“Yes, it is a dreadful thing to discourage enthusiasm,” she said gravely.
Lady Ryehampton proceeded to discuss the question whether a cats’ home could be properly started with thirty pounds, whether she had not better send fifty. Miss Hendersyde made her conscience quite comfortable by compromising: she said that she thought thirty was enough to begin with; that if more were needful, Lady Ryehampton could give it later. Lady Ryehampton accepted the suggestion.
Having set her employer’s hand to the plow, Miss Hendersyde saw to it that she did not draw it back. Lady Ryehampton would spend money on cats, but she could not be hurried in the spending of it. But Miss Hendersyde kept referring to the Terror’s enterprise all that day and the next morning, with the result that on the next afternoon Lady Ryehampton signed the check for thirty pounds. At Miss Hendersyde’s suggestion she drew the money in cash; and Miss Hendersyde turned it into postal orders, for there is no bank at Little Deeping.
On the third morning the registered letter reached Colet House. The excited Erebus, who had been watching for the postman, received it from him, signed the receipt with trembling fingers, and dashed off with the precious packet to the Terror in the orchard.
The Terror took it from her with flawless serenity and opened it slowly.
But as he counted the postal orders, a faint flush covered his face; and he said in a somewhat breathless tone: “Thirty pounds—well!”
Erebus executed a short but Bacchic dance which she invented on the spur of that marvelous moment.
“It’s splendid—splendid!” she cried. “It’s the best thing you ever thought of!”
The Terror put the postal orders back into the envelope, and put the envelope into the breast pocket of his coat. A frown of the most thoughtful consideration furrowed his brow. Then he said firmly: “The first thing, to do is to get the bicycles. If once we’ve got them, no one will take them away from us.”
“Of course they won’t,” said Erebus, with eager acceptance of his idea.