They were coming to it now.
Roddy and she, crouching beside each other on the hearthrug in the drawing-room, waited till it should be over. Through the shut doors they could still distinguish Uncle Edward’s smooth, fat voice from Uncle Victor’s thin one. The booming and baying were the noises made by Farmer Alderson.
“I can’t think what they want to drag him in for,” Roddy said. “It’ll only make it more unpleasant for them.”
Roddy’s eyes had lost their fear; they were fixed in a wise, mournful stare. He stared at his fate.
“They don’t know yet quite how imbecile I am. If I could have gone out quietly by myself they never need have known. Now they’ll have to. Alderson’ll tell them. He’ll tell everybody. … I don’t care. It’s their own lookout. They’ll soon see I was right.”
“Listen,” she said.
The dining-room door had opened. Uncle Edward’s voice came out first, sounding with a sort of complacent finality. They must have settled it. You could hear Farmer Alderson stumping his way to the front door. His voice boomed from the step.
“Ah doan’t saay, look ye, ’e’ll mak mooch out of en t’ farst ye‑ear—”
“Damn him, you can hear his beastly voice all over the place.”
“Ef yore yoong mon’s dead set to larn fa‑armin’, an’ ef ’e’ve got a head on ’is shoulders our Jem can larn ’en. Ef ’e ‘aven’t, ah tall yo stra‑aight, Mr. Ollyveer, ye med joost’s well tak yore mooney and trow it in t’ mistal.”
Roddy laughed. “I could have told them that,” he said.
“Money?”
“Rather. They can’t do it under two hundred pounds. I suppose Victor’ll stump up as usual.”
“Poor Victor.”
“Victor won’t mind. He’ll do anything for Mamma. They can call it a premium if it makes them any happier, but it simply means that they’re paying Alderson to get rid of me.”
“No. They’ve got it into their heads that it’s bad for you sticking here doing nothing.”
“So it is. But being made to do what I can’t do’s worse. … I’m not likely to do it any better with that young beast Alderson looking at me all the time and thinking what a bloody fool I am. … They ought to have left it to me. It would have come a lot cheaper. I was going anyhow. I only stayed because of Papa. But I can’t tell them that. After all, I was the only one who looked after him. If I’d gone you’d have had to.”
“Yes.”
“It would even come cheaper,” he said, “if I stayed. I can prove it.”
He produced his pocket sketchbook. The leaves were scribbled over with sums, sums desperately begun and left unfinished, sums that were not quite sure of themselves, sums scratched out and begun again. He crossed them all out and started on a fresh page.
“Premium, two hundred. Passage, twenty. Outfit, say thirty. Two hundred and fifty.
“Land cheap, lumber cheap. Labour expensive. Still, Alderson would be so pleased he might do the job himself for a nominal sum and only charge you for the wood. Funeral expenses, say ten dollars.
“How much does it cost to keep me here?”
“I haven’t an idea.”
“No, but think.”
“I can’t think.”
“Well, say I eat ten shillings’ worth of food per week, that’s twenty-six pounds a year. Say thirty. Clothes, five. Thirty-five. Sundries, perhaps five. Forty. But I do the garden. What’s a gardener’s wages? Twenty? Fifteen?
“Say fifteen. Fifteen from forty, fifteen from forty—twenty-five. How much did Papa’s funeral come to?”
“Oh—Roddy—I don’t know.”
“Say thirty. Twenty-five from two hundred and fifty, two hundred and twenty-five. Deduct funeral. One hundred and ninety-five.
“There you are. One hundred and ninety-five pounds for carting me to Canada.”
“If you feel like that about it you ought to tell them. They can’t make you go if you don’t want to.”
“They’re not making me go. I’m going. I couldn’t possibly stay after the beastly things they’ve said.”
“What sort of things?”
“About my keep and my being no good and making work in the house.”
“They didn’t—they couldn’t.”
“Edward did. He said if it wasn’t for me Mamma wouldn’t have to have Maggie. Catty could do all the work. And when Victor sat on him and said Mamma was to have Maggie whatever happened, he jawed back and said she couldn’t afford both Maggie and me.”
“Catty could do Maggie’s work and I could do Catty’s, if you’d stop. It would be only cleaning things. That’s nothing. I’d rather clean the whole house and have you.”
“You wouldn’t. You only think you would.”
“I would, really. I’ll tell them.”
“It’s no use,” he said. “They won’t let you.”
“I’ll make them. I’ll go and tell Edward and Victor now.”
She had shot up from the floor with sudden energy, and stood looking down at Roddy as he still crouched there. Her heart ached for him. He didn’t want to go to Canada; he wanted to stay with Mamma, and Mamma was driving him away from her, for no reason except that Uncle Edward said he ought to go.
She could hear the dining-room door open and shut again. They were coming.
Roddy rose from the floor. He drew himself up, stretching out his arms in a crucified attitude, and grinned at her.
“Do you suppose,” he said, “I’d let you?”
He grinned at Uncle Edward and Uncle Victor as they came in.
“Uncle Victor,” she said, “why should Roddy go away? If it’s Maggie, we don’t really want her. I’ll do Catty’s work and he’ll do the garden. So he can
