HONOR ANSWERS AN ADVERTISEMENT.
When Doris gets home she finds them all seated at dinner, partaking
of the pea-soup, which appears to be popular. Honor and Molly seem
to be rather elated about something concerning themselves, and Doris
is inclined to be put out at the scant attention they give to the
account of her adventure in the wood.
Only Dick and Mrs. Merivale appear at all interested in her story;
the former beginning without loss of time to tease his sister about
her "knight of the woods." When there is once more a little quiet,
it transpires that the postman has arrived in Doris's absence, and
besides bringing letters for Mrs. Merivale and Molly, from Hugh
Horton, telling them of his having obtained his commission, and of
the probability of his leaving soon for Ireland after all, there is
one for Doris from her aunt, and also a newspaper with an
advertisement marked with a large cross in red ink, to which Lady
Woodhouse begs Honor will give her particular attention.
This is to the effect that persons with any knowledge of painting can
easily earn a pound weekly, by painting on tin--the latest novelty in
art, and greatly in demand. Then the advertisement goes on to say
that by applying at a certain place in the town, those desirous of
taking up this very remunerative employment can be instructed in this
branch of art in two lessons, at one-and-six each.
"So you see I have made up my mind to go and inquire about it all
this very afternoon if I can get away," says Honor folding up the
paper. "Just think, if I can earn a pound a week, what a difference
it will make to us! With that and what Molly makes by her teaching,
we shall really be getting along quite famously. O, and that reminds
me: have you told Doris about your probable new pupil, Molly?"
"No, but I was just going to. It seems that some new people have
taken the house opposite the Vicarage, and Mr. Bolton has spoken to
them about me. There are several children, I believe, and he seems
to think that if I get the eldest girl on well (if I have her at all,
that is) I may have the others when they are old enough. I fancy
they are not very aristocratic sort of people: retired bakers or
something, but they have lots of money, so I shall hope to get good
terms. I shall have to bring all the dignity I can muster to the
fore, I expect, for Mr. Bolton said in his quaint, quiet way that he
was 'afraid they were not very good children from all he heard;' so
if he confesses to that much you may depend upon it they are pretty
bad. I am going to call on Mrs. Hallam, that is the bakeress's name"
("_Molly!_" exclaims her mother), "to-morrow," continues that young
lady unmoved, "so then I shall know all about them. O, by the by,
Hugh says he shall very likely run down to-morrow afternoon. What
does aunt say, Doris?"
"Aunt?" says Doris, who has been absently looking out of the window.
"Oh, she tells me she may want me to join her next week; but uncle's
business is still a little uncertain, so it may not be till the week
after. She has sent me five pounds to get myself a few new things.
Kind of her, isn't it?"
"O, you lucky girl!" exclaims Molly. "How I wish someone would give
me five pounds to rig myself out with!"
"You will be _earning_ as many soon, Molly, and that will be better,"
says Doris with a little flush. "If I were not such a poor useless
creature I might be at home doing something too, instead of going
away from everybody for ages!" and to everyone's surprise the girl
suddenly bursts into tears.
The general consternation caused by this unexpected end to the
conversation does not prevent plenty of loving sympathy being shown
towards Doris. Poor little light-hearted Doris! who, though
overwhelmed with joy at first at the prospect of travelling, now
discovers down in the depths of her soft little heart a feeling which
amounts to nothing less than dismay, now that she is brought face to
face with the fact that before many more days have passed over her
head she will have to say good-bye to the mother, sisters, and
brothers from whom she has never before been separated beyond a week
or two.
Molly comes to the rescue presently with one of her short, practical
remarks, having first suppressed Dick, whom she--not Doris
fortunately--has heard to mutter something to the effect that his
sister "is fretting because she will never see her 'knight' again."
