The Daughters of a Genius Part 7

To the credit of their breeding, be it said, Philippa and Madge rose n.o.bly to the occasion, and welcomed the unwelcome guests without either apology or confusion. Madge smiled sweetly through her wisps of hair, and discussed the weather in orthodox fashion, before sailing out of the room to clothe herself in more suitable attire. Hope was proud of her sisters, and unselfishly annoyed that she should appear to better advantage than they; for she had dressed early after her return from a wet and tiring walk. She met her cousin's curious gaze, and sat down beside her with a friendly smile.

"You are Avice. I have so often wondered about you?"

"You are Hope. I have a picture of you as a little girl. It is so pretty! You haven't changed a bit."

"Oh, oh, you shouldn't! But how nice of you, all the same! I love compliments," confessed pretty Hope, blushing in bewitching fashion between gratification and embarra.s.sment. She looked at Avice in her turn, and decided that she was not at all pretty. But, oh, what clothes! What a dream of a hat! What distracting ruffles and laces peeping from between the sables! What twinkling lights of diamond brooches! She paused for a moment to do obeisance before a vision of herself clad in similar garments, then continued, with a smile, "I am so glad to meet you! It feels lonely to be absolutely without friends in this great London, and so far we know no one at all."

"You are the musical one, aren't you?" Avice asked curiously. "You are all geniuses, father says, and determined to make a name in the world.

Have you begun work? What have you done so far?"

Hope smiled with pardonable satisfaction.

"Well, really, I think we have made a good start. Theo has interviewed one of the most influential editors in Fleet Street, and has been asked to send MSS to his paper. Madge has sent in her two show-pictures to the Slade School, and is to begin regular work there at the half-term.

Meantime she is studying the different exhibitions and collections, and, as she says, picking up 'quite valuable hints' from old masters. She is so amusing! She comes home every evening with absurd accounts of her adventures. Most people would find it rather dull spending a whole day at the National Gallery, for instance, but Madge has the faculty of finding amus.e.m.e.nt wherever she goes, and, even apart from the pictures, has a dozen little histories and romances to recount."

"Y-es," a.s.sented Avice flatly. She herself had little sense of humour, and was by no means prepossessed by the plain, elf-like figure of her youngest cousin Hope, on the contrary, was graceful and charming, and had been already mentally adopted as the friend of the future. "What are _you_ doing?" she asked, with an interest which could not fail to be flattering, and Hope moved her chair a trifle closer with an impulse of girlish confidence.

"Oh, I am getting on so well! I have had my first lesson in harmony, and my master is so kind and encouraging. He seems to think that I know a great deal already, and his work is so interesting. In the mornings I study and practise, and in the afternoons I try to hear as much music as I can. I go to cheap seats at concerts and recitals, or to service at the Abbey or Saint Paul's. And fancy! I have had a commission to write a song for a professional--a real professional--a lady who sings at concerts all over the country. You may know her name--Miss Minnie Caldecott."

Yes, Avice knew it quite well, and was duly impressed by the news. She pa.s.sed it on to her mother, who was sitting silently criticising the details of the room, while her husband talked to the older girls. She also appeared impressed, and expressed a desire to hear Hope perform one of her own compositions. Accordingly the piano was opened, and the girl sang, not one song, but two, so that her relations might appreciate the variety of her style: first the graceful and would-be cla.s.sical setting to the words which Miss Minnie had despised, and then the more taking, if less high-cla.s.s, "domestic" ditty. Mrs Loftus had little of the maternal instinct in her composition, but even her hard face softened as Hope's fresh voice sang the sweet, simple words. Uncle Loftus cried "Bravo! bravo!" and Avice opened wide surprised eyes. Mrs Loftus put up her eyegla.s.ses and examined the singer in critical fashion. So young; so pretty; so exceptionally gifted! Really, the girl would be a useful addition to an evening's entertainment or a house-party in the country.

