“I have a lot of letters to write,” she said. “I’m not sure I can write to you.”
“Try. I particularly want to know what Miss Pettigrew thinks of your English composition. I should mark you high for it myself.”
“I have to write to father every week, and I’ve promised to answer Tom Kitterick when he lets me know how the new pigs are getting on.”
“Still you might manage a line to me in between. If you do I’ll send you a long answer or a picture postcard, whichever you like.”
“I can’t read your writing,” said Lalage, “so I’d rather have the postcard.”
The Canon returned just as the train steamed in. We put Lalage into a second-class compartment. Then I slipped away and gave the guard half a crown, charging him to look after Lalage and to see that no mischief happened to her on the way to Dublin. To my surprise he was unwilling to receive the tip. He told me that the Canon had already given him two shillings and he seemed to think that he was being overpaid for a simple, not very onerous, duty. I pressed my half crown into his hand and assured him that before he got to Dublin he would, if he really looked after Lalage, have earned more than four and sixpence.
“In fact,” I said, “four and sixpence won’t be nearly enough to compensate you for the amount of worry and anxiety you will go through. You must allow me to add another half crown and make seven shillings of it.’”
The man was a good deal surprised and seemed inclined to protest.
“You needn’t hesitate,” I said. “I wouldn’t take on the job myself for double the money.”
“It could be,” said the guard pocketing my second half crown, “that the young lady might be for getting out at the wrong station. There’s some of them does.”