“Buy a palm, lidy, won’t you, lidy? Very cheap—cheaper than you could buy ’em anywhere in the City. If you’ve got such a thing as an old dress or a pair of trousers, of the master’s, I’d allow you ’ansome for them. I’d rather have clothes nor money. I’m a married man, lidy, with a fam’ly of children—”
“Pam, Pam,” cried Mrs Trevor’s voice, “don’t stand out there, darling. It’s far too cold. Come in here to me.”
Pam obediently shut the door, and settled down to the afternoon duties of plain sewing and practice, which her soul abhorred. It was characteristic of her that she never rebelled against authority, nor expressed her distaste in words. A meek, uncomplaining little martyr, she sat perched on the piano-stool, wrestling with the “Blue Bells of Scotland,” the while the wildest rebellion surged within her soul.
“I wish pianos had never been born! I wish I’d been made a boy. When I’m a lidy,” (unconscious intonation of “All a-blowing!”) “I’ll have no pianos in the house, nor no needles, and my little girls shall ’muse themselves however they like. The—Blue—Bells—of—Scot—land... It doesn’t go a bit nice in the bass! Don’t believe I shall ever get it right if I live a hundred thousand years?”
The moment school was over Jill made a rush for the dressing-room, scrambled into her outdoor clothes, and hurried to the appointed meeting-place, where Jack found her a few minutes later. It was already dusk, and they set off at a brisk trot towards the mansions in which General Digby’s flat was situated, in great hopes of finding that gentleman at home and disengaged.
“It’s too damp for him to be out. Gout’s a kind of rheumatism, and that always has to be kept dry,” Jill declared learnedly. “He’s sure to be in, but I’ve got a card, just in case. It’s a correspondence one cut down, and I’ve printed our names on it, and ‘Kind inquiries’ in the corner, like mother puts. It’s fine! When I cough it will mean that I don’t know what to say next, so you must go on while I think. If he asks us to stay to tea, we must say we can’t, until he begs us again.”
“But suppose he didn’t—that would be a pretty sell! I shan’t do anything so silly,” said cautious Jack. “I’ll accept at once.”
“Well—perhaps. But it’s politer to make a fuss. Is it a man who opens the door, or a woman?”
“A man—looks like an old soldier himself.”
“What’s the proper way to tell him our names?”