She made a mental note that Hope was the "presentable" member of the family, then rose to take her departure, murmuring society nothings as she shook hands with Philippa, and checking Avice's farewell words with a warning frown.

"Oh yes, we must arrange to meet again. I will look over our list.

Don't make any plans to-day, dear; you are so overdone with engagements."

She rustled to the door, followed by her obedient spouse, who was allowed no time to speak, but instead delivered himself of a succession of mysterious nods and smiles, which left the girls in a state of amused mystification. The explanation was, however, speedily forthcoming, for ten minutes had not elapsed after the departure of the three when a second bell sounded, and there stood Mr Loftus, erect and self-confident, a man on his own account, with no overwhelming feminine element to keep him in the background.

"Back again like a bad penny!" he cried jocosely. "Just a word to say to you, my dears--a word in your ears. Put the ladies into the carriage, and went on 'to my club.' He, he! Useful things, clubs!

About that boy, now. Don't approve of your spending capital--never approved of that, you know--but pleased to help you all the same.

Edgar's children. Yes! Ought to give you a lift. Fifteen--eh? Young to leave school, but can't be helped, I suppose. Was speaking to Spence the other day--most influential man--thinks he might take him in there.

Eh? Insurance office--huge place--hundreds of clerks. Spence is manager. Always taking in new fellows. What do you think of that--eh?"

"Please sit down, uncle," said Philippa, greatly puzzled by the short, jerky sentences; and, so far as she could judge of the proposal, thinking about as badly of it as it was possible to do. "It is very kind of you to remember Barney, and we are most anxious to find him an opening, but I don't know that insurance--and such a number of clerks, too! Would not a boy be likely to be lost among them, and drudge on year after year without promotion?"

"In an ordinary way, yes; but this would be different. I'm on the Board, you see--on the Board--chairman last year. Spence a personal friend. Could help him on if he stuck to his work. Don't know the boy, but if Spence took a fancy to him, there isn't a man in town who has more in his power. Peculiar man, Spence! Difficult temper--autocratic; but if he takes a fancy, there's nothing he won't do. Barney, now--what kind of a boy is Barney?"

"All kinds," replied Philippa, smiling. She felt perfectly satisfied that Mr Spence _would_ take a fancy to Barney, but whether that young gentleman would "stick" to his work was another and a very different question.

"He is a very handsome boy, Uncle Loftus, and full of fun and mischief.

He is clever, but I'm afraid not too industrious. We hope that he will settle down and realise that he has his way to make; but he is young, as you say. Mr Spence might not have patience with him."

"Oh, Spence would have nothing to do with him at first. He would have to obey the head of his department. Send Stephen to me to talk it over.

Men understand business; girls, you know--pretty girls like you--think only of bonnets. That's it, Hope, isn't it? Quite right, too. Get a becoming one, my dear, and come and see me in it when it is bought. Now I must be off. Glad to have seen you all Pretty little nest at the top of the tree! Hope it may be prophetic. Hard on my legs, though. Stiff in the knees. Not so young as I was, my dears--not so young as I was."

He went toddling out of the door, smiling and chuckling to himself, and as he descended the staircase the echo of disjointed phrases reached the girls' ears: "Top of the tree! Ha, ha! Not so young as I was.

Prophetic--eh! Hope it is prophetic."

"Poor little mannikin!" said Philippa pitifully. "I feel like a mother to him. He daren't even be kind in his wife's presence, he is so kept down. How I do detest to see women snub their husbands and fathers!

When I marry I intend to look up to my husband and think him the finest man in the world. I'd rather be ruled by some one stronger and wiser than myself than have it all my own way. _My_ husband is going to be master of his own house, or I'll know the reason why."

She was leaning over the banisters as she spoke, listening to the departing footsteps of the "mannikin" as he trotted along the stone entrance-hall; but as she finished speaking she drew back with a gasp of dismay, for a cadaverous countenance was raised to hers from the landing immediately beneath, and the tenant who had objected to Hope's practising stood for a moment b.u.t.toning his coat, then slowly took his way downstairs. With one bound, as it seemed, the girls were back in their own sitting-room, confronting each other with horrified, scarlet faces.

