Horace introduced Mr. Poskett to Mr. Clark and the trio sat down at the table. After Mr. Poskett had refused the offer of a cup of cold water, considerately suggested by Mr. Clark, the object of the visit was at once approached.
“It’s like this, Mr. Clark,” stated the visitor, “children is very difficult things to manage properly these days, I find.”
“Thrash ’em!” advised Mr. Clark, assuming an air of efficiency in all matters. “And not only thrash ’em, but keep on thrashing ’em! That’s the only way to manage children, it seems to me, if you wants a quiet life.”
“Yes, but what about it when the child is a girl of twenty?” demurred Mr. Poskett.
“Stop ’er pocket-money!” promptly advised Mr. Clark.
“Yes; but supposing she earns her own pocket-money?” propounded Mr. Poskett.
Mr. Clark, emitting a baffled grunt, passed to silent examination of the problem. Mr. Horace Dobb, settling himself deep in his seat, tilted back his head and puffed at his cigar, as one who postponed intervention till the affair was more clearly established.
“You—you might lock up ’er bonnets,” hazarded Mr. Clark at last, but with no great confidence.
“But she ’as to go to her employment behind the counter at Messrs Wicklett & Sharp’s shop in the High Street,” objected Mr. Poskett. “She comes ’ome for dinner, and goes back again to the shop in the afternoon.”
There was another pause, and then Mr. Clark regretfully admitted that it seemed to him something was wrong somewhere, but he could not quite tell where it was. He respectfully intimated that he might understand better were Mr. Poskett to be more explicit in information.