Chapter 10
SCOUTS OUT
‘And so, Miss Wren,’ said Mr Eugene Wrayburn, ‘I cannot persuade you to dress me a doll?’
‘No,’ replied Miss Wren snappishly; ‘if you want one, go and buy one at the shop.’
‘And my charming young goddaughter,’ said Mr Wrayburn plaintively, ‘down in Hertfordshire—’
(‘Humbugshire you mean, I think,’ interposed Miss Wren.)
‘—is to be put upon the cold footing of the general public, and is to derive no advantage from my private acquaintance with the Court Dressmaker?’
‘If it’s any advantage to your charming godchild—and oh, a precious godfather she has got!’—replied Miss Wren, pricking at him in the air with her needle, ‘to be informed that the Court Dressmaker knows your tricks and your manners, you may tell her so by post, with my compliments.’
Miss Wren was busy at her work by candle-light, and Mr Wrayburn, half amused and half vexed, and all idle and shiftless, stood by her bench looking on. Miss Wren’s troublesome child was in the corner in deep disgrace, and exhibiting great wretchedness in the shivering stage of prostration from drink.
‘Ugh, you disgraceful boy!’ exclaimed Miss Wren, attracted by the sound of his chattering teeth, ‘I wish they’d all drop down your throat and play at dice in your stomach! Boh, wicked child! Bee-baa, black sheep!’