Young Mrs. Savage, page 8
They amused themselves very happily making patterns with shells and stones. Dinah made a sand pie, not a very successful one because the sand was too soft and dry, but Margy was quite pleased with it.
There happened to be an old gentleman sitting on the sands quite near them. He had a grizzled beard and bushy eyebrows and little twinkling eyes. He was reading his paper, off and on, putting it down for a few minutes and looking about him and then taking it up again.
Margy was interested in him. She pointed at him with her spade. “Man?” asked Margy, inquiringly.
Dinah smiled and nodded. She was aware that Margy’s doubt was due to the fact that hitherto her acquaintance with the male sex had not included a bearded specimen.
Thus reassured Margy smiled at the man. He smiled back. It was now time for Margy’s milk. Dinah poured it out and gave it to her. She took the mug in both hands and drank with obvious enjoyment.
The old gentleman was watching the performance. Margy raising her eyes as she took breath, saw that he was interested.
“Bung ho!” said Margy loudly and clearly.
For a moment the old gentleman was startled and then he began to laugh.
Margy paused. Her blue eyes regarded him with a stare of dewy innocence over the rim of the blue enamel mug. “Bung ho!” she said again.
“The boys teach her things,” explained Dinah. “She’s a little parrot, I’m afraid.”
“A very charming little parrot,” said the old gentleman, moving nearer.
Dinah had a feeling that he was lonely and for her part she was quite ready to be friendly with him. She liked the look of him; his eyes were humorous and kind. They spoke of the weather and agreed it was exactly the sort of weather they would have chosen for their holiday. The old gentleman was staying at Miss Brown’s, a little further along the front than Craigie Lodge; he and his wife and their nephew had come for two months—the nephew was fond of golf. During this conversation Margy was by no means forgotten; it appeared that the old gentleman was an excellent hand at sand pies.
“We require wet sand,” he explained to Margy in a serious tone, as if he were talking to a grown-up person. “The dry sand doesn’t stick together well. Fortunately suitable material is close at hand; if we make a hole with your spade we shall find sand to suit our purpose.” He made a hole, filled the pail, and turned out an excellent pie.
“Cake!” exclaimed Margy rapturously.
“But not for eating,” her new friend hastily declared. “Your mother will tell you that although my cake looks nice it is unfit for human consumption.”
“Again,” said Margy.
The old gentleman repeated his feat of skill and went on repeating it.
Presently Dinah saw the twins come running across the sands towards her. Nigel was in front, bounding like a deer, his long white legs covering the ground easily and gracefully; Mark was lumbering along behind—he was not built for speed—but it was Mark who arrived first after all for Nigel stopped to look at a sand-castle on the way.
“The hare and the tortoise,” murmured the old gentleman, who had paused for a moment in the midst of his labours.
Dinah realised the idea was apt, but Mark’s haste to reach her roused her anxiety. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” gasped Mark. “It’s just—can we go and—fish off the pier—with Dan—?”
“Of course, if he’s willing to take you. But remember, you must do exactly as he says or there will be trouble.”
“No trouble,” said Nigel, strolling up in a leisurely manner. “It’s all fixed. We can get lines and hooks from a boy and we can get mussels from one of the fishermen—for bait, you know.”
“Polly’s coming too,” said Mark, wiping his hot face with a grimy handkerchief. “Dan said to tell you we might be late for lunch.”
“All right,” said Dinah. “But be good. Remember what I said.”
They hastened away.
The old gentleman was beginning to get a little tired of making sand pies (it is a form of employment which is apt to pall upon an adult, though seldom upon a child). He rose and shook himself and said he would walk along to the pier and see how the fishermen were doing.
10
The fishermen were late for lunch. Dinah and Margy had already started when the front gate squeaked open and there was the sound of steps on the gravel outside the window; but there was no sound of chattering voices and Dinah had an uneasy feeling that something had gone wrong.
