You'd--oh, but there! You're not going to make a scene?"
"That's a matter of arrangement, of course," said the cool lady. "I'm
only showing you what a big chance I shall miss if I oblige you.
Suppose I pipe up my tale of woe just when you're on the platform with
the Union Jack behind you and the reporters in front of you, and that
tablet in there that says Tim is the greatest glory of Calderside----"
Sir William nearly screamed. "Be quiet, girl. Fosdike," he snarled,
turning viciously on his secretary, "what the deuce do you mean by
pretending to keep an eye on local affairs when you miss a thing like
this?"
"'Tisn't his fault," said Dolly. "I've been saving this up for you."
"Oh," he groaned, "and I'd felt so happy about to-night." He took out a
fountain pen. "Well, I suppose there's no help for it. Fosdike, what's
the amount of the pension we allow Martlow's mother?"
"Double it, add a pound a week, and what's the answer, Mr. Fosdike?"
asked Dolly quickly.
Sir William gasped ludicrously.
"I mean to say," said Dolly, conferring on his gasp the honour of an
explanation, "she's old and didn't go on munitions, and didn't get used
to wangling income tax on her wages, and never had no ambitions to go
on the pictures, neither.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139