Big Game: A Story for Girls

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  MARGOT'S SCHEME.

  The sisters repaired to Edgware Road, and after much searching finallyran to earth a desirable hat for at least the odd farthing less than itwould have cost round the corner in Oxford Street. This saving wouldhave existed only in imagination to the ordinary customer, who ispresented with a paper of nail-like pins, a rusty bodkin, or a highly-superfluous button-hook as a substitute for lawful change; but Margottook a mischievous delight in collecting farthings and paying down theexact sum in establishments devoted to eleven-threes, to the disgust ofthe young ladies who supplied her demands.

  The hat was carried home in true Bohemian fashion, encased in a hugepaper bag, and a happy hour ensued, when the contents of the scrap-boxwere scattered over the bed, and a dozen different effects studied inturn. Edith sat on a chair before the glass with the skeleton frameperched on her head at the accepted fashionable angle, criticising freshdraperies and arrangement of flowers, and from time to time utteringsharp exclamations of pain as Margot's actions led to an injudicious useof the dagger-like pins. Her delicate finely-cut face and misty hairmade her a delightful model, and she smiled back at the face in themirror, reflecting that if you happened to be a pauper, it was at leastsatisfactory to be a pretty one, and that to possess long, curlingeyelashes was a distinct compensation in life. Margot draped an oldlace veil over the hard brim, caught it together at the back with apaste button, and pinned a cluster of brown roses beneath the brim, withjust one pink one among the number, to give the _cachet_ to the whole.

  "There's Bond Street for you!" she cried triumphantly; and Edith flushedwith pleasure, and wriggled round and round to admire herself fromdifferent points of view.

  "It _is_ a tonic!" she declared gratefully. "You are a born milliner,Margot. It will be a pleasure to go out in this hat, and I shall feelquite nice and conceited again. It's so long since I've felt conceited!I'm ever and ever so much obliged. Can you stay on a little longer,dear, or are you in a hurry to get back?"

  "No! I shall get a scolding anyway, so I might as well have all thefling I can get. I'll have tea with you and the boys, and a littleprivate chat with Jack afterwards. You won't mind leaving us alone fora few minutes? It's something about Ron, but I won't promise not to getin a little flirtation on my own account."

  Jack's wife laughed happily.

  "Flirt away--it will cheer him up! I'll put the boys to bed, and giveyou a fine opportunity. Here they come, back from their walk. I musthurry, dear, and cut bread and butter. I'll carry down the hat, and putit on when Jack comes in."

  Aunt Margot's appearance at tea was hailed with a somewhat qualifiedapproval.

  "You must talk to _us_, mother," Jim said sternly; "talk properly, notonly, `Yes, dear,' `No, dear,' like you do sometimes, and then go onspeaking to her about what we can't understand. She's had you allafternoon!"

  "So I have, Jim. It's your turn now. What do you want to say?"

  Jim immediately lapsed into silence. Having gained his point, he had noremark to offer, but Pat lifted his curly head and asked eagerly--

  "Muzzer, shall I ever grow up to be a king?"

  "No, my son; little boys like you are never kings."

  "Not if I'm very good, and do what I'm told?"

  "No, dear, not even then. No one can be a king unless his father is aking, too, or some very, very great man. What has put that in yourhead, I wonder? Why do you want to be a king?"

  Pat widened his clear grey eyes; the afternoon sunshine shone on hisruffled head, turning his curls to gold, until he looked like someexquisite cherub, too good and beautiful for this wicked world.

  "'Cause if I was a king I could take people prisoners and cut off theirheads, and stick them upon posts," he said sweetly; his mother and auntexchanged horrified glances. Pat alternated between moods of angelictenderness, when every tiger was a "good, _good_ tiger," and naughtychildren "never did it any more," and a condition of frank cannibalism,when he literally wallowed in atrocities. His mother forbode tolecture, but judiciously turned the conversation.

  "Kings can do much nicer things than that, Patsy boy. Our kind KingEdward doesn't like cutting off heads a bit. He is always trying toprevent men from fighting with each other."

  "Is he?"

  "Yes, he is. People call him the Peace-maker, because he prevents somany wars."

  "_Bother_ him!" cried Pat fervently.

  Margot giggled helplessly. Mrs Martin stared fixedly out of thewindow, and Jim in his turn took up the ball of conversation.

  "Mummie, will you die before me?"

  "I can't tell, dear; nobody knows."

  "Will daddy die before me?"

  "Probably he will."

  "May I have his penknife when he's dead?"

  "I think it's about time to cut up that lovely new cake!" cried Margot,saving the situation with admirable promptitude. "We bought it for youthis afternoon, and it tastes of chocolate, and all sorts of goodthings."

