Jack Martin looked up at that, his thin face twitching into a smile.
"You little baggage! and you expect me to help you. I must hear some
more about this before I involve myself any further. What mischief are
you up to now?"
"Dear Jack, what can I do; a little girl like me?" cried Miss Margot,
mightily meek all of a sudden, as she realised that she had ventured a
step too far. "I wouldn't for the whole world get you into trouble.
It's just a little, simple thing that I want you to find out from some
one in the office."
"I don't know any one in the office."
"But you could find out some one who did? For instance, you know that
Mr Oliver who illustrates? I've seen his things in the Loadstar.
You could ask him in a casual, off-hand manner without ever mentioning
our name."
"What could I ask him?"
"Such a nice, simple little question! Just the name of the place where
the editor proposes to spend this summer holiday, and the date on which
he will start."
Jack stared in amazement, but the meekest, most demure of maidens
confronted him from the opposite chair, with eyes so translucently
candid, lips so guilelessly sweet, that it seemed incredible that any
hidden mischief could lurk behind the innocent question. Nevertheless
seven years' intimacy with Miss Margot made Jack Martin suspicious of
mischief.
"What do you know about this editor man? Have you seen him anywhere?
He is handsome, I suppose, and a bachelor?"
"You're a wretch!" retorted Miss Margot. "I don't know the man from
Adam, and he may be a Methuselah for all I care; but if possible I want
it to happen that Ron and I chance to be staying in the same place, in
the same house, or hotel, or pension, whichever it may be, when he
goes away for his yearly rest. We are going to the country in any
case--why should we not be guided by the choice of those older and wiser
than ourselves? Why should we not meet the one of all others we are
most anxious to know?"
"Just so! and having done so, you will confide in the editor that Ronald
is an embryo Poet Laureate, and try to enlist his kind sympathy and
assistance!"
Margot smiled; a smile of lofty superiority.
"No, indeed! I know rather better than that! He will be out on a
holiday, poor man, and won't want to be troubled with literary
aspirants. He has enough of them all the year round. We'll never
mention poetry, but we will try to get to know him, and to make him
like us so much that he will want to see more of us when we return to
town. No one can live in the same house with Ron, and have an
opportunity of talking to him day by day, without feeling that he is
different from other boys, and alone together in the country one can
never tell what may happen. Opportunities may arise, too; opportunities
for help and service. We would be on the look-out for them, and would
try by every means in our power to forge the first link in the chain.
Don't look so solemn, old Jack, it's all perfectly innocent! You can
trust me to do nothing you would disapprove."