Sarah's School Friend Part 6

'That wasn't what you came down to see Uncle Howroyd about. A lot you know of the heavy woollen trade or any other trade! Besides, that came out too pat. What you came down to Ousebank for was just the same thing that I came for.'

'I should not have said so,' replied George dryly, with a significant glance at her hands.

'It was, all the same. You came to ask Uncle Howroyd what he meant by talking about the workhouse last night, and so did I; but I thought one of us was enough to ask that question, so now just tell me what he said.'

If George was taken aback by her astuteness, he did not say so, but answered simply, 'He said he did not mean anything, and that there was no chance of the workhouse for us more than for him.'

'Do you believe that?' asked Sarah.

'He said there was no more chance of our going to the workhouse than his going there,' repeated George.

'Do you believe that?' repeated Sarah.

'No, I do not,' said George gravely.

'Oh George, do you think we are ruined, or anything?' cried Sarah in excitement.

'Oh, do be quiet, and don't talk so loud, or the cabby will hear you! Of course we're not ruined; but it would never astonish me any day if we came a howler. The pater goes too fast, and---- But we're all right now; and, for goodness' sake, don't say a word to mother; it would upset her dreadfully. It's only for her sake I'd mind so much.'

'We'd work for her, and she'd be happier with us, without father always shouting at her,' said Sarah.

'Probably we'd have to work for him too, and he might not be angelic as a pauper,' suggested George grimly, perhaps with a view to subdue Sarah's desire for poverty.

'Oh, I never thought of that. Let's hope his money will last as long as he lives,' she cried.

CHAPTER V.

A RELUCTANT INVITATION.

'We'd better go in the back way, I think,' observed George, tapping at the window of the cab as he spoke and giving the order.

Sarah laughed, as she spread her hands out before her and surveyed them.

'Perhaps it would be as well, for peace' sake,' she remarked.

They were just getting out of the cab at the little back-door leading into the stable-yard behind the house, when, to their dismay, they saw Mr Mark Clay's burly figure come with swaggering walk along the little path through the park towards the same door, probably coming to give some order, or more probably, his children thought, to make himself disagreeable to his stablemen and chauffeurs.

'Quick! in with you; there's the pater!' cried George, who, polite as usual, was holding the cab-door open for his sister.

Sarah needed no second bidding; but, instinctively clutching the front breadth of her skirt in her hands to conceal the stains, she jumped out, ran in at the little gate, and into the house, up to her room by the back-stairs.

George paid the man, who touched his hat and drove off quickly, and the young man noticed that he pa.s.sed the owner of the park through which he was driving without any greeting at all. George turned to meet his father.

The tall, slim young man, with his refined features, looked a fit heir to the fine home, with its vast park; but a greater contrast to the coa.r.s.e man who came towards him could not be imagined. He raised his hat to his father, and greeted him pleasantly enough. No one had ever heard George Clay speak otherwise than respectfully to or of his father, in which he compared favourably with Sarah; but if he could civilly do so he avoided his company, and, if the truth be known, he only spent his vacations at home for the sake of his mother and sister. On this occasion he could not with politeness avoid meeting him, and did so with a good grace.

'Mornin', lad! Where t' been?' inquired Mark Clay, as he gave his son a nod.

'Down to Ousebank, father. It's hot, isn't it?'

'Yes, it's fine and hot. Where's Sarah? Why didn't she stop and say good-mornin' to her dad? I'm not fine enough for her. I'm only good to make money, eh?'

'On the contrary, it was Sarah who was not fine enough to meet you. She stained her hands, and was running off to wash them,' said George.

'Stained her hands! What did she stain her hands for? I won't have her pretty hands soiled; there's no call for her ever to do aught with them but fancy work.'

'Sarah isn't fond of fancy work,' observed George, avoiding a direct answer.

'I don't know what she is fond of, without it's cheekin' me. What do you think she said yesterday? That I was no better than a murderer because I didn't pay a man his high wages when he got too old to work. A nice thing it would be if I had to keep all my sick workmen in luxury, and pay some one else for doing their work. It wasn't by such means that I built this house, I can tell 'e.' Mark Clay spoke broader Yorkshire than many of his men, and even he could speak, and did speak, better English when he chose; in fact, it was only when he was annoyed or angry that he broke out into dialect.

Sarah ran to her room and plunged her hands into hot water, but, as might have been expected, without any effect; and when the lunch-gong sounded they were still far too brilliant to bear her father's scrutiny. So she rang for Naomi, and said, 'Just tell Sykes to send up some lunch to me, Naomi; and if any one asks where I am, tell them I am very busy. So I am, cleaning my hands; though you needn't tell them that.'

Naomi went off to do her young mistress's bidding, but came back in ten minutes looking very grave, and said, 'Please, Miss Sarah, the master says as 'ow it don't matter about your hands, and you can go down to lunch with them as they are.'

Sarah stamped her foot with vexation. 'I told you not to say anything about my hands, Naomi.'

'No more I didn't; but the master knew, for he told Mr Sykes to give me that message for you. And please, miss, excuse me saying so, but Sykes he said, "Try and make Miss Sarah come down, for master he gets into such a taking if he's crossed;" and Sykes he says'----

'Never mind what Sykes said. Get me out my pink muslin,' said Sarah shortly, with her most haughty air, and Naomi obeyed in silence.

Sarah's frock was not pinker than her face when she got to the dining-room.

'So you've been to Howroyd's Mill messing with his dyes, have you? What do you want to go there for when you could come to mine, eh? What did you go to him for, and what did he say?' her father asked suspiciously.

'Nothing very interesting; at least I don't remember anything. Oh yes; he said hands weren't money-making machines, but human souls which had to be cared for,' replied Sarah.

'I don't mean that kind of talk. Did he talk business, eh?' inquired Mr Clay.

'Oh dear no; he never does to me,' she answered.

'Not been croaking, has he?' the millionaire asked with hidden anxiety.

This time it was George who spoke, inquiring, 'Is there anything to croak about, then?'

'I want an answer to my question, and, by gad, I'll have it!' exclaimed his father, bringing his fist down on the table with a crash.

'No; he was very cheerful, as he always is. And now, sir, perhaps you will be good enough to answer my question,' said George, who spoke very quietly but decidedly.

Sarah gave her brother an approving look.

'What question? Oh, whether there's anything to croak about? Not in my opinion; but your uncle---- But there, it's no good taking any notice of him. He'd build a palace for his hands to work in and live in, and stop in that old mill all his life, would Bill Howroyd,' replied Mr Clay; and, frowning heavily, the millionaire got up from the table.

'I say, mother, would you mind if I went for a week's shooting to Scotland?' inquired her son.

'No, dearie; no. You go; it'll do you good. I suppose it's some o' your college friends as 'ave asked you? Yes, you go; there's nothin' for you to do 'ere,' said the fond mother.

'And what about me? What am I to do if you go off and leave me all alone?