"Well now, cheer up, my girl," she says briskly. "Eighteen months or
even a couple of years will slip round and carry you with them before
you have time to look about; and just think what an awfully jolly
time we shall all have when you come home again! Now," proceeding
coolly to tuck up her frock and pin it behind her, "who's coming with
me to help Becky clear away the dinner things and prevent her
smashing them all? O, dear me, Dick, how you do worry! _Do_ go out;
there's a good boy. Now, Honor, if you want to catch that next train
you had better be off to dress. We will leave mother and Daisy to
rest quietly together, and Doris will come with me, won't you?"
Thus running on she carries her sister off with her, and it is not
long before plenty of laughter is heard from the regions of the
kitchen, Becky having retired into the depths of the wood-cellar to
black Honor's boots.
No. 3 Prospect Road, which is the address given in the advertisement,
does not look a very flourishing sort of place in Honor's idea.
There are a few little insignificant pictures in the window, chiefly
water-colour and crayon drawings, very indifferently executed; a
portrait of a severe-looking lady, half of it very dark, half
restored presumably to its former state; some frames, looking rather
the worse for wear; and a few artists' colours scattered about
indiscriminately. Behind these a dirty-red curtain is drawn, giving
a sort of private air to the interior of the shop.
Honor had expected to see some imposing studio, where perhaps
photography was carried on also, and it is with a feeling of
disappointment that she turns the handle of the door, after having
looked once more at the advertisement to make sure she has made no
mistake.
As the girl enters the shop, a fat little man emerges from behind
some lumber which is piled up at the other end, and coming forward
and rubbing his hands begins to talk very quickly, with a strong
German accent. Gesticulating and chattering the whole time, Mr.
Nathan (that being this gentleman's name) proceeds to show Honor some
specimens of the painting on tin, which are certainly very pretty.
Some, about a foot square, representing charming little winter
scenes, consisting merely of a foreground of snow, innumerable firs,
a frozen stream with a rustic bridge, a church, through the windows
of which a comfortable-looking red light streams, and a background of
peaky snow-clad hills. Others represent waterfalls, with the usual
surroundings, and others are simple rustic scenes.
Now, Honor is quick enough to see that beyond the knowledge of
preparing the tin for the application of the colours, there is no
instruction needed at all; at least for herself, and in the course of
conversation she is more than once led to suspect that she knows more
about painting than Mr. Nathan himself. So she plainly tells the man
that the two lessons mentioned in the advertisement will not be
required in her case, and that if he will supply her with the tin,
and tell her the secret of the preparation, that will be all she
needs, finishing up with the inquiry of how many little pictures he
expects her to do for the stated pound a week.
"I have everything else that I require," says Honor, anxious to
conclude the bargain. "You will see by these that I know something
about painting;" and with very pardonable pride she places before the
astonished little man several sketches which her former master, who
was no mean artist, had pronounced "excellent."
Mr. Nathan looks with supreme and undisguised astonishment first at
the sketches and then at Honor. Then he pulls himself together, and
with many "hums" and "haws" and waves of the hands he says, "But
pardon me, my dear young lady, will you be so obliging as to look
once again at my advertisement, which I fear you do not rightly
comprehend?--or stay, I have a paper here;" and running his dirty,
fat forefinger down one of the columns he at length stops and points
out to Honor the words, "One pound a week may be earned," &c. &c.
