Rodens Corner | Page 7

wrappers and the circulars,
and then lapsed into the contemplation of Joan's neat fingers as she too
fell to the work.
"We saw all about you," said the girl, in her bright, decisive way, "in

the newspapers. Papa read it aloud. He is always reading things aloud
now, out of the Times. He thinks it is good practice for the platform, I
am sure. We were all"--she paused and banged her energetic fist down
upon a pile of folded circulars which seemed to require further
pressure--"very proud, you know, to know you."
"Good Lord!" ejaculated White, fervently.
"Well, why not?" asked Miss Ferriby, looking up. She had expressive
eyes, and they now flashed almost angrily. "All English people----" she
began, and broke off suddenly, throwing aside the papers and rising
quickly to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on White's tunic. "Is that a
medal?" she asked, hurrying towards him. "Oh, how splendid! Look,
Tony, look! A medal! Is it"--she paused, looking at it closely--"is it--the
Victoria Cross?" she asked, and stood looking from one man to the
other, her eyes glistening with something more than excitement.
"Um--yes," admitted White.
Tony Cornish had risen to his feet also. He held out his hand.
"I did not know that," he said.
There was a pause. Tony and Joan returned to their circulars in an odd
silence. The Haberdashers' Assistants seemed suddenly to have
diminished in importance.
"By-the-by," said Joan Ferriby at length, "papa wants to see you, Tony.
He has a new scheme. Something very large and very important. The
only question is whether it is not too large. It is not only in England,
but in other countries. A great international affair. Some distressed
manufacturers or something. I really do not quite know. That Mr.
Roden--you remember?--has been to see him about it."
Cornish nodded in his quick way. "I remember Roden," he answered.
"The man you met at Hombourg. Tall dark man with a tired manner."
"Yes," answered Joan. "He has been to see papa several times. Papa is

just as busy as ever with his charities," she continued, addressing White.
"And I believe he wants you to help him in this one." "Me?" said White,
nervously. "Oh, I'm no good. I should not know a haberdasher's
assistant if I saw him."
"Oh, but this is not the Haberdashers' Assistants," laughed Joan. "It is
something much more important than that. The Haberdashers'
Assistants are only----"
"Pour passer le temps," suggested Cornish, gaily.
"No, of course not. But papa is really rather anxious about this. He says
it is much the most important thing he has ever had to do with--and that
is saying a good deal, you know. I wish I could remember the name of
it, and of those poor unfortunate people who make it--whatever it is. It
is some stuff, you know, and sounds sticky. Papa has so many charities,
and such long names to them. Aunt Susan says it is because he was so
wild in his youth--but one cannot believe that. Would you think that
papa had been wild in his youth--to look at him now?"
"Lord, no!" ejaculated White, with pious solidity, throwing back his
shoulders with an air that seemed to suggest a readiness to fight any
man who should hint at such a thing, and he waved the mere thought
aside with a ponderous gesture of the hand.
Joan had, however, already turned to another matter. She was
consulting a diary bound in dark blue morocco.
"Let me see, now," she said. "Papa told me to make an appointment
with you. When can you come?"
Cornish produced a minute engagement-book, and these two busy
people put their heads together in the search for a disengaged moment.
Not only in mind, but in face and manner, they slightly resembled each
other, and might, by the keen-sighted, have been set down at once as
cousins. Both were fair and slightly made, both were quick and clever.
Both faced the world with an air of energetic intelligence that bespoke
their intention of making a mark upon it. Both were liable to be

checked in a moment of earnest endeavour by a sudden perception of
the humorous, which liability rendered them somewhat superficial, and
apt of it lightly from one thought to another.
"I wish I could remember the name of papa's new scheme," said Joan,
as she bade them good-bye. When they were in the cab she ran to the
door. "I remember," she cried. "I remember now. It is malgamite."
CHAPTER III
BEGINNING AT HOME.
"Charity creates much of the misery it relieves, but it does not relieve
all the misery it creates."
Charity, as all the world knows, should begin at an "at home." Lord
Ferriby knew as well as any that there are men, and