Sarahs School Friend | Page 9

that,' he replied emphatically. But, all the same, he most evidently cared more for Sarah than he did for her mother or for her languid brother, to whom he always talked with a kind of good-natured contempt.
'The fact is, Uncle Howroyd, you're worried, and your way of showing it is by scolding me, which is not fair, as I am not the person you are angry with, but some one whom you have come to see to-night, unless I'm very much mistaken,' observed Sarah, nodding her head knowingly at her uncle.
'You little witch! how dare you go guessing at your uncle's private affairs like that?' cried Mr William Howroyd, laughing at his niece.
'Oh, dear Bill, I 'ope there's nothin' wrong between you an' Mark? Per'aps you'd better not say anythin' to 'im to-night; 'e's a little put out, just for the minute,' said Mrs Clay.
'For the minute? I'd like to see him at a minute when he isn't put out! And if you're going to say anything to annoy him I wish you would say it to-night, for I'd like to myself, only'----
'She daren't!' put in George from the depths of an arm-chair.
Mr William Howroyd turned from his handsome niece, whose hair he was gently smoothing, to her equally handsome brother, who was lying back in the softest chair he could find (and they were all comfortable, 'all of the best,' as Mark Clay said of them, as of everything else he possessed). 'No; and as for you, I don't suppose you'd trouble to say anything to your father if it was to save you all from the workhouse,' he said scornfully.
George Clay was nearly hidden from view by the cushions he had carefully adjusted behind his head; consequently the sudden slight start and swift opening wide of his lazy-looking eyes passed unnoticed even by the eyes of his uncle, who, indeed, would never have thought of looking for alertness or energy in his nephew. 'I might,' he replied lazily. 'I don't fancy the workhouse. Is there any chance of it?'
Somehow every one seemed to think this a joke, and his uncle remarked, 'No, the workhouse would not suit you; no easy-chairs there. It might do you good, though.'
'I wish there was a chance of it! Now that would be life!' cried Sarah eagerly.
'Don't talk so silly, child; you don't know w'at the work'ouse is like. It's enough to call down a judgment upon you, bein' so ungrateful to Providence for all the good things it's given you,' cried her mother. 'Fancy the work'ouse after this!' Mrs Clay put a world of expression into the last word, as she looked round the sumptuous drawing-room in which they were gathered.
'Yes, it would be a change; though stranger things have happened,' said Mr Howroyd in his brisk way, and again he missed the look George shot at him.
'I should like to know if there is any chance of it,' George remarked. 'You haven't answered my question yet, uncle.'
'What question? Oh, whether there's any chance of your ever going to the workhouse?' laughed his uncle. 'How can I tell? One hears of kings becoming beggars, so why not Mr George Clay?'
'There's no chance of that,' remarked George.
'How do you know?' began his uncle.
'Don't you be too sure. Our mills might be burnt down, or anything might happen,' cried Sarah.
'Oh, if you mean by a beggar being penniless, that's always possible, of course. What I meant was that I should never beg,' said her brother with quiet decision.
'What would you do? Work?' inquired his uncle.
'I fancy so,' said George; and they all laughed again, as though the idea of George working was a good joke.
But Mrs Clay added, 'An' I'm sure George is clever enough to earn money in any way 'e likes; though, thank 'eaven! 'e'll never 'ave to.'
'I'm not so sure of that,' replied that youth.
'What do you mean by that?' demanded his uncle.
'Just what you meant,' replied the nephew, and this time Mr William Howroyd was struck by the expression on his nephew's face.
'I'm sure I don't know w'at you're all talkin' about--work'ouses, an' workin' for your livin', an' Sarah wishin' she was poor, an' all! W'ere's the good of 'avin' riches if you can't enjoy it?' said Mrs Clay plaintively. 'Look at this lovely 'ouse, with everythin' in it that mortal man can wish for. W'y, Mrs Haigh was 'ere to-day, and she says Bucking'am Palace isn't grander, and she's been there.'
'I dare say it isn't,' agreed her brother-in-law.
'Who's talking about Buckingham Palace?' cried Mark Clay, as he came into the room.
'We were, Mark, and saying that it wasn't any better than your place,' said his half-brother, as he shook hands with the master of the house.
'Ay, you're right there; as far as money can go you can't beat this