"You see, mees, it does not say I myself will give one pound. I give
two lessons, one-and-six each; then my pupils paint the views, four,
six, what they please, and I put them in my window and on my counter,
so; then customers will come, and one will say 'I will buy this,' and
another 'I will buy that.' And sometimes many are sold, and
sometimes also _none_. It depends much"--with a little shrug--"on
the merit of the painting, without doubt; and therefore, my dear
young lady, yours would sell well, _ve-ry_ well, I should say. The
commission I charge is not much, and--" But here Honor, who begins
to see through the old impostor, interrupts him, and moving towards
the door says, "Thank you, I think it is useless to continue the
conversation. I understood from your advertisement that you could
offer employment for which you would give certain payment. But it
seems to me," she adds with justifiable warmth, "that the only
_certain_ part in the matter is the fact that your possible pupils
would be paying _you_ for the two lessons, which I notice are made
rather a point of in the advertisement. Good-afternoon!" And poor
Honor, trembling with suppressed indignation and disappointment,
hurries out of the shop and is out of sight before the old man can
recover from his astonishment. Thoroughly disgusted and discouraged
by the result of her expedition to the town, poor Honor gets back to
the station with all possible speed, and before long is safely
ensconced in a corner of a third-class carriage, where, finding
herself alone, she indulges in a good cry, which somewhat relieves
her feelings; though she cannot, poor girl, forget the dreadful fact
that the three shillings expended on her fare there and back have
been utterly wasted and thrown away. She has dried her eyes again,
and is trying, with her usual common sense, to reconcile herself to
the loss, which cannot now be helped, when suddenly, just as the
train is about to start, the door of the compartment is flung wide
open, and a stout little elderly gentleman shoots past her right to
the end of the seat opposite, while a good-natured-looking porter,
who is standing on the step closing the door, says, touching his cap,
"There weren't no time for the 'firsts,' sir; they be right at the
other end." "Thank you, thank you," gasps the old gentleman, sitting
up and straightening his hat, "this will do very nicely, very nicely
indeed. Dear me, now, what a fortunate, I may say providential
thing, that my brother was not with me! Why, bless my soul, if it's
not Miss Honor!" And leaning forward Mr. Edward Talboys, for he it
is, seizes the girl's two hands and shakes them up and down in such a
kind, affectionate manner that Honor, still feeling a little
hysterical, has hard work to keep her tears from rising again. "And
now," says Mr. Ned, who, though he appears not to do so, notices the
girl's pale cheeks and swollen eyelids--"now, you must tell me where
you have been and what you have been doing. Wait a minute, I mean to
have a guess. You have been, perhaps, to see your kind old friend
Mrs. Horton? or perhaps that very excellent old gentleman Mr.
Dobson--no, Hobson, who came down with you when you paid your first
visit to the Rookery?" Honor smiles and shakes her head. "Then
perhaps," says the old gentleman, with his head on one side, "you
have been doing a little shopping?"
"No, not shopping, Mr. Talboys," says the girl with a tremulous
voice; and then, longing for a little sympathy, she tells the whole
history of the advertisement from beginning to end.
Mr. Ned works himself into a regular heat over the story, and for
some time Honor scarcely knows which predominates--indignation at the
man or pity for herself. First he is for taking the next train back
again and giving Mr. Nathan "a good round piece of his mind," as he
expresses it. Then he calms down a little, and shaking his head
solemnly, says, "A hoax, my dear--nothing but a rascally hoax to
extort money. You may see the advertisements every day in some form
or another. The paper is full of them. Now, if only you had come
and asked our advice about it. But dear me, how should a young girl
like you know that there are such cheating rogues in the world!"
Then, after a few more remarks of a similar character, Mr. Talboys
leans back in his seat for a while quite lost in thought, and it is
not until they are nearing the little station of Edendale that he
rouses himself again.
He startles Honor, who has also been wrapped up in her own thoughts,
by suddenly leaning forward and saying, "Now, can you find time, my
dear, to run up to us to-morrow morning--any time, any time after
breakfast that is convenient to yourself, you know? I am inclined to
be interested in this painting on tin of which you have been telling
me, and I should like to know more about it. I should like my
brother Ben to hear something about it too. With his artistic taste,
I am sure he will be deeply interested in the subject. Now, what
time would you like to fix, Miss Honor,--shall we say eleven? Are
you _quite_ sure that will be convenient?" Honor satisfying Mr.
Talboys on this point, they part outside the station gates; and while
the old gentleman trots off to the village on some
suddenly-remembered business, Honor, with a heart lightened and
cheered by his kindness and sympathy, goes her way towards home.