Mark rushed in first and, opening a small and extremely grubby hand, disclosed a shilling. “It’s mine,” he announced. “Mr. Monk gave it to me.”
Nigel was just behind him. “But I caught a bigger one d’reckly afterwards,” declared Nigel, earnestly. “If Mr. Monk had known that, he would have given it to me.”
“They should share it, shouldn’t they?” said Dan, appearing in the doorway with Polly. “It’s much nicer to share things.”
“Perhaps you could explain,” suggested Dinah crisply; for, relieved to see the entire party safe and sound, she was feeling the reaction from her fears.
“We are explaining,” said Nigel. “It was Mr. Monk. He would have given the prize to me if he had seen me catch that big one.”
“Why not share?” asked Dan.
“If Mummy says so,” agreed Mark, with reluctance.
“No,” cried Nigel, stamping his foot. “No, it’s mine! I caught the biggest one, didn’t I? Mr. Monk would have given it to me—I know he would.”
“Who is Mr. Monk?” inquired Dinah. She was busily, engaged shovelling mince and potatoes into Margy’s mouth; but feeding her offspring had become second nature to Dinah.
“Mr. Monk!” said Mark in surprise. “He’s a friend of yours, Mummy. He was talking to you and Margy on the beach.”
“An old gentleman with a beard,” put in Dan. “The children thought he was like an old seaman called Monk. I’ve been telling them stories about him.”
“He is Old Monk!” cried Polly excitedly. “He’s all hairy with twinkling eyes and a heart of gold. That’s what you said Old Monk was like.”
“And he’s got hairs growing out of his ears,” added Mark, as if that clinched the matter.
The last scraps of mince and potatoes had vanished. Dinah laid down the spoon and wiped her daughter’s mouth.
“All gone!” remarked Margy, in regretful tones.
“Dan had better explain everything from the beginning,” said Dinah firmly.
“Yes, of course,” agreed Dan. “Well, what happened was he came down to the pier and watched the boys fishing. He seems an awfully nice old chap. At first they didn’t catch anything and Nigel got a bit bored and began fooling about; then Mark caught a fish—it was tremendously exciting—and when it was safely landed the old gentleman took a shilling out of his pocket and gave it to Mark.”
“It was a prize,” explained Mark.
“He said: ‘Well done, young man! There’s something to buy ice-cream.’”
“Yes, that’s what he said,” agreed Mark.
“And then he said he mustn’t be late for lunch, and went away. After he had gone Nigel caught a fish—”
“A much bigger one,” said Nigel, hastily. “I should think it was almost twice as big as Mark’s. If Mr. Monk had been there he would have given the prize to me, wouldn’t he, Mummy?”
They waited, looking at Dinah.
“I said they should share it,” suggested Dan.
“No,” said Nigel. “No, it’s mine, isn’t it, Mummy? My fish was much the biggest.”
“It’s Mark’s shilling,” said Dinah, firmly.
“Mark’s!” cried Nigel. “But Mummy—”
“The old gentleman gave it to Mark. If Mark likes to share it well and good, but it’s definitely his own to do what he likes with.”
“We’ll share it, then,” said Nigel hastily. “That’s the best way—Dan said so, didn’t he?—Ice-creams are sixpence each.”
Mark was frowning. He said: “No, I’ll share it with Polly. That’s what I’ll do.”
“But she didn’t catch anything!” Nigel cried.
“That’s why,” replied Mark. “It will be a present, not a prize,” and with that he put the shilling in his pocket.
Dinah sighed. It was a pity, but it couldn’t be helped. “Go and wash,” she said. “Wash thoroughly—all of you. Don’t just dip your hands in the water and wipe them on Nannie’s towel.”
They ran off to do as they were told. Dan had noticed before that Dinah’s children were obedient (and having been in the Service he knew the value of discipline and appreciated it), but he thought she had handled the matter of the shilling in the wrong way.
“Why didn’t you make them share?” asked Dan, after a moment’s silence.
“They wanted justice, Dan.”
