Part 52 (1/2)
”Why, George Crayshaw,” said Cray (that being his manner of designating his brother when he was not pleased with him)--”George Crayshaw is only come down here for one day, and Mr. Brandon had fully arranged that I should go to Mr. Tikey till we two return to Harrow, and now he's going to Germany, and wants me to start with him this very day--says the dry continental air may do me good. Why, I am perfectly well--perfectly.”
”So it appears,” said Emily.
”Look how he's grown, then,” exclaimed Johnnie, who had almost left off lisping, ”he hardly ever has a touch of asthma now. His brother hates trouble, so if he cannot find him he may go off by himself.”
”I was just writing out my verses,” Crayshaw whispered, ”when I overheard Mr. Brandon saying in the garden that he expected George.”
”Were you alone?” asked Gladys, hoping he had not been seen to run off.
”Was I alone? Well, there was n.o.body present but myself, if you call that being alone--I don't. That fellow argues so; he's, so intrusive, and often makes such a noise that I can get no retirement for writing my poetry.”
”What a goose you are, Cray!” said Barbara. ”I wish, though, you would speak lower.”
”Besides,” continued Crayshaw, excusing himself to Mrs. Walker; ”it's so dull being with George, he's always collecting things. The last time I saw him he was on his knees cleaning up a dingy old picture he'd just bought. f.a.n.n.y stood beside him with a soapy flannel. She looked quite religious; she was so grave. I saw a red cabbage in the picture and a pot of porter, the froth extremely fine. 'I hope,' said George, very hot after his exertions, 'that when you are of age you will follow in my steps, and endow our common country with some of these priceless----'
'Common,' interrupted Mrs. Jannaway. 'Common country, do I hear aright, George Crayshaw?' (I don't love that old lady _much_.) 'George,' I said, for I pitied him for having a mother-in-law, 'when I get my money I shall pay a man to paint another old picture for you, as a companion to that. There shall be three mackerel in it, very dead indeed; they shall lie on a willow-pattern plate, while two c.o.c.k-roaches that have climbed up it squint over the edge at them. There shall also be a pork-pie in it, and a brigand's hat. The composition will be splendid.' I took out my pocket-book and said, 'I'll make a mem. of it now.' So I did, and added, 'Mem.: Never to have a mother-in-law, unless her daughter is as pretty as f.a.n.n.y Crayshaw.'”
The little boys were now allowed to have tools and go on with their carving, still seated on the ground. The girls took out their tatting, and talk went on.
”Mrs. Walker has just been saying that she cannot bear carving, and pictures of dead things,” observed Barbara. ”So, Cray, she will think you right to despise those your brother buys. And, Johnnie, she wishes to know about our pictures.”
”And those great sentences too,” added Emily. ”What do they mean?”
”The big picture is Dover,” said little Jamie, ”and that Britannia sitting on the cliff, they cut out of _Punch_ and stuck on. You see she has a boot in her hand. It belongs to our Sham memory that father made for us.”
”It's nearly the same as what Feinangle invented,” Johnnie explained.
”The vowels do not count, but all the consonants stand for figures. Miss Crampton used to make the kids so miserable. She would have them learn dates, and they could not remember them.”
”Even Barbara used to cry over the dates,” whispered Janie.
”You needn't have told that,” said Barbara sharply.
”But at first we altered the letters so many times, that father said he would not help us, unless we made a decree that they should stay as they were for ever,” said Gladys. ”Johnnie had stolen the letter I, and made it stand for one. So it does still, though it is a vowel. Janie has a form of our plan. Hand it up, Janie.”
Janie accordingly produced a little bag, and unfolded a paper of which this is a copy:--
JANIE MORTIMER Fecit This.
1 2 3 I.T. N.B. M.Y.
4 5 6 R.Q. C.J.V. D.S.
7 8 9 K.G. H.P. F.L.
Ought W.X.Z.
A & E & O & U dont count. You're to make up the sentence with them.
”The rule is,” said Gladys, ”that you make a sentence of words beginning with anyone of those letters that stand for the figures you want to remember. Miss Crampton wanted us to know the dates of all Wellington's battles; of course we couldn't; we do now, though. You see Britannia's scroll has on it, 'I'll put _on_ Wellington boots,' that means 1802. So we know, to begin with, that till after she put on Wellington boots, we need not trouble ourselves to remember anything particular about him.”
”There's a portrait of Lord Palmerston,” whispered Crayshaw, ”he has a map of Belgium pasted on his breast. He says, 'I, Pam, managed this.”'