"The Hermit!"

"The author creature who writes all day and sits up all night. Do you suppose he _heard_?"

"Heard! My dear, he has ears; how could he help it? If you _will_ air your ideas as to your future husband on the landing of public buildings, what can you expect? Never mind. Perhaps it's just as well that you should understand each other from the first."

"Don't be vulgar, Madge. That kind of joke is in the worst possible taste."

"'Pologise! My vulgar nature, I suppose. _Didn't_ he stare? He looks shockingly ill. I should say his nerves were overstrained, and he wouldn't be too pleasant a companion. I hope he won't call."

"People never call in London, child, unless they have some sort of introduction or a mutual friend. Besides, the porter told me that the Hermit is quite a celebrity. Why should he call upon us? He writes articles for the reviews, and long, learned books which no one can understand. I will never try to, for one. I hope I may never, never see his face again!" cried Philippa, in a sudden outburst of pa.s.sion, for it was really most trying to discover a strange man playing the part of audience on the one occasion on which she had "let herself go."

Stephen called upon Mr Loftus as suggested, was taken to interview the eccentric Mr Spence, and eventually decided to accept the offered opening for Barney. It was not exactly the position which he would have chosen, but beggars cannot be choosers, and his uncle's influence, backed by a personal introduction to the manager, seemed to hold out a reasonable chance of promotion. At the worst, the experience would give the boy some knowledge of office life, and prevent his running wild over London, getting into fresh mischief with every hour, as his custom was.

The half-term arrived, and with it Mr Barnard himself. The lad drove up in a hansom, and smiled patronisingly upon the sisters a.s.sembled to welcome him in the bare entrance-hall. He was nearly as tall as Philippa herself, and very like her in appearance, though his sparkling face lacked as yet her characteristic strength and earnestness of expression. So far, indeed, life had appeared one huge joke to Barney, and his radiant spirits had suffered no eclipse. He allowed himself to be kissed and hugged by one sister after another, and was then escorted up the stone staircase with all the honours of a returned hero, the while his bright eyes roved from side to side in search of adventure.

He tested the banister, calculated its length from top to bottom, and offered to race Madge down with a handicap of half a minute. He pointed to the bottles of fire-extinguishers ranged on each landing, and cried genially, "We'll start an alarm of fire one night, and watch the Johnnies rush out and smash 'em!" Then seeing the words, "_Do not knock unless absolutely necessary_," printed on a card nailed to the "Hermit's" door, he lingered behind to give such a resounding rat-tat-tat to the knocker as woke the echoes to life. The girls scuttled upstairs like so many frightened mice; but what was the good of that? They could not hide the noise of their footsteps, and once in the precincts of their own flat they one and all fell upon Barney, covering him with reproaches. How could he? How dared he? It was rude, ungentlemanly, unfair to his sisters. He must never--no, never--do such a thing again!

"Well, scarcely ever!" cried the beaming culprit. "So this is the rabbit-warren, is it! What a rummy little show! When will the feed be ready? I'm dying of hunger. Hope you've slain a jolly big calf while you were about it."

When the "calf" appeared, and the reunited family seated themselves round the dining-room table, Barney wished to bet some one "a tanner"

that without leaving his chair he could ring the bell, poke the fire, pull up the blind, and put a plate on the sideboard; and proceeding to give practical ill.u.s.tration of his words, overbalanced himself, grazed his head against a corner of the bookcase, and made an ugly stain upon the wall-paper with the contents of his overturned plate.

"Really, Barney--really! That's not at all amusing. I don't feel in the _least_ inclined to laugh," protested Philippa severely; but she belied the truth of her words by smiling lovingly on the culprit throughout the meal. It was easy to see who was going to be master of _that_ flat!