“It’s nice to share.”
“Yes, if you want to. Sharing is no good unless you do it willingly. That’s why communism doesn’t work—because it isn’t true communism. True communism is sharing gladly what you’ve got with your neighbour. It isn’t taking his possessions, it’s giving yours.”
“All right, I see that,” said Dan. “Personally I’d call that true Christianity and not communism at all; but let’s get back to Mark and Nigel, shall we? They’re up against each other a bit, you know. We always shared everything—you and I—so why not teach them to do the same?”
“I’ve tried. It isn’t any good. Of course we shared everything, but Mark and Nigel aren’t like us. As I said before you can’t make people share; they must either do it willingly or not at all.”
“If you had persuaded them—” began Dan.
“They asked me for justice, so I gave it to them. It was Mark’s shilling, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, then,” said Dinah.
“You worry too much. They’re only babies, Di.”
“No, they aren’t babies, they’re people . . . and I don’t worry too much. It’s my job to worry about them. They’re my responsibility and nobody else’s. Sometimes it terrifies me to think what power I have for good or bad, to help them to grow up straight—or crooked.”
“But Di—!”
“Shakespeare helps quite a lot,” declared Dinah, smiling at the absurdity of it. “There’s a good deal of sense in Shakespeare; he’s fundamental and logical and sound. Take Shylock, for instance. Shylock wanted justice, he wouldn’t accept mediation; he wouldn’t accept an iota less than what he considered his due. He wanted justice. If you refuse to share and continue to demand justice you can’t complain when justice is given you.”
“A Daniel come to judgment!” said Dan, half laughing, half serious. He saw her point, but he still thought she was making mountains but of molehills. It was natural, of course, for the children were her responsibility and she had nobody to help her bear the strain. Dan had evolved a plan; he had been thinking about it ever since his conversation with Henry Barnard and intended to open the subject with Dinah quite shortly.
The children were quiet at lunch. Nigel was sulking and the others were somewhat subdued. Mark kept feeling in his pocket where the shilling was burning a hole.
“How have you been getting on?” asked Dinah, who had had no opportunity to inquire into her brother’s affairs since his arrival.
“All right, really,” replied Dan. “Mr. Cray is a nice old spud and he’s got rather a nice daughter. I think you’d like her, Di.”
“Would I?” asked Dinah with interest. “What is she like?”
“Pretty,” said Dan. “She came into the office yesterday and we had a chat—the old man was busy. They’ve asked me to go in to drinks some evening.”
“You’ll go, of course?”
“Oh, of course!” nodded Dan. “I mean one’s got to keep in with one’s boss and all that. I mean it would be silly not to go—”
“And what about the job?”
“Oh, well,” said Dan doubtfully; “there’s not much scope in it, if you know what I mean. It’s all right in a way—I can do it quite easily—but I must say I should like to find something better, something that required intelligence. It seems a pity to let the little grey cells atrophy, if you know what I mean. I shall have to look for better digs, too. The old woman is dirty and disagreeable. Dirt might be bearable without disagreeableness, or disagreeableness without dirt, but the two together are getting me down.”
“Oh, Dan!” cried Dinah, in horrified tones. “We must find somewhere nice for you to live. What a pity you couldn’t live here and go up every day!”
“Too far, I’m afraid; but I could live in Edinburgh, of course. I wondered whether you and I could set up house together in Edinburgh. What about that, Di?”
There was silence—chiefly because Dinah had no breath to speak.
“It seems to me a very sensible plan,” continued Dan, helping himself to pudding with a lavish hand. “Gosh, I’m hungry! It’s the sea air, I suppose. We could share a little house which would be cheaper for both of us as well as more pleasant. I should have cleanliness and comfort instead of dirt and disagreeableness; you would have someone to lock the front door at night and spank the children . . . and, talking of the children, there are excellent schools in Edinburgh for both sexes.”
“Dan, you’ve been thinking about this!”
