Chapter VIII
Now Titania believed that she was very smart and very clever, and that she would do things subtly and do them better than Bradstock or a barrister, even if he was a K.C. And as it is the most invariably weak point in people that they think young people fools, or at any rate easily hoodwinked, she really believed that Bob, her dearly beloved young scoundrel of a grandson, would be as easy to work on as butter. And yet she had the sense to see that Bob adored Penelope.
“I am very greatly troubled about Penelope, Bob,” she said to him, as soon as she got him alone.
“Don’t you worry about Pen, granny,” replied Bob, cheerfully, “she can take care of herself. Why, she can drive a motor-car now up to about thirty miles an hour, and Geordie Smith says she’s all there. And so does old Guth. He had long talks with her, and he says she has brains. I tell you old Guth knows ’em when he sees ’em.”
Titania nodded.
“Oh, I know she is clever, dear, but her ideas are so extraordinary.”
“Ain’t they?” said Bob. “I do wonder which of ’em she’ll marry, don’t you?”
“Indeed I do,” replied his grandmother. “Have you any idea, Bob, which she likes best?”
Bob shook his head.
“Not me. I wish it was Goby; old Goby is a ripping good sort. He knows what’s what, does old Goby.”
Goby tipped him freely and frequently, and Bob sold him a spavined pony, aged fifteen years.
“He’s a bit of a fool, of course,” said Bob, thoughtfully. “Do you know, granny, he isn’t the judge of horses you’d think he is?”
“Does Penelope ever confide in you, Bob?” asked Titania.
There was a touch of anxiety in her voice that the boy felt at once. He put his head on one side and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t answer the question.
“I say, granny, don’t you think I can have a bigger allowance now? I find mine much too little. If I had ten shillings a week more, I could get on for a bit.”
“You shall have it,” said Titania. “Does she ever confide in you, Bob?”
“Some,” said Bob, carelessly.
“Which do you think she likes best?” asked Titania.
“I don’t know,” said Bob, “but I dare say I could find out. I say, should you be very angry if it was Gordon?”
Titania uttered a little scream.
“Great heavens, Bob, I should die of it!”
Bob sat down and looked at her.
“He’s not bad, granny, not half mean, oh, no, not at all!”
He had given Bob as much as he gave Miss Harriet Weekes about three days before.
“I rather like him,” said Bob. “Pen thinks he’s much improved since she put him in harness with the Frenchy. It touched her his going up in a balloon. I say, may I go up in a balloon? Rivaulx said I might.”
“No!” screamed his grandmother. “Oh, Bob, you wouldn’t?”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” sighed Bob, “but it’s a horrid disappointment. He says going up in one is jolly, and London underneath is ripping. If I don’t, will you ask grandfather to give me another hunter?”
“Yes, of course,” said poor Titania; “but what do you think about Penelope? Could you find out anything, Bob, if I let you go and stay with her?”
Bob’s eyes gleamed.
“Rather,” he said, “of course. But I needn’t worry about old Guth if I do? I’ve been working very hard, and I think a holiday would do him good, too. I’m very much overworked. Do I look tired, granny? I always feel tired now in my head. Guth says a breakdown from overwork is much worse than most fatal diseases.”
“You shall go to Penelope if she’ll have you,” said his anxious grandmother. “Do you have headaches, Bob?”
“Not headaches,” said Bob, “I shouldn’t call ’em headaches exactly. They’re pains, and old Guth says he had ’em when he was at Oxford. They get worse, he says, and then the breakdown comes, and you have to take a very long rest. I’ll go on working if you like, though.”
He sighed.
“You shall go to your cousin’s,” said Titania, “and my dear, dear Bob, keep your eye on Penelope and tell me all you discover. Her ideas are very strange, you know, and we are all so anxious about her future.”
“So am I,” said Bob. “If she married the wrong one I shall be out of it. I couldn’t get on well with old De Vere, and if she married him I’m quite convinced he wouldn’t buy any more dogs. I want her to marry Goby or Bramber. But I think Bramber is rather mean in some ways, and very thoughtless of others. I told him I wanted some salmon fishing at his father’s place in Scotland, and he’s said nothing about it since.”
“I shouldn’t mind Lord Bramber so much,” said Titania. “But I’m afraid it won’t be Bramber.”
“Cheer up,” said her grandson. “I’ll look after her. But don’t forget about the extra ten shillings and the horse. Could you give me the ten shillings for six weeks now, granny?”
And he went off to Penelope’s house and marched in on her.
“Pen, I’m coming to stay with you if you’ll have me,” he said.
“Of course I will,” said Penelope. “But how did you manage it?”
“I’m overworked,” said Bob, solemnly, “and sitting on chairs and learning Latin don’t agree with me. I want more open air, I think, or I shall get consumption.”
He was fat and ruddy and as strong as a bull-calf. He put his arm around Pen’s neck.
“I say, Pen, I do love you,” he said. “I think it’s rot I’m so young, or I’d have married you myself. Granny’s in an awful state about you, Pen. She asked me if I knew who it was you liked best, and she threw out hints a foot wide that I was to find out if I could.”
“Indeed,” said Pen; “and what did you say?”
Bob chuckled.
“I said the best thing would be for me to come and stay with you. And that’s why I’m here. But I say, Pen, I’ll never sneak, not even if you marry Mr. de Vere. Granny’s raised my allowance ten bob a week, and I’m to have another hunter. I got too big for the pony, so I sold him to Goby; Goby looked very melancholy, but he said he wanted him badly for some reason. And he said he hoped I’d be his friend always. I like poor old Goby. I think I’ll go into the park, Pen. My things will be here by and by. Couldn’t we go to the theatre to-night? There’s a ripping farce with a fight in it at the Globe. And will you have plum pudding for dinner, and ice meringues?”
He went into the park and met Williams there.
“I say, Mr. Williams, where’s Mr. Carew?” he asked.
“Damn Carew,” said Williams. “I don’t know where he is, and I don’t want to.”
“I’m staying at my cousin’s,” said Bob.
“At Lady Penelope’s?” asked the war correspondent.
“That’s it,” said Bob. “Would you like to know what theatre we are going to to-night?”
“Yes,” said Williams, eagerly.
Bob shook his head.
“I don’t suppose I ought to tell you. Tell me something very exciting about some bloody war, Mr. Williams.”
Williams grunted.
“Or an execution. Have you ever seen heads chopped off with a sword?”
“Often in China, Bob.”
“I say, what fun!” said Bob. “Tell me all about it. Is it true they smoke cigarettes while they are being chopped? And do they mind? Could I see one if I went out? I say, if you’ll describe it, I’ll see if I can tell you about the theatre.”
Carteret Williams described it.
“Seventeen!” said Bob. “By Jove, I’ll tell this to Penelope. She’ll be greatly interested. Do you think I could be a war correspondent, Mr. Williams? I’d like to be, because Latin wouldn’t be needed. I’m awfully sorry for war correspondents in those days when no one but the Roman chaps did any fighting. I’ve enjoyed that story of yours more than anything I’ve heard for years, Mr. Williams. When they write about these things in books, why don’t they describe the blood the way you do? It’s the Globe we’re going to; there’s a ripping farce there. I wish they would do an execution of pirates. I say, don’t tell Pen I told you; she might be waxy with me. Think of something else to tell me. Good-bye.”
And he went to look at the ducks.
“Williams is all right,” said Bob; “I wonder if it is Williams.”
And at home Pen began to know who it was. And Ethel Mytton began to know it was some one. And so did Chloe Cadwallader.
Miss Weekes was right, there is no mistake about that.