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CHAPTER VII
LETTERS TO A MOTHER
One morning, not long after this, there came to Miss Bibby at “Greenways” a letter from Thomas Bibby in the city.
Thomas was the sole male member of the family of Bibby, and was a hard-headed young clerk in the commercial department of a big evening newspaper. He had been brought up by his sisters;—there were three more Misses Bibby scattered about the State, teaching, or in similar positions of trust to the “Greenways” Miss Bibby. And they were all inclined to be literary. Clara Bibby wrote verse; if you happened to be a reader of obscure country newspapers you would frequently come across a poem entitled Australia—my Country, or Wattle Blossom, with the signature “Clara L. C. Bibby” beneath it. Alice, the quietest, gentlest little person in the world, wrote vehement articles in the suburban Woman’s Political Organ. And Grace had actually brought out a book. A [p73] publisher had been touched at her despair when he handed her back her useless MS., and suggested she should compile a cookery book for him, which after a little time of dignified sulking she did; and the book came out and, there being room for it, had a most successful sale. And Grace, quite pleased and surprised, positively taught herself to cook from it, and found the subject so full of interest that she abandoned her heroines and started a second volume of Cookery Hints for Busy Housewives. But it galled the pride of Agnes, the “Greenways” Miss Bibby, and Clara, the poetess, and Alice, the Woman’s Voice, that she signed it with her own name. They were confronted everywhere with Bibby’s Cookery Book.
Thomas, after he had finished being brought up by these ladies, surprised every one by his faculty for business. They took him in his eighteenth year to the editor of an evening paper who was known to them, and begged that he should be received into the office to gain an insight into literary life, as they hoped in a few more years he would become a novelist.
“Suppose I’ll have to give you a trial,” growled the editor to the sulky-looking novelist-to-be, when the ladies had fluttered away. “Here you are, here’s a bank manager made a mess of his accounts—no roguery [p74] about it, simple confusion, and he goes and shoots himself and his wife—can you turn that into a novel of two hundred words?”
“No, I can’t,” said Thomas, who hated all things literary. Then his sulky look vanished and his eyes brightened. “But I tell you what I could do—go and straighten out the poor chap’s accounts.”
“Here,” said the editor, “you’d better go downstairs, my fine fellow, and ask Mr. Gates to give you a stool in the office.”
So Thomas became a valued clerk in the counting-house. And presently when a foolish, feminine speculation swept away the income of the sisters, Thomas established himself as guardian of their bank-books, and general business man of the family.
The sisters, though a little money was still left, decided to take situations as governesses and companions, telling each other it would widen their outlook on life, and give them experiences that might prove invaluable in their literary work. Judge and Mrs. Lomax felt themselves fortunate when Miss Agnes Bibby, with such unquestionable credentials, appeared in answer to their advertisement for some one to take charge of their family during their absence.