The School Queens Part 28

"Of course I do," replied Maggie.

Martin gazed at her from head to foot. She was plain. He rather liked her for that. He admired her, too, for, as he expressed it, standing up to him. His dear Little-sing would never stand up to him. But this girl was not the least like her mother. She had a lot of character; Little-sing had none.

"You'd make an admirable accountant, Popsy," he said. "How would you like to take that post by-and-by in my shop?"

Maggie was about to reply that nothing would induce her to accept such a position, when a quick thought darted through her mind. She could scarcely hope to make anything of her mother, for, alack and alas!

Mrs. Howland was one of those weak characters who slip away from you even as you try to grasp them. But Martin, with his terrible vulgarity and awful pleasantry, was at least fairly strong.

"Mr. Martin," said Maggie then, "instead of going in to breakfast with mother, will you take me to some restaurant and give me a good meal, and let me talk to you?"

"Well, now," said Martin, chuckling, "you _are_ a girl! You have cheek! I am not a man to waste my money, and breakfast with Little-sing won't cost me anything."

"But under the circ.u.mstances you will waste a little money in order to oblige me?" said Maggie.

"There now, I admire your cheek. So be it. You don't deserve anything from me, for a ruder 'ittle dirl than you were yesterday to poor Bo-peep could not have been found in the length and breadth of England."

"You could scarcely expect me to be pleased, sir. The news was broken to me very suddenly, and I was tired after my long journey, too."

"Yes; and you vented your spite on me, on poor old Bo-peep, who has the kindest heart in Christendom."

"I may have said some things that I regret," said Maggie; "but, at any rate, I had the night to think matters over, and if you give me some breakfast I can talk to you."

"I will take you to Harrison's for breakfast," said Martin. "You'll get a topper there, I can tell you--eggs, bacon, kidneys, liver, game-pie, cocoa, coffee, tea, chocolate; anything and everything you fancy, and the best marmalade in London."

Maggie felt rather hungry, and when the pair entered Harrison's she was not displeased at the liberal supply of food which her future stepfather ordered. He pretended to hate the aristocracy, as he called them, and poor Maggie could certainly never claim this distinction in her own little person. Nevertheless, she was entirely superior to Martin, and he felt a sort of pride in her as she walked up the long restaurant by his side.

"Now, waiter," he said to the man who approached to take orders, "you look slippy. This young 'oman and me, we want a real comfortable, all-round, filling meal. You give us the best the house contains; and look slippy, I say."

The waiter did look "slippy," whatever that word might imply, and Martin proceeded to treat Maggie to really excellent viands and to satisfy himself to his heart's content. Maggie ate with a certain amount of relish, for, as has been said, she was really hungry.

"Like it, don't you?" said Martin as he watched her consuming her eggs and bacon.

"Oh yes, very much indeed," said Maggie.

"I'm fond of a good table myself," said Martin. "This is the sort of thing you'll have on all occasions and at every meal at Laburnum Villa. We'll soon fill your poor mother's thin cheeks out, and get her rosy and plump, and then she'll be a more charming Little-sing to her own Bo-peep than ever."

Maggie was silent.

"Come, come," said Martin, patting her hand; "it's all right about Laburnum Villa, ain't it, my girl?"

"No, Mr. Martin," said Maggie then.

She withdrew her hand and turned and looked at him fixedly. "I want to tell you all about myself," she said. "I was really rude to you yesterday, and I am sorry; but I couldn't go to live with you and mother at Laburnum Villa. I will tell you the princ.i.p.al reason why I couldn't go."

"Oh, come, come, you're only a child; you must do what you are told.

Your mother has no money to give you, and you can't live on air, you know. Air is all very well, but it don't keep folks alive. You'll have to come to me whether you like it or not."

"Before you come to that determination, Mr. Martin, may I tell you something about myself?"

"Oh dear! I hope it isn't a long story."

"It's very important, and not very long. I am not the least like mother"----

"My good girl, any one can see that. Your mother's a remarkably pretty and elegant woman, and you're the plainest young person I ever came across."

"I am plain," said Maggie; "and, in addition, I am by no means good-natured."

"Oh, you admit that? For shame!"

"I was born that way," said Maggie. "I'm a very high-spirited girl, and I have got ideas with regard to my future. You said just now that perhaps some day you might make me accountant in your shop. That was kind of you, and I might be a good accountant; but, of course, all that is for the future. I shouldn't mind that--I mean, not particularly. But if you were to follow out your plan, and take me to live with you and mother at Laburnum Villa, you would never have a happy moment; for, you see, I am much stronger in character than mother, and I couldn't help making your life miserable; whereas you and mother would be awfully happy without me. Mother says that she loves you, and wishes to be your wife"--

"Now, what are you driving at, Popsy? For if you have nothing hanging on your hands I have a vast lot hanging on mine, and time is precious."

"I will tell you quite frankly what I want you to do, Mr. Martin. You are taking mother."

"I am willing to take you too. I can't do any more."

"But then, you see, I don't want to be taken. Until you came forward and proposed to mother to be your wife she spent a little of her money on my education. She tells me that she has put it now into your business."

"Poor thing!" said Martin. "She was making ducks and drakes of it; but it is safe enough now."

"Yes," said Maggie in a determined voice; "but I think, somehow, that a part of it does lawfully belong to me."

"Oh, come! tut, tut!"

"I think so," said Maggie in a resolute tone; "for, you see, it was father's money; and though he left it absolutely to mother, it was to go to me at her death, and it was meant, little as it was, to help to educate me. I could ask a lawyer all about the rights, of course."

For some extraordinary reason Martin looked rather frightened.

"You can go to any lawyer you please," he said; "but what for? let me ask. If I take you, and do for you, and provide for you, what has a lawyer to say in the matter?"

"Well, that is just it--that's just what I have to inquire into; because, you see, Mr. Martin, I don't want you to provide for me at all."

"I think now we are coming to the point," said Martin. "Stick to it, Popsy, for time's precious."

"I think you ought to allow me to be educated out of mother's money."

"Highty-tighty! I'm sure you know enough."

"I don't really know enough. Mrs. Ward, of Aylmer House, has taken me as an inmate of her school for forty pounds a year. Her terms for most girls are a great deal more."

Martin looked with great earnestness at Maggie.

"I want to go on being Mrs. Ward's pupil, and I want you to allow me forty pounds a year for the purpose, and twenty over for my clothes and small expenses--that is, sixty pounds a year altogether. I shall be thoroughly educated then, and it seems only fair that, out of mother's hundred and fifty a year, sixty pounds of the money should be spent on me. There's no use talking to mother, for she gets so easily puzzled about money; but you have a very good business head. You see, Mr. Martin, I am only just sixteen, and if I get two more years'

education, I shall be worth something in the world, whereas now I am worth nothing. I hope you will think it over, Mr. Martin, and do what I wish."

Martin was quite silent for a minute. The waiter came along and was paid his bill, with a very substantial tip for himself thrown in.

Still Martin lingered at the breakfast-table with his eyes lowered.