CHAPTER NINE.

AN ANONYMOUS LETTER.

Barney's infectious spirits were a G.o.dsend to his sisters, who, truth to tell, were beginning to experience a reaction from their first elation, and to realise how many weary rungs of the ladder had to be ascended before success was gained. Theo felt that she was condescending sadly when she sent off her MS to the editor of a threepenny magazine; but that gentleman evidently differed from her opinion, for he sent it back again with admirable prompt.i.tude, with only a printed rejection by way of criticism. Hope received no answer from Miss Minnie Caldecott, and Madge found herself ranked with other new-comers in the antique room at the Slade School, and treated with patronising disdain by the older pupils. These latter worked "in the life," and had merry little lunches together in the corridors, while she ate sandwiches in the dreary cloak-room in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and sadly reflected that she was not the genius she had imagined. Her talent lay in caricature and bright original design, and pray how was she to have a chance of exhibiting these gifts in a copy of the Venus de Milo? The probabilities of earning money seemed to retreat into the dim distance, and poor Philippa realised as much, and sighed more and more heavily over the weekly bills.

It was a relief to all to listen to Barney's merry voice, and to sun themselves in his radiant presence. The account of his luncheon in town was a daily amus.e.m.e.nt; for he had strongly objected to coming home in the middle of the day, and had finally been allowed the lordly sum of eight-pence by the head of the exchequer.

"It is twice as much as your return fare in the Tube, so I calculate that would be about the cost of your lunch here. If you go to the right places, Steve says, you can get quite a comfortable meal for eight-pence--a plate of warm, nourishing soup, or a cup of chocolate and sandwiches."

So spoke Philippa in her wisdom, but Barney was too much of a schoolboy to condescend to warm and nourishing diet while sweetmeats were within his reach. On a chill and rainy day he would make a selection of three custard-tarts and a bottle of lemonade, or a cold mince-pie, a slice of plum-cake, and a gla.s.s of milk; after which exploit he would return home in the best of health and spirits, to eat at one meal as much as his four sisters put together.

As to his business experiences, Barney was curiously reticent, but he p.r.o.nounced the office "not bad sport," talked of the heads of departments by their Christian names, alluded to the manager as "Old Waxworks," and was so uncomplaining about the long confinement that Philippa cherished the fondest hopes of his success. The boy had settled down far better than she had expected, and if he were a trifle uproarious at home, it was not to be wondered at. Before his arrival Hope had played favourite cla.s.sics for the amus.e.m.e.nt of her sisters during the evening, but Master Barney had little patience with such a tame performance. He preferred to hear popular street ditties, coached Hope in the airs in a loud, cracked treble, and insisted on a chorus, as often as not throwing in a step-dance by way of improvement. From time to time one of his sisters would offer a mild protest: "Don't, Barney-- don't!" "Barney, be quiet!" Whereupon Barney would give a louder stamp than before, or, by way of reply, elegantly wave a foot over the head of the protester.

On one of these convivial occasions there sounded once again that eloquent echo from below; but the performer was happily unconscious, and his sisters, rolling meaning eyes, exerted every device to divert his attention in another direction. Well they knew that if Mr Barney once grasped the nature of the message his energy would increase tenfold, and he would dance until he dropped, if only to prove his free and independent spirit!

Then one evening came the formal opening of the war.

At an unorthodox hour of the night the letter-box clanked, and an undirected note fell into the box. Philippa read it, and grew pale with anger; Madge read it, and grew flaming red; Hope cried, "Oh! oh!" and Theo tossed her head like a tragedy queen. The note was short and to the point; it bore neither address nor signature:

"If the occupants of flat Number 10 would have the consideration to remember the existence of their neighbours, it would add greatly to the comfort of the other dwellers in the mansions. Such establishments could not continue to exist if rowdiness and horseplay were permitted without protest. It is sincerely to be hoped that the matter may be remedied before appeal be necessary to those in authority."