He admitted it was—great—fun.
“And it doesn’t cost much, if you know!”
Marcus said no doubt she was right, it was a question of knowledge, and he sat with the china woolly lamb in his hands, with his thoughts on that horrible teapot.
“Isn’t supper ready?” asked some one.
“Ages ago,” said the sandy boy; “I simply yelled that the teapot was on the table.”
“You should have said it louder,” suggested another.
Marcus was put next to Rosie; Mrs. Madder explaining that there was no need for ceremony; besides, she was so busy with the teapot she wouldn’t be able to amuse Mr. Maitland:—and Auntie was deaf, so she liked to have her next her, so that she could repeat the jokes to her. “Here, Auntie! Next to me; I will tell you if Mr. Maitland says anything amusing.”
On the other side of Marcus sat a man who, gathering that Mr. Maitland was interested in old things, told him of all the cheap places he knew in London—and after having done that, told him most of the contents of a shilling hand-book on “How to collect anything, and everything.” It was most interesting—only a shilling! He would lend it to Mr. Maitland.
Mr. Maitland said he had hardly time to collect everything. The man smiled and said it did not mean “everything” literally, naturally, and he was hurt and refused to talk any more. Gratefully Marcus turned to the quiet Rose at his other side who had nothing to teach him, but a generous sympathy to offer any one. She was ready to be sorry about anything—sorry that he wouldn’t have any more tea—no more lobster salad? Well, blanc-mange, then? Not with strawberry jam? Well—sardines? Shrimps, then? Shrimps, he must, because they were the shrimps he ought to have caught.
No, nothing, Marcus assured her. He had dined—suppered—he had had quite enough.