“For ages!” nodded Dan. “Weighing the pros and cons; though as a matter of fact, I can see no cons at all.”
“You might want to get married.”
“Not likely. Even if I did there’s no harm done. I should move into another house, preferably in the same street, so that my children could enjoy the society of their cousins.”
“But what about Christine!” cried Polly, in dismay. “Oh, Mummy! I couldn’t live without Christine next door!”
(It was odd, thought Dan, how often it happened that one forgot the children, assuming they were not listening or would not understand and then suddenly, when one least expected it, they would leap into the conversation with a remark or exclamation which showed they had understood every word.)
“You could easily live without her,” Nigel was saying. “You’re living without her now.”
“But only for a month—that’s different—and what will Christine do?”
“She’ll get on all right.”
“She hasn’t got any friends except me,” said Polly tearfully.
“But she’ll soon get friends when you aren’t there,” declared Nigel, with conviction.
This assurance did not seem to comfort Polly. Why should it? wondered Dan; there are few people unselfish enough to welcome the prospect of being easily replaced in the affections of their friends.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Dinah said. “We haven’t settled anything. It’s just an idea, that’s all.”
“Are we going or not?” Nigel wanted to know.
“We’ll see,” said Dinah firmly.
Dan was obliged to hide a smile, for this was one of Nannie’s sayings (one which had always irritated the Dees beyond measure) and here was Dinah using it herself. Yes, we’ll see, thought Dan. He was pretty certain he would gain his end. What alternative was there? What other plan could be half as good?
“I hope we go to Edinburgh,” said Mark, in a thoughtful voice. “We’d have Dan all the time then, wouldn’t we? Not just for week-ends.”
“Could he bear it? That’s the question,” said Dinah, seriously.
The shilling which had caused so much trouble and which was burning a hole in Mark’s pocket ought to be spent. Dan realised that the sooner it was spent and the incident closed the better it would be for all concerned, so after tea he called the children and they set off together for the café near the pier where ice-creams were to be had for sixpence each. Nigel was nowhere to be found and Dan was sorry for he had intended to stand Nigel an ice-cream. He was not sure whether Portia would approve of this mitigation of sentence, so he did not ask her.
“Nigel’s sulking, I expect,” said Polly cheerfully as she skipped along clinging to Dan’s hand. “He always sulks for ages. We don’t care, do we?”
“He isn’t sulking,” said Mark. “I saw him go out of the gate with his fish directly after tea.”
“P’raps he’s going to put it back into the sea,” suggested Polly.
“Silly, it’s dead!” replied Mark. “It wouldn’t come alive again, so what would be the use? I’m going to have mine for breakfast—Nannie said so.”
Dan listened to their prattle with half an ear. He was busy making plans. The first thing was to find a house that would suit them. Not too big, thought Dan, but of course it must not be too small. Four good-sized bedrooms and a smaller one for a maid. Dinah was to have a maid if he could possibly manage it. Part of his idea was to relieve Dinah of her burden of work and to make it possible for her to go out and enjoy herself occasionally. Dances, thought Dan. It would be fun to dance with Di again.
At this moment his eye fell upon a large notice announcing a dance at the Town Hall to-morrow night, and, following his lucky star which usually led him in the right direction, he went into the little stationer’s shop and bought two tickets. He might not be able to persuade Dinah to go but it was worth trying. It would be good for her to have a little fun—good for her to dance. It might even help her to get over the queer obsession about Gilbert (of which Irene Barnard had spoken), for Gilbert and dancing were mixed up together in Dinah’s mind. Dan was no psychologist—he would have denied it vehemently—but he had a feeling that there was something in his idea.
The café was almost empty. Dan and Polly and Mark chose a table near a large window which looked out onto the harbour and beyond it to the sea. The sea was never far away in Seatown (wherever you went and whatever you did the sea was always there) for the town was built upon a boot-like promontory with bays sweeping inland on both sides; and the harbour rocks, volcanic in origin, were the toe of the boot.
