White Boots. Noel Streatfeild
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plenty of kids, I imagine, go, it’s a big, airy place and she can tumble about on the ice and in no time we’ll see an improvement in those leg muscles.”
George showed the doctor to the door. While he was out of the room Olivia said in a whisper:
“Alec, whatever made you say it would be all right about the skates and boots? What do you suppose they cost?”
Toby answered.
“We know what it cost because we went that time Uncle William packed that goose by mistake. They’re two shillings a session.”
Olivia never lost her air of calm, but she did turn surprised eyes on Alec. He was usually the sensible, reliable one of the family, not at all the sort of person to say they could manage two shillings a day when he knew perfectly well they would be hard put to it to find threepence a day. Alec gave her a reassuring smile.
“It’s all right. I’ll find it, there’s a lot of delivering and stuff will want doing round Christmas and in the meantime I saw a notice in old Pulton’s window. He wants a boy for a paper round.”
Olivia flushed. It seemed to her a miserable thing that Harriet’s skates and boots had to be earned by her brother instead of by her father and mother.
“I wonder if I could get something to do? I see advertisements for people wanted, but they always seem to be wanted at the same time as I’m wanted here.”
Alec laughed.
“Don’t be silly, Mother, you know as well as I do you couldn’t do any more than you do.”
Toby had been scowling into space; now he leant across to Alec.
“How much do you suppose boots and skates cost? If a profit can be made on hiring out a pair of boots and skates at two shillings a session, how much would it cost to buy a second-hand pair outright?”
Alec was doodling on his blotting paper.
“With what?”
At that moment George came back.
“Nice fellow Phillipson, he says this skating will be just the thing for Harriet. It’s this skates’ and boots’ money that’s worrying me. Do you suppose we could do any good if we opened a needlework section, Olivia?”
He was greeted by horrified sounds from Olivia, Alec and Toby. Olivia got up and put her arms round his neck.
“I adore you, George, but you are an unpractical old idiot. You haven’t yet educated the public to come to you for trout, and be prepared at the same time to buy a bag of half-rotten apples, so how do you think you’re going to lure them on to supposing they would also like six dusters and an overall?”
Alec looked up from his doodling.
“What sort of needlework did you mean, Dad?”
George looked worried.
“Certainly not dusters and overalls. I seem to remember my grandmother doing some very charming things, fire-screens I believe they were.”
Olivia laughed.
“I’m not much of a needlewoman, and I can promise you even if I were to start today it would be two years before you would have even one fire-screen, so I think you can count the needlework department out.”
Alec put a bundle of newspapers under the arm of the figure he was doodling.
“It’s all right, Dad, I’m going to tide us over to start with by a newspaper round. Old Pulton wants somebody.”
Toby had been doing some figures on paper.
“If a newspaper boy is paid two shillings an hour, reckoning one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening daily for six days, with one hour on Sunday at double time, how long would it take him to earn second-hand boots and skates at a cost of five pounds?”
Alec said:
“If a boy and a half worked an hour and a half for a skate and a half…”
Olivia saw Toby felt fun was being made of a serious subject.
“I’m afraid,Toby, you’re going to grow up to be a financier, one of those people who goes in for big business with a capital ‘B’.”
Alec finished his drawing.
“It wouldn’t be a bad thing, we could do with some money in our family. If you were thinking, Toby, I might get Mr Pulton to advance five pounds for my services, it wouldn’t work because I might get ill or something and you’re too young to be allowed to do it.”
“That’s right, darling,” Olivia agreed. “It wouldn’t be practical anyway to buy boots because Harriet’s growing, and probably the moment Alec had bought her the boots they’d be too small. Feet grow terribly fast at her age, especially when you’ve been ill. I wonder if she’s awake?”
George got up.
“I’ll go and see. If she is I’ll bring her down. It’ll cheer her up to know what’s planned for her.”
Harriet was awake, and so was Edward. Edward was the good-looking one; his hair was not sandy like the rest of his family, but bright copper, his eyes were enormous with greenish lights in them. Strangers stopped to speak to Edward in the road just because they liked looking at him, and Edward took shameless pleasure in his popularity.
“It’s disgusting,” Alec often told him. “You’re a loathsome show-off.”
Edward was always quite unmoved, and merely tried to explain.
“I didn’t ask to be good-looking, but I like the things being good-looking gives me. I was the prince in the play at school.” Toby, when he heard that, had made noises as if he were being sick. “All right, make noises if you like, but I did like being the prince. There was special tea afterwards, for the actors, with ices.”
“But you can’t like people cooing and gurgling at you,” Toby always protested.
Edward seemed to consider the point.
“I don’t know. There’s you and Alec off to school and nobody knows you’ve been, and nobody cares. There’s me walks up the same street and everybody knows. I think it’s duller to be you.”
“It’s no good,” Alec would say to Toby, “wasting our breath on the little horror.”
“Just a born cad,” Toby would agree.
But Edward was neither a horror nor a cad, he was just of a very friendly disposition, a person who liked talking and being talked to. Already, although he had only been seven for one month, he had a good idea of the sort of people he liked talking to and the sort of people he did not. He was explaining this to Harriet when George came up to fetch her.
“It’s those silly sort of ladies with little dogs I don’t like, and people like bus conductors I do like.”
George went into Edward’s room.
“You’re supposed to be asleep, my son. Turn over and I’ll tuck you in. I’m taking Harriet downstairs.”
Edward sat up.
“What for? She’s supposed to be in bed and asleep too.”
George pushed Edward down.
“We’ve got something to tell her.” He could feel Edward rising up under his hand to protest that he would like to be told too. “Not tonight, old man, I dare say Harriet’ll tell you tomorrow.”
It was a cold night, so George not only made Harriet put on her dressing-gown but he rolled her up in an eiderdown and carried her down to the sitting room. Harriet was surprised to find herself downstairs. She looked round at her family with pleasure.
“Almost it’s worth being sent to bed with