“All right. Will send accounts. Expenses small.—Mary.”
On the way home they spoke to Fraser, who let out carriages and carts. Fraser liked the plan as much as every one else did. He promised to call in on the Snellings in a casual way, on the morning on which they would receive the tickets, and suggest to them that they should let him drive them to the station and bring them home again. When Mary offered to pay him, Mr. Fraser said no, certainly not; he would like to help her. He hadn’t done anything for anybody for so long that he should be interested in seeing what it felt like. This meant a saving of four shillings.
Mary went to tea at Mr. Verney’s. After tea he printed addresses on a number of envelopes, and put the postal orders inside, with a little card in each, on which he printed the words, “From a friend, for Tommy to go to the sea-side home for a fortnight”; “From a friend, for Mr. and Mrs. Snelling to go to London”; “From a friend, for Mr. Eyles’ spectacles,” and so forth, and then he stamped them and stuck them down, and put them all into a big envelope, which he posted to his sister in Ireland, so that when they came back they all had the Dublin postmark, and no one ever saw such puzzled and happy people as the recipients were.
“Has your mother any friends in Dublin, Miss Mary?” Mrs. Snelling asked a day or so later, in the midst of a conversation about sweet peas.
“No,” said Mary. It was not until afterwards that she saw what Mrs. Snelling meant.
V
Next Thursday came at last, the day on which Thomas Barnes’ shed was to be anti-burgled. At ten o’clock, having had leave to stay up late on this great occasion, Mary put on her things, and Mr. Verney, who had come to dinner, took her to his rooms. There, in the outhouse which he used for a studio, he showed her the truck.
“And here,” he said, “is my secret,” pointing out the words—
THOMAS BARNES,
PORTER, MERCOMBE.
which he had painted in white letters on the side.