“Oh Phil!” gasped Hope, dismayed; but now Philippa in her turn was roused, and squared her shoulders in her old determined fashion.
“I can’t think what has come to girls nowadays that they must take for granted that good work must needs be without their own four walls. Charity begins at home, and I call it treachery to forsake your relations when they need your help. If you go away, and anything happens to Barney—”
“Phil, don’t! I can’t bear it. Of course I will stay if you need me; and it comforts me more than anything else to feel that I can help. You are not—not anxious about Barney, are you, dear?”
“Yes, I am. I hate to put it into words, but perhaps it is better that we should consult together. The boy is changed; sometimes there is a look upon his face which I can’t bear to see—a worried, miserable, shamed look, as if there were something he was trying to hide. He keeps asking for money, too, and at last I summoned up courage and refused to give any more. I thought he would have been angry, but he only stared at me fixedly and said, ‘You’d better, Philippa! You will be sorry if you refuse.’ Perhaps it was cowardly of me, but I was frightened and gave him what he asked; but I spoke very plainly to him, all the same. I said, ‘Remember, Barney, that every unnecessary shilling you spend means extra anxiety and worry to me, and extra self-denial to the girls. We expect you to help, not to hinder. If you really love us you cannot have the heart to be extravagant just now.’ He looked miserable, but he did not offer to return the money. I have given him no more since then, but he must get it somewhere, for he spends far more than Steve. He had half-a-dozen new ties in his drawer, and is always going to the theatre, and buying little things for his room. I don’t like to speak to Steve, for the truth is, he doesn’t understand Barney, and does more harm than good by his interference. But, Hope, you and I must work together. We must save our boy before it is too late. We must not allow him to get into bad ways.”
“Poor Barney!” sighed Hope sadly. “It must be a hard life for him down in that dreary office. We have wondered that he stuck to his work so well. We won’t scold him, Phil. Boys won’t stand being scolded by their sisters. We will just make home as bright as we can, and make a point of consulting him and asking his help, so that he may feel like a man, poor darling—a man who has women depending on him, and must keep straight for their sake. We’ll appeal to the best in him by showing our trust.”
Philippa looked at her with shining eyes.
“Oh Hope, and you wanted to leave us! Bless you, dear, you are a help! I was feeling so cross and bitter, inclined to snap off the poor boy’s head, though my heart was breaking for him all the time; but yours is the right way. You are right and I am wrong. We will begin to-night and see what we can do.”
When Barney returned from town an hour or two later Hope looked at him with opened eyes, and felt a pang of remorse for the selfishness which had blinded her to the change in the boy’s face. The once smooth forehead showed a faint network of lines; his glance had lost its candour, his radiant self-confidence was replaced by nervous uncertainty. He sat down quietly, casting a quick, almost furtive glance at Philippa’s face; but when she smiled gaily in response, when she pressed dainties upon him and called him “old boy” in her old loving tones, his relief and pleasure found vent in one of his old bursts of merriment. He laughed and sang, danced up and down the room, and chattered incessantly, and as if he had never known a care in his life.
“I had a rowing from old Waxworks to-day. I expect I shall get sacked soon,” he announced complacently. “The head of our department is such a muff! He can’t see a joke, and spends half his time telling tales of me to the boss. Now, Waxworks, with all his faults, has quite a decent sense of humour. I tried him pretty high one day, and he really behaved uncommonly well. I was at the telephone when he came out of his private room and said, ‘Oh Charrington, just telephone home for me that I am bringing two of the directors to dinner to-night.’ I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and rang up at once. Of course, I expected him to go back to his room, so after I had given the message, ‘Two directors coming to dinner to-night,’ I dropped the tube and added a little warning on my own behalf for the benefit of the clerks: ‘Don’t—have—hash!’ They were all so jolly sober about it that I looked round to see what was up, and there was every man Jack of them scribbling for his life, while old Waxworks stood at his door looking on. I tell you I felt pretty sick; but he just glared at me for a moment, and then went into his room and shut the door. My private opinion is that he wanted to laugh. One of the fellows told me that he quite snubbed Young—that’s our head—when he complained of my vaulting over the desks—waved his hand, and said, with his grandest roll, ‘Your manager has been young himself!’ I expect Young had it in for me worse than ever after that, and to-day he had his chance. He was out of the room, and it was beastly dull, so I proposed getting up a statue gallery, and posed the fellows standing up on their stools. We had the Three Graces, with their arms entwined, and their legs sticking up in the air. Ulysses meeting What’s-her-name—Penelope, wasn’t it?—and hugging her round the waist, and all sorts of heathen Johnnies wrestling and fighting. Then the other fellows got scared and went back to their desks, and I was doing ‘Ajax defying the lightning’ in fine style, when Young came sneaking in and found me at it. He told the boss, and the boss sent for me, and jawed for a quarter of an hour. ‘Willing to make excuses for youthful spirits, but must enforce discipline. Repeated complaints. Friend of your uncle. Very sorry. Give you another chance.’ You know the kind of thing.”
“Bar-ney!” cried the four sisters in chorus. But Barney only laughed and shrugged his shoulders.