She flew into the garden, calling to Georgie, who was putting up croquet-hoops.
“Georgie, I’ve got it!” she said. “It’s as plain as plain. What Abfou wants us to do is to start a Riseholme Museum. He wrote Riseholme Museum quite distinctly. Think how it would pay too, when we’re overrun with American tourists in the summer! They would all come to see it. A shilling admission I should put it at, and sixpence for the catalogue.”
“I wonder if Abfou meant that,” said Georgie.
“He said it,” said Daisy. “You can’t deny that!”
“But what should we put in the Museum?” asked he.
“My dear, we should fill it with antiquities and things which none of us want in our houses. There are those beautiful fragments of the Abbey which I’ve got, and which are simply wasted in my garden with no one to see them, and my drainpipe. I would present them all to the Museum, and the fossils, and perhaps some of my coins. And my Roman brick-work.”
Georgie paused with a hoop in his hand.
“That is an idea,” he said. “And I’ve got all those lovely pieces of iridescent glass, which are always tumbling about. I would give them.”
“And Colonel Boucher’s Samian ware,” cried Daisy. “He was saying only the other day how he hated it, but didn’t quite want to throw it away. It will be a question of what we leave out, not of what we put in. Besides, I’m sure that’s what Abfou meant. We must form a committee at once. You and Mrs. Boucher and I, I should think, would be enough. Large committees are a great mistake.”
“Not Lucia?” asked Georgie, with lingering loyalty.