  The bait was successful, and a silence followed, eloquent of intenseenjoyment; then the table was cleared and various games were played, inthe midst of which Jack's whistle sounded from without, and his wife andsons rushed to meet him. They looked a typical family group as they re-entered the room, Edith happily hanging on to his arm, the boys prancinground his feet, and the onlooker felt a little pang of loneliness at thesight.

  John Martin was a tall, well-made man, with a clean-shaven face anddeep-set grey eyes. He was pale and lined, and a nervous twitching ofthe eyelids testified to the strain through which he had passed, but itwas a strong face and a pleasant face, and, when he looked at his wife,a face of indescribable tenderness. At the moment he was smiling, forit was always a pleasure to see his pretty sister-in-law, and to-nightEdith's anxious looks had departed, and she skipped by his side as eagerand excited as the boys themselves.

  "Dad, dad, has there been any more 'splosions?"

  "Hasn't there been no fearful doings on in the world, daddy?"

  "Jack! Jack! I've got a new tonic. It has done me such a lot ofgood!"

  Jack turned from one to the other.

  "No, boys, no,--no more accidents to-day! What is it, darling? Youlook radiant. What is the joke?"

  "Look out of the window for a minute! Margot, you talk to him, anddon't let him look round."

  Edith pinned on the new hat before the mirror, carefully adjusting theangles, and pulling out her cloudy hair to fill in the necessary spaces.Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled; it was no longer the wornwhite wife, but a pretty, coquettish girl, who danced up to Jack's sidewith saucy, uplifted head.

  "There! What do you think of that?"

  The answer of the glowing eyes was more eloquent than words. Jackwhistled softly beneath his breath, walking slowly round and round totake in the whole effect.

  "I say, that _is_ fetching! That's something like a hat you wore thesummer we were engaged. You don't look a day older. Where did you runthat to earth, darling?"

  "Can't you see Bond Street in every curve? I should have thought it wasself-evident. Margot said I was shabby, and that a new hat would do megood, so we went out and bought it. Do you think I am extravagant?It's better to spend on this than on medicine, and three guineas isn'texpensive for real lace, is it?"

  She peered in her husband's face with simulated anxiety, but his smilebreathed pleasure unqualified.

  "I'm delighted that you have bought something at last! You have notspent a penny on yourself for goodness knows how long."

  "Goose!" cried Edith. "He has swallowed it at a gulp. Three guineas,indeed--as if I dare! Four and eleven-pence three-farthings in EdgwareRoad, and my old lace veil, and one of the paste buttons you gave me atChristmas, and some roses off last year's hat, and Margot's cleverfingers, and my--pretty face! Do you think I am pretty still?"

  "I should rather think I do!" Jack framed his wife's face in his hands,stooping to kiss the soft flushed cheeks as fondly as he had done in
thetime of that other lace-wreathed hat six years before. Pat and Jimreturned to their dominoes, bored by such foolish proceedings on thepart of their parents, while Margot covered her face with her hands,with ostentatious propriety.

  "This is no place for me! Consider my feelings, Jack. I'm like a storyI once read in an old volume of _Good Words_, `Lovely yet Unloved!'When you have quite finished love-making, I want a private chat withyou, while Edie puts the boys to bed. They will hate me for suggestingsuch a thing, but it is already past their hour, and I must have tenminutes' talk on a point of life and death!"

  "Come away, boys; we are not wanted here. Daddy will come upstairs andsee you again before you go to sleep."

  Mother and sons departed together, and Jack Martin sat down on thecorner of the sofa and leant his head on his hand. With his wife'sdeparture the light went out of his face, but he smiled at his sister-in-law with an air of affectionate _camaraderie_.

  "You are a little brick, Margot! You have done Edie a world of good.What can I do for you in return? I am at your service."

  Margot pulled forward the chair that her sister had chosen as the leastlumpy which the room afforded, and seated herself before him, returninghis glance with an odd mixture of mischief and embarrassment.

  "It's about Ron. The year of probation is nearly over."

  "I know it."

  "Two months more will decide whether he is to be a broker or a poet. Itwill mean death to Ronald to be sent into the City."

  "You are wrong there. If he is a poet, no amount of brokering willalter the fact, any more than it will change the colour of his eyes orhair. It is bound to come out sooner or later. You will probably thinkme a brute, if I suggest that a little discipline and knowledge of theworld might improve the value of his writings."

  "Yes, I will! What does a poet want with a knowledge of the world, inthe common, sordid sense? Let him keep his mind unsullied, and be aninspiration to others. When we were children, we used to keep birds inthe nursery, in a very fine cage with golden bars, and we fed them withevery bird delicacy we could find. They lived for a little time, andtried to sing, poor brave things! We threw away the cage in a fury,after finding one soft dead thing after another lying huddled up in acorner. No one shall cage Ronald, if I can prevent it! It's no usepretending to be cold-blooded and middle-aged, Jack, for I know you arewith us at heart. This means every bit as much to Ron as your businesstroubles do to you."

