“Why not? Does not every unknown author implore his friends to ask for his books at their libraries and express untold surprise because they are unknown? Why should not we advertise you in your turn?”
“You must be boomed, my dear, or you may wait for ever for an engagement. I was even more bold than Phil,” confessed Theo, “for I purposely hung about until other people went into the shop, and then spoke in such a loud voice that they were obliged to hear what I said. They seemed quite interested, and I left one lady reading the circular and asking questions about you. In another shop I said in an anxious voice, ‘I hope she will be able to come to me when I want her. Will it be necessary to engage her a long time ahead?’ The man looked as solemn as an owl, and said, ‘Well, madam, it would be wise. There is sure to be a rush in the Christmas holidays.’ What do you think of that? Won’t it be exciting when the letters come in?”
There was no doubt about that, but unfortunately no letters arrived; and the weeks passed by, and the Christmas holidays began, and not a mother in the whole Metropolis expressed the slightest desire to engage the services of the “children’s charming entertainer.” Hope’s wistful look each time that the postman’s knock came to the door moved her sisters to fresh efforts on her behalf, and an ingeniously worded inquiry was despatched for publication in the pages of a popular fashion magazine:
“Can any lady recommend a new form of entertainment for a children’s party? No lanterns, conjurers, or marionettes. Early answer much appreciated.”
An early answer was, in fact, in readiness from the hour when the inquiry was posted, wherein Theo was prepared to certify that, having heard Miss Hope Charrington’s entertainment (at the mission-room of Saint Paul’s Church!), she was able most enthusiastically to recommend it to all mothers and guardians. Alas! the all-important inquiry was one of many more “unavoidably delayed through want of space,” and how to reply to an advertisement which had never appeared was a problem which baffled even Madge’s ingenuity.
“I shall go to see Minnie Caldecott this afternoon,” announced Hope one Tuesday morning when the post had produced nothing more inspiring than a couple of circulars and a coal-bill. “I can’t sit here any longer doing nothing, and it is evidently no use writing to her. I have not even heard if the song arrived. Would any one like to come with me and get a peep into professional life?—Theo?”
“Yes,” said the author quickly. “It will be ‘copy,’ and I want it badly. I have quite a stock of heroes and heroines on hand—fascinating creatures, every one—but I can’t think what to do with them! Perhaps one might be a public singer. I’ve given her a lovely voice already. I’ll come, Hope, and make a study of the lady while you discuss business.”
A few hours later, therefore, behold the two sisters seated in the warm, flower-scented little room, where the portraits of becurled ladies still smirked from the walls, and the presiding goddess dispensed tea, and kept up a stream of cheerful, inconsequent babble. She appeared overjoyed to see her visitors, kissed them effusively, addressed Hope affectionately as “Miss What’s-your-name,” and declared that she remembered her quite well. “You brought me a song with ridiculous words; and you have all come up to town to make your fortunes. It isn’t too easy, is it? I’m supposed to be one of the lucky ones, but it is the solemn truth, my dears, that there are only a few pounds between myself and the workhouse. It is a hand-to-mouth business, and what with cabs and gloves, there is precious little to be made out of these suburban engagements. I shall have to get married one of these days. There is one man now—that is his portrait on the mantelpiece—the one with the big nose! He has been worrying me for years, and I tell him the first time I get a really bad cold on my chest I’ll marry him then and there. I could never stand the expense of an illness. Look at that girl laughing! It is your sister, isn’t it, dear? What is her name! Theo! I say, how toney! Are you clever too, Theo? What is your line?”
“I—write!” replied Theo, shrinking in anticipation of the question which is fraught with so much humiliation to the would-be author. Of course, Miss Caldecott would instantly want to know what she had written and where it could be found, and then how agonising to be obliged to explain that; with the exception of a few stories in a village paper, not a word of her writing had yet appeared in print! Hope came to the rescue with a reply which was at once tactful and diplomatic, since it turned the conversation into the desired channel.
“I have been keeping her busy lately. She has been writing children’s stories for an entertainment which I am hoping to give. I brought one of the advertisements to show you, as I thought you might be interested.”