Mother's a brick. She gave me a shilling to put back--but
he--he keeps her short, and she has to tell about every penny. She says
she'll have to pretend she lost it. And it's not enough, anyway.
Oh--Robert, you don't know what a row there'll be."
But Robert knew. He felt the cruel familiar ruffling of the nerves. He
heard the thud of his father's step, the horrible boom of his father's
voice, "You're a born liar, Christine--you're making my son into a liar."
It was as though Dr. Stonehouse had pushed off the earth that covered him
and stood up.
It was awful that Rufus should be frightened too. It wasn't fair. He
wasn't strong enough.
"I say--we'll have to do something. How much did you take out?"
"'Bout three shillings--there was an extra penny or two--p'r'aps he
wouldn't notice that, though--I thought p'r'aps--oh, I don't know what I
thought--but I had to come to tell you--I hadn't anyone else----"
Robert nodded. He stopped and looked back towards the big central tent.
It had grown at once larger and vaguer. The lighted entrance had a sort
of halo round it like the moon before it is going to rain. There was an
empty, sinking feeling in his stomach, and he too had begun to tremble, in
little, uncontrollable gusts. He let go his hold on Rufus's hand so that
he should not know.
"I've got two bob--somewhere," he heard himself saying casually and rather
grandly.
He knew now that he would never see her again.
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