"Thanks. I hate the beastly stuff."
And yet it was a flaky thing, oozing, as Rufus had declared, with real
raspberry jam. And he was very young. But he would not give way.
Could not. It seemed trivial, and yet it was vital, too. There was
something in him which stood up straight and unbendable. Once broken
it could never be set up again. And gradually a sense of loneliness
crept over him. He went and stood next Ricardo, who, like himself,
would have no share in the festivity. And the old man blinked up at
him with a kind of triumph.
"And we're going to a hill that I know of," Francey was saying. "No
one else knows of it. In fact, it's only there when I am. You go by
train, and after that you have to walk. I don't know the way. It
comes by inspiration. When you get to the top you can see the whole of
England, and there are always flowers. I'm taking Howard's gang, and
you people must come along too. It's what you want. A good time----"
"_All_ the time," said Miss Edwards, blowing away the crumbs.
"My people are going in a char-a-banc to Brighton," Rufus said. "But
I'll give them the slip. There's sure to be a beastly row anyhow."
"That's my brave boy! Who cares for rows? Take me. Our Mr. Reilly's
had the nerve to fix up a rehearsal for the new French dame what's
coming to ginger up our show--and, oh, believe me, it needs it--but am
I down-hearted? No! Anyway, if she's half the stuff they say she is
they'll never notice poor little Connie's gone to bury her fifth
grandmother.
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