Part 24 (1/2)
”Ten s.h.i.+llings a week is only twenty-six pounds a year.”
”Quite right, and few boys get such good pocket-money.”
”When I come into the property I shall allow my son more than that,”
says Percy gravely.
”Not if you love him as much as I love my son,” says Mr Rimbolt, with a pleasant smile.
”Good-night, father.”
”Good-night! Why, it's only half-past seven.”
”I know. I'm going to _get_ up early; I've got a lot of work to do.
Besides, I'm miserable.”
”Why?”
”Because I can't get any money.”
”Why not earn some? I want some one to catalogue my books for me. What do you say to doing it? I shall pay half a crown a shelf.”
Percy hesitates a bit, and looks at the bookcases, and makes a mental calculation.
”That will be about twelve pounds, won't it? Have you got a book to write the names on?”
”What! Are you going to begin now?”
”Yes.”
And Percy sits up till eleven o'clock, and succeeds in that time in cataloguing after a fas.h.i.+on, and not badly for a first attempt, two of the smallest shelves in the library, for which he receives then and there five s.h.i.+llings, much to his own comfort and to his father's amus.e.m.e.nt.
Mrs Rimbolt comes into the library just as the business is concluded.
”Why, Percy, not in bed--and so tired too!”
”Oh, I've been doing some work for father,” says the boy, c.h.i.n.king the two half-crowns in his pocket.
”But your father, I'm sure, would not wish you to injure your health.”
”Certainly not. Percy was hard up, and has just been earning five s.h.i.+llings.”
”What do you mean--earning five s.h.i.+llings?”
”Yes--father's been tipping me for cataloguing his books. Jolly hard work, but he pays on the nail, don't you, father?”
”My dear boy,” said the mother, as she and her son walks across the hall, ”why did you not tell me you wanted money? You know I do not grudge it. I don't like you to stay up so late to earn it, when you ought to be resting.”
”Well, I wouldn't mind another five s.h.i.+llings, mother.”
The mother gives him a half-sovereign and kisses him.