VII
Pembroke managed everything so well that the great day went off without a hitch. At half-past two the Little Mothers with their families began to arrive, and they were sent off to the shop in companies of ten or thereabouts, two or three families at once. A couple of friendly policemen kept the crowd away from the shop, so that the children had plenty of time and quiet to choose what they wanted.
All the Little Mothers, as I have said, had each a doll and a work-basket; but the younger children might make their choice of two things each, and take two things for any little brother or sister who could not come—Clerkenwell being full of little boys and girls who are not very well.
When they were chosen, Artie Gillam wrapped them up, and off the children went to make room for others.
Matilda was a splendid shopkeeper. She helped the smaller children to choose things in a way that might be a real lesson to real keepers of toy-shops, who always seem tired.
“Now then, Lizzie Hatchett,” she said, “you don’t want that jack-in-the-box. What’s the good of a jack-in-the-box to you if your brother’s got one? One in a family’s plenty. Better have this parasol: it lasts longer and is much more useful.
“Here’s a nice woolly lamb for Jenny Rogers’s baby brother,” she cried, taking away a monkey on a stick. “He’ll only suck the paint off that and be deathly ill.
“Now, Tommy Williams, don’t bother about those ninepins. Here’s a clockwork mouse I’ve been keeping for you.” And so on. Matilda’s bright, quick eyes were everywhere.
Only one or two uninvited children squeezed in with the others. One of these was a very determined little rascal, who actually got in twice. The first time he went away not only with toys of his own, but with something for a quite imaginary brother with whooping-cough. This made him so bold that he hurried away and fought another little boy in the next street and took away his coat and cap. The coat was red and the cap had flaps for the ears, so that they made him look quite different. Wearing these, he managed to mix with the next little party coming from the hall. But he had forgotten one thing, and that was that the little boy whom he had fought was Artie Gillam’s cousin. Artie at once recognized both the cap and the coat, and told Mr. Pembroke, and Mr. Pembroke told one of the policemen, who marched into the shop, looking exceedingly fierce, and seizing the interloper by the arm, asked him whose coat he had on. At this the boy began to cry, and said he would never do it again. But it was too late. The policeman took hold of his wrist and marched him out of the shop and through all the other children in the street, who followed them in a procession, to the home of Artie’s cousin, and there he had to give back the coat. Then he was allowed to go, because Artie’s cousin’s father was out, and Artie’s cousin’s mother (who was Artie’s aunt) was not at all the kind of woman to thrash little boys.
So the time went on until all the children in Pembroke’s list had got their toys and the hall was empty, and then the many others who had been waiting outside were let in, one by one, until all the toys were gone, and the policemen sent the rest away.
“Now,” said Pembroke, “we must shut the shop.” So Artie Gillam went outside and put up the shutters, and Matilda put on her jacket and hat.
Then Pembroke took some money out of his pocket to pay the manager and her foreman their salaries.
“How will you have it?” he said to Matilda.
“Please I don’t know what you mean,” Matilda replied.
“Gold or silver?” Pembroke explained.
Matilda had never seen gold yet, except in jewellers’ windows. Her mother’s wedding-ring was silver. “Oh, gold, please,” she gasped.
“One sovereign or two halves?” Pembroke asked.
“Two halves,” Matilda said.
Pembroke gave them to her.
Artie Gillam, on the other hand, wanted his ten shillings in as many coins as he could have, and his pocket was quite heavy with it.
“And now,” said Pembroke, “I suppose you’re going home. Be careful of your money on the way.”
“Oh no,” said Matilda, “I’m not going home yet. I’ve got some shopping to do.”
“To-morrow’s dinner?” Pembroke suggested.
“No,” said Matilda mysteriously. “That’s all bought. Father won a goose in the Goose Club.”
“Then what are you going to buy?” Pembroke asked, for he wished to take as long and full a story home to Sir Franklin as might be.
“I’m going shopping for myself,” said Matilda. “I’m going to buy some Christmas presents.”
“May I come with you?” Pembroke asked.
“Oh yes, please, I want you to. I’m only going to spend one of these half-sovereigns. The other I shall put away. But I must buy something for mother, and something for father, and I want to buy something else, too, for somebody else.”
So Pembroke and Matilda and Artie, having turned out the gas and locked up the shop, which, however, now contained nothing whatever but paper and string and straw, walked off to the shops.
They first went into a draper’s, where Matilda looked at some shawls and bought a nice thick woollen one for her mother, and also a pair of grey wool mittens for her father. These came to five-and-six.
Then they went to an ironmonger’s and bought a cover for a plate to keep things warm, which Matilda said was for her father’s dinner, because he was often late while her mother thought he was being cut in pieces. This cost ninepence.
Then they went to a tobacconist’s and bought a pipe with a silver band on it, and two ounces of tobacco. These came to one-and-fourpence and were also for her father.
Then they went to a china-shop and bought a hot-water bottle for a shilling. “That,” said Matilda, “is for the old woman next door to us, who nursed mother when she was ill. She can’t sleep at night because her feet are so cold.”
“And now,” said Pembroke, “it’s my turn,” and he took the children into a greengrocer’s shop and bought a shilling’s worth of holly and mistletoe for each of them. “If you like,” he said, “I will carry this home for you.”
Matilda thanked him very heartily, but said that she still had one more present she must buy, and led the way to a little fancy shop, kept by an old maid.
“Please,” said Matilda, “I want a kettle-holder.”
The old lady took out a drawer and laid it on the counter. It was full of kettle-holders, some made in wool-work, others in patch-work. Matilda looked at them very carefully one by one, and at last chose one in scarlet and bright yellow wool-work. When it was done up in a neat little packet and she had paid for it—sixpence—she handed it to Pembroke.
“That,” she said, “is a present for the gentleman. When I had tea with him I noticed that he hadn’t got one, and of course every family ought to have a kettle-holder. I should have liked to make one for him myself, but there hasn’t been time.”