  Jack drew in his breath with a wince of pain.

  "Well, what is it you wish me to do? I am afraid I have very littleinfluence in the literary world, and I have always heard thatintroductions do more harm than good. An editor would soon ruin hispaper if he accepted all the manuscripts pressed upon him by admiringrelatives."

  "But you see I don't ask you for an introduction. It's just a piece ofinformation I want, which I can't get for myself. You know the_Loadstar Magazine_?"

  "Certainly I do."

  "Well, the _Loadstar_ is--the _Loadstar_! The summit of Ron's ambition.It's the magazine of all others which he likes and admires, and theeditor is known to be a man of great power and discernment. It is saidthat if he has the will, he can do more than any man in London to helpon young writers. It is useless sending manuscripts, for he refuses toconsider unsolicited poetical contributions. He shuts himself up in afastness in Fleet Street, and the door thereof is guarded with dragonswith lying tongues. I know! I have made it my business to inquire, butI feel convinced that if he once gave Ron a fair reading, he wouldacknowledge his gifts. There is no hope of approaching him direct, butI intend to get hold of him all the same."

  Jack Martin looked up at that, his thin face twitching into a smile.

  "You little baggage! and you expect me to help you. I must hear somemore about this before I involve myself any further. What mischief areyou up to now?"

  "Dear Jack, what can I do; a little girl like me?" cried Miss Margot,mightily meek all of a sudden, as she realised that she had ventured astep too far. "I wouldn't for the whole world get you into trouble.It's just a little, simple thing that I want you to find out from someone in the office."

  "I don't know any one in the office."

  "But you could find out some one who did? For instance, you know thatMr Oliver who illustrates? I've seen his things in the _Loadstar_.You could ask him in a casual, off-hand manner without ever mentioningour name."

  "What could I ask him?"

  "Such a nice, simple little question! Just the name of the place wherethe editor proposes to spend this summer holiday, and the date on whichhe will start."

  Jack stared in amazement, but the meekest, most demure of maidensconfronted him from the opposite chair, with eyes so translucentlycandid, lips so guilelessly sweet, that it seemed incredible that anyhidden mischief could lurk behind the innocent question. Neverthelessseven years' intimacy with Miss Margot made Jack Martin suspicious ofmischief.

  "What do you know about this editor man? Have you seen him anywhere?He is handsome, I suppose, and a bachelor?"

  "You're a wretch!" retorted Miss Margot. "I don't know the man fromAdam, and he may be a Methuselah for all I care; but if possible I wantit to happen that Ron and I chance to be staying in the same place, inthe same house, or hotel, or _pension_, whichever it may be, when hegoes away for his yearly rest. We are going to the country in anycase--why should we not be guided by the choice of those older and wiserthan ourselves? Why should we not meet the one of all others we aremost anxious to know?"

  "Just so! and having done so, you will confide in the editor that Ronaldis an embryo Poet Laureate, and try to enlist his kind sympathy andassistance!"

  Margot smiled; a smile of lofty superiority.

  "No, indeed! I know rather better than that! He will be out on aholiday, poor man, and won't want to be troubled with literaryaspirants. He has enough of them all the year round. We'll nevermention poetry, but we will try to get to know _him_, and to make himlike us so much that he will want to see more of us when we return totown. No one can live in the same house with Ron, and have anopportunity of talking to him day by day, without feeling that he isdifferent from other boys, and alone together in the country one cannever tell what may happen. Opportunities may arise, too; opportunitiesfor help and service. We would be on the look-out for them, and wouldtry by every means in our power to forge the first link in the chain.Don't look so solemn, old Jack, it's all perfectly innocent! You cantrust me to do nothing you would disapprove."

  "I believe I can. You are a madcap, Margot, but you are a good girl.I'm not afraid of you, but I imagine that the editor will be a match fora dozen youngsters like you and Ron, and will soon see through yourlittle scheme. However, I'll do what I can. In big offices holidayarrangements have to be made a good while ahead, so it ought not to bedifficult to get the information you want. Now I must be off upstairsto see the boys before they get into bed. Shall I see you again when Icome down?"

  "No, indeed! I've played truant since half-past eleven, so I shall haveto hang about the end of the terrace until father appears, and go inunder his wing, to escape a scolding from Agnes. I had arranged to paycalls with her this afternoon. I wonder how it is that my memory is sodreadfully uncertain about things I don't want to do! Good-bye then,Jack, and a hundred thanks. Posterity will thank you for your help."

  Jack Martin laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He had a man's typicaldisbelief in the ability of his wife's relatives.