We Two [155]
ladder. The writing table was a sea of papers, periodicals, proofs, and manuscripts, upon which there floated with much difficulty Raeburn's writing desk and the book he was reading, some slight depression in the surrounding mass of papers showing where his elbows had been.
"About equal to Teufelsdroch's room, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "Everything united in a common element of dust.' But, really, after the first terrible day of your absence, when I wasted at least an hour in hunting for things which the tidy domestic had carefully hidden, I could stand it no longer, and gave orders that no one was to bring brush or duster or spirit of tidiness within the place."
"We really must try to get you a larger room," said Erica, looking round. "How little and poky everything looks."
"Has Greyshot made you discontented?"
"Only for you," she replied, laughing. "I was thinking of Mr. Fane-Smith's great study; it seems such a pity that five foot three, with few books and nothing to do, should have all that space, and six foot four, with much work and many books, be cramped up in this little room."
"What would you say to a move?"
"It will be such an expensive year, and there's that dreadful Mr. Pogson always in the background."
"But if a house were given to us? Where's Tom? I've a letter here which concerns you both. Do either of you remember anything about an old Mr. Woodward who lived at 16 Guilford Square?"
"Why, yes! Don't you remember, Tom? The old gentleman whose greenhouse we smashed."
"Rather!" said Tom. "I've the marks of the beastly thing now."
"What was it? Let me hear the story," said Raeburn, leaning back in his chair with a look of amusement flickering about his rather stern face.
"Why, father, it was years ago; you were on your first tour in America, I must have been about twelve, and Tom fourteen. We had only just settled in here, you know; and one unlucky Saturday we were playing in the garden at 'King of the Castle.'"
"What's that?" asked Raeburn.
"Why, Tom was king, and I was the Republican Army; and Tom was standing on the top of the wall trying to push me down. He had to sing:
"'I'm the king of the castle! Get down, you dirty rascal!'
And somehow I don't know how it was instead of climbing up, I pushed him backward by mistake, and he went down with an awful crash into the next garden. We knew it was the garden belonging to No. 16 quite a large one it is for the hospital hasn't any. And when at last I managed to scramble on to the wall, there was Tom, head downward, with his feet sticking up through the roof of a greenhouse, and the rest of him all among the flower pots."
Raeburn laughed heartily.
"There was a brute of a cactus jammed against my face, too," said Tom. "How I ever got out alive was a marvel!"
"Well, what happened?" asked Raeburn.
"Why, we went round to tell the No. 16 people. Tom waited outside, because he was so frightfully cut about, and I went int, and saw an old, old man a sort of Methusaleh who would ask my name, and whether I had anything to do with you."
"What did you say to him?"
"I can't remember except that I asked him to let us pay for the glass by installments, and tried to assure him that secularists were not in the habit of smashing other people's property. He was a very jolly old man, and of course he wouldn't let us pay for the glass though he frightened me dreadfully by muttering that he shouldn't wonder if the glass and the honesty combined cost him a pretty penny."
"Did you ever see him again?"
"Not to speak to, but we always nodded to each other when we passed in the square. I've not seen him for ages. I thought he must be dead."
"He is dead," said Raeburn; "and he has left you three hundred pounds, and he has left me his furnished house, with the sole proviso that I live in it."
"What a brick!" cried Tom and Erica, in a breath. "Now fancy, if we hadn't played at 'King of the Castle' that day!"
"And if Erica had not been such a zealous little Republican?" said Raeburn, smiling.
"About equal to Teufelsdroch's room, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "Everything united in a common element of dust.' But, really, after the first terrible day of your absence, when I wasted at least an hour in hunting for things which the tidy domestic had carefully hidden, I could stand it no longer, and gave orders that no one was to bring brush or duster or spirit of tidiness within the place."
"We really must try to get you a larger room," said Erica, looking round. "How little and poky everything looks."
"Has Greyshot made you discontented?"
"Only for you," she replied, laughing. "I was thinking of Mr. Fane-Smith's great study; it seems such a pity that five foot three, with few books and nothing to do, should have all that space, and six foot four, with much work and many books, be cramped up in this little room."
"What would you say to a move?"
"It will be such an expensive year, and there's that dreadful Mr. Pogson always in the background."
"But if a house were given to us? Where's Tom? I've a letter here which concerns you both. Do either of you remember anything about an old Mr. Woodward who lived at 16 Guilford Square?"
"Why, yes! Don't you remember, Tom? The old gentleman whose greenhouse we smashed."
"Rather!" said Tom. "I've the marks of the beastly thing now."
"What was it? Let me hear the story," said Raeburn, leaning back in his chair with a look of amusement flickering about his rather stern face.
"Why, father, it was years ago; you were on your first tour in America, I must have been about twelve, and Tom fourteen. We had only just settled in here, you know; and one unlucky Saturday we were playing in the garden at 'King of the Castle.'"
"What's that?" asked Raeburn.
"Why, Tom was king, and I was the Republican Army; and Tom was standing on the top of the wall trying to push me down. He had to sing:
"'I'm the king of the castle! Get down, you dirty rascal!'
And somehow I don't know how it was instead of climbing up, I pushed him backward by mistake, and he went down with an awful crash into the next garden. We knew it was the garden belonging to No. 16 quite a large one it is for the hospital hasn't any. And when at last I managed to scramble on to the wall, there was Tom, head downward, with his feet sticking up through the roof of a greenhouse, and the rest of him all among the flower pots."
Raeburn laughed heartily.
"There was a brute of a cactus jammed against my face, too," said Tom. "How I ever got out alive was a marvel!"
"Well, what happened?" asked Raeburn.
"Why, we went round to tell the No. 16 people. Tom waited outside, because he was so frightfully cut about, and I went int, and saw an old, old man a sort of Methusaleh who would ask my name, and whether I had anything to do with you."
"What did you say to him?"
"I can't remember except that I asked him to let us pay for the glass by installments, and tried to assure him that secularists were not in the habit of smashing other people's property. He was a very jolly old man, and of course he wouldn't let us pay for the glass though he frightened me dreadfully by muttering that he shouldn't wonder if the glass and the honesty combined cost him a pretty penny."
"Did you ever see him again?"
"Not to speak to, but we always nodded to each other when we passed in the square. I've not seen him for ages. I thought he must be dead."
"He is dead," said Raeburn; "and he has left you three hundred pounds, and he has left me his furnished house, with the sole proviso that I live in it."
"What a brick!" cried Tom and Erica, in a breath. "Now fancy, if we hadn't played at 'King of the Castle' that day!"
"And if Erica had not been such a zealous little Republican?" said Raeburn, smiling.