Peggy in Trouble.
As Peggy sat writing in the study one afternoon, a shaggy head came peering round the door, and Robert’s voice said eagerly—“Mariquita! A word in your ear! Could you come out and take a turn round the garden for half an hour before tea, or are you too busy?”
“Not at all. I am entirely at your disposal,” said Peggy elegantly; and the young people made their way to the cloak-room, swung on coats and sailor hats, and sallied out into the fresh autumn air.
“Mariquita,” said Robert then, using once more the name by which he chose to address Peggy in their confidential confabs, “Mariquita, I am in difficulties! There is a microscope advertised in Science this week, that is the very thing I have been pining for for the last six years. I must get it, or die; but the question is—how? You see before you a penniless man.” He looked at Peggy as he spoke, and met her small, demure smile.
“My dear and honourable sir—”
“Yes, yes, I know; drop that, Mariquita! Don’t take for granted, like Mellicent, that because a man has a title he must necessarily be a millionaire. Everything is comparative! My father is rich compared to the vicar, but he is really hard-up for a man in his position. He gets almost no rent for his land nowadays, and I am the third son. I haven’t as much pocket-money in a month as Oswald gets through in a week. Now that microscope costs twenty pounds, and if I were to ask the governor for it, he wouldn’t give it to me, but he would sigh and look wretched at being obliged to refuse. He’s a kind-hearted fellow, you know, who doesn’t like to say ‘No,’ and I hate to worry him. Still—that microscope! I must have it. By hook or by crook, I must have it. I’ve set my mind on that.”
“I’m sure I hope you will, though for my part you must not expect me to look through it. I like things to be pretty, and when you see them through a microscope they generally look hideous. I saw my own hand once—ugh!” Peggy shuddered. “Twenty pounds! Well, I can only say that my whole worldly wealth is at your disposal. Draw on me for anything you like—up to seven-and-six! That’s all the money I have till the beginning of the month.”
“Thanks!—I didn’t intend to borrow; I have a better idea than that. I was reading a magazine the other day, and came upon a list of prize competitions. The first prize offered was thirty pounds, and I’m going to win that prize! The microscope costs only twenty pounds, but the extra ten would come in usefully for—I’ll tell you about that later on! The Piccadilly Magazine is very respectable and all that sort of thing; but the governor is one of the good, old-fashioned, conservative fellows, who would be horrified if he saw my name figuring in it. I’m bound to consider his feelings, but all the same I’m going to win that prize. It says in the rules—I’ve read them through carefully—that you can ask your friends to help you, so that there would be nothing unfair about going into partnership with someone else. What I was going to suggest was that you and I should collaborate. I’d rather work with you than with any of the others, and I think we could manage it rather well between us. Our contribution should be sent in in your name; that is to say, if you wouldn’t object to seeing yourself in print.”
“I should love it. I’m proud of my name; and it would be a new sensation.” But Peggy spoke in absent-minded fashion, as if her thoughts were running on another subject. Rob had used a word which was unfamiliar in her ears, a big word, a word with a delightful intellectual roll, and she had not the remotest idea of its meaning. Collaborate! Beautiful! Not for worlds would she confess her ignorance, yet the opportunity could not be thrown away. She must secure the treasure, and add it to her mental store. She put her head on one side, and said pensively—
“I shall be most happy to er—er—In what other words can I express ‘collaborate,’ Rob? I object to repetition?”