorance, my dear. They are in my
possession, and I won't give them up without compensation. Then you'll
need a man to assist in the hanging!"
"Say a boy at once, and name your price, and be done with it. You are a
regular Shylock!"
Midas grinned as if pleased with the compliment, drew a pocket-book and
a stubby end of a pencil from his pocket, and began alternately stroking
his chin and jotting down words and figures. Lorna grimaced at me
behind his back, but kept a stern expression for his benefit. I suppose
she knew that if he saw her smile prices would go up. Presently he drew
a line, tore the leaf out of the book and handed it across with a bow.
"My estimate, ladies! It is always more satisfactory to have an
agreement beforehand."