“Want to go ’ome,” Joan said, in a voice that betrayed emotion.
Mrs. Pybus turned her meagre face and surveyed Joan without excessive tenderness.
“This is your ’ome, dearie,” she said.
“I live at Ingle-Nook,” said Joan.
Mrs. Pybus shook her head. “All that’s been done away with,” she said. “Your aunts ’ave give you up, and you’re going to live ’ere for good—’long o’ me.”
§ 5
Meanwhile Mr. Grimes, with a cheerful kindliness that Peter perceived to be assumed, conveyed that young gentleman first to an outfitter, where he was subjected to nameless indignities with a tape, and finally sent behind a screen and told to change out of his nice, comfortable old clothes and Heidelberg sandals into a shirt and a collar and a grey flannel suit, and hard black shoes. All of which he did in a mute, helpless rage, because he did not consider himself equal to Mr. Grimes and the outfitter and his staff (with possibly the chauffeur thrown in) in open combat. He was then taken to a hairdresser and severely clipped, which struck him as a more sensible proceeding; the stuff they put on his head was indeed pleasingly aromatic; and then he was bought some foolery of towels and things, and finally a Bible and a prayer-book and a box. With this box he returned to the outfitter’s, and was quite interested in discovering that a pile of things had accumulated on the counter, ties, collars and things, and were to be packed in the box for him forthwith. A junior assistant was doing up his Limpsfield clothes in a separate parcel. So do we put off childish things. That parcel was to go via Mr. Grimes to The Ingle-Nook.
A memory of certain beloved sea stories came into Peter’s head. “This my kit?” he asked Mr. Grimes abruptly.
“You might call it your kit,” said Mr. Grimes.
“Am I going on a battleship?” asked Peter.