“How’s Percy?” the boy asked presently.
“Percy’s the same as usual. Only I fancy he seems a little depressed.”
Presently Clifford looked up and said:
“Anyway, you’ll think it over, Bertha; and see what you decide to do about asking Pickering?”
“Rather!” said Bertha, turning a page absently. “He’s rather a wonderful chap, then?”
“Isn’t he!”
“What sort?”
“What sort?” cried Clifford, dropping his book. “Why, Bertha, I was with him, actually with him, when he went into the country post office and asked the woman if she would let him have small change for ten shillings, and he found he hadn’t the half-sovereign then, but would pay her when he didn’t see her again! And then he said if she wouldn’t do that, he’d like to buy some stamps, and asked if she’d show him some to choose from. And then he said—I saw him do it—’I’ll take those two in the middle—I like the colour.’ When she said they were fivepence he said that was too expensive, and he couldn’t run to it. And then he wanted to buy some sweets—they sell everything at those country shops—and she wrapped some up for him, and then he said he hadn’t got a penny, and would she put it down to Lord Arthur’s account—that’s an uncle of his who didn’t know anything about it, and hadn’t got any account. And when she refused, fancy, Bertha! he asked if she’d take stamps, as she seemed fond of them, and when she said she would, he stamped twice on the floor and ran out of the shop, and I ran after him. She was angry!”
“He seems a useful boy.”
“Rather! His people are frightfully rich, you know,” went on Clifford. “When they tease him about it at school, he says he’s never allowed to use the same motor twice, and that they’re made of solid gold! He chaffs everybody.”