Part 27 (1/2)
”And I came to offer to take you to live with me at Beauleigh Court.
It's a beautiful big house in the country with woods all around it, and hunting and fis.h.i.+ng and shooting and tennis-courts and fruit-gardens, and a cricket-ground, everything that a boy could want.”
”And you,” said Tinker in the expressionless tone of one adding an item to a catalogue.
”Yes; and me to look after you. You should have a bicycle.” And she paused to let the splendour of the gift sink in.
[Ill.u.s.tration: And she paused to let the splendour of the gift sink in.]
”I have a bicycle,” said Tinker.
”Well--two bicycles--and a pony----”
”I don't like ponies--they're too slow,” said Tinker in a weary voice.
”I always ride a horse.”
”Well, you should have a horse--a horse of your own.”
”What's the hunting like? But, there, I know; it can't be up to much; it never is in those southern counties. I always hunt in Leicesters.h.i.+re. I've got used to it.”
”You hunt in Leicesters.h.i.+re?” said Lady Beauleigh with some surprise.
”Oh course. Where does one hunt?” said Tinker, echoing her surprise.
”But--but--where does your horse come from? I know your father can't afford to keep horses!”
”Sometimes he can,” said Tinker. ”And if he has had to sell them, a dozen people will always mount us.”
Lady Beauleigh paused; and then she made the last, lavish bid. ”And I would allow you a hundred a year pocket-money. Why--why, you would be a little Prince!”
”A little Prince! And learn geography! No, thank you!” said Tinker, startled out of his calm. ”Besides,” he added carelessly, ”I've made five thousand in the last year.”
”Five thousand what?”
”Pounds.”
”Come, come,” said Lady Beauleigh, shaking her head, ”you mustn't tell me lies.”
”It isn't a lie! Tinker never tells lies,” broke in Elsie hotly.
”Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!” said Lady Beauleigh sharply. ”Who asked you to speak?”
”I think you're a horrid----” said Elsie, and was checked by Tinker's upraised hand.
”And when I died,” Lady Beauleigh went on, turning again to Tinker, ”I should leave you thirty thousand a year--think of it--thirty thousand a year!”
”It all sounds very nice,” said Tinker in a painfully indifferent tone.
”But I'm afraid it wouldn't do.”