important to stop the backwash to the towns…bad impression if the bigger houses seemed not to be doing their share… natural reluctance to employ compulsory powers but these powers were there, if necessary…three children who had caused some difficulty elsewhere…
Mr. Todhunter finished his breakfast, stood with his back to the fire and began to fill his pipe. “And what if I don’t want these hard cases of yours?” he said. “What if I’d sooner pay the fine?”
Basil embarked on the second part of his recitation:…Official allowance barely covered cost of food…serious hardship to poor families…poor people valued their household gods even more than the rich … possible to find a cottage where a few pounds would make all the difference between dead loss and a small and welcome profit…
Mr. Todhunter heard him in silence. At last he said, “So that’s how you do it. Thank you. That was most instructive, very instructive indeed. I liked the bit about household gods.”
Basil began to realize that he was dealing with a fellow of broad and rather dangerous sympathies; someone like himself. “In more cultured circles I say Lares et Penates.”
“Household gods is good enough. Household gods is very good indeed. What d’you generally count on raising?”
“Five pounds is the worst, thirty-five the best I’ve had so far.”
“So far? Do you hope to carry on long with this trade?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you something. D’you know who’s billeting officer in this district? I am. Mrs. Sothill’s district ends at the main road. You’re muscling in on my territory when you come past the crossing. Now what have you got to say for yourself?”
“D’you mean to say that Grantley Green is yours?”
“Certainly.”
“How damned funny.”
“Why funny?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Basil. “But it is exquisitely funny.”
“So I’ll ask you to keep to your own side of the road in future. Not that I’m ungrateful for your visit. It’s given me some interesting ideas. I always felt there was money in this racket somehow, but I could never quite see my way to get it. Now I know. I’ll remember about the household gods.”
“Wait a minute,” said Basil. “It isn’t quite as easy as all that, you know. It isn’t just a matter of having the idea; you have to have the Connollies too. You don’t understand it, and I don’t understand it, but the fact remains that quite a number of otherwise sane human beings are perfectly ready to take children in; they like them; it makes them feel virtuous; they like the little pattering feet about the house I know it sounds screwy but it’s the truth. I’ve seen it again and again.”
“So have I,” said Mr. Todhunter. “There’s no sense in it, but it’s a fact they make household gods of them.”
“Now the Connollies are something quite special; no one could make a household god of them. Come and have a look.”
He and Mr. Todhunter went out into the circle of gravel in front of the porch, where Basil had left the car.
“Doris,” he said. “Come out and meet Mr. Todhunter. Bring Micky and Marlene too.”
The three frightful children stood in a line to be inspected.
“Take that scarf off your head, Doris. Show him your hair.”
In spite of himself Mr. Todhunter could not disguise the fact that he was profoundly moved. “Yes,” he said. “I give you that. They are special. If it’s not a rude question, what did you pay for them?”
“I got them free. But I’ve put a lot of money into them since fried fish and cinemas.”
“How did you get the girl’s hair that way?”
“She did it herself,” said Basil, “for love.”
“They certainly are special,” repeated Mr. Todhunter with awe.
“You haven’t seen anything yet. You should see them in action.”
“I can imagine it,” said Mr. Todhunter. “Well, what d’you want for them?”
“Five pounds a leg and that’s cheap, because I’m thinking of closing down the business anyhow.”
Mr. Todhunter was not a man to haggle when he was on a good thing. “Done,” he said.
Basil addressed the Connollies. “Well, children, this is your new headquarters.”
“Are we to “muck ‘em about?” asked Doris.
“That’s up to Mr. Todhunter. I’m handing you over to him now. You’ll he working for him in future.”
“Ain’t we never going to be with you again?” asked Doris.
“Never again, Doris. But you’ll find you like Mr. Todhunter just as much. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”
“Not as handsome as you.”
“No, perhaps not, but he’s got a fine little red moustache, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, it’s a lovely moustache,” Doris conceded; she looked from her old to her new master, critically. “But he’s shorter than you.”
“Dammit, girl,” said Basil impatiently. “Don’t you realize there’s a war on? We’ve all got to make sacrifices. There’s many a little girl would be very grateful for Mr. Todhunter. Look at his fine red nob.”
“Yes, it is red.”
Mr. Todhunter tired of the comparison and stumped indoors to fetch his cheque-book.
“Can’t we muck his house up, just a bit?” said Micky wistfully.
“Yes, I don’t see why not, just a bit.”
“Mister,” said Doris, near tears. “Kiss me once before you go.”
“No. Mr. Todhunter wouldn’t like it. He’s terribly jealous.”
“Is he?” she said lightening. “I love jealous men.”
When Basil left her, her fervent, volatile affections were already plainly engaged with her new host. Marlene remained passive throughout the interview; she had few gifts, poor child, and those she was allowed to employ only on rare occasions. “Mayn’t I be sick here, Doris? Just once?”
“Not here, ducky. Wait till the gentleman billets you.”
“Will that be long?”
“No,” said Mr. Todhunter decisively, “not long.”
So the scourge of the Malfrey area moved south into the apple-growing country and the market gardens; and all over the park at Malfrey, dispersed irregularly under the great elms, tents sprang up; and the yeomanry officers set up their mess in the Grinling Gibbons saloon; and Barbara had Colonel Sproggin and Major Cathcart to live in the house; and Freddy made an agreeable sum of money out of the arrangement; and Bill spent many blissful uxorious hours in the Malt House, Grantley Green (he was quite satisfied with the explanation he was given about the cellar door). And Basil returned to London.
He decided to pay one of his rare, and usually rather brief, visits to his mother. He found her busy and optimistic, serving on half a dozen benevolent committees connected with comforts for the troops, seeing her friends regularly. The defeat of Finland had shocked her, but she found it a compensation that Russia was at last disclosed in the true light. She welcomed Basil to the house, heard his news of Barbara and gave him news of Tony. “I want to have a little talk with you sometime,” she said, after half an hour’s gossip.
Basil, had he not been inured to his mother’s euphemisms, might have supposed that a little talk was precisely what she had just had; but he knew what a little talk meant; it meant a discussion of his “future.”
“Have you arranged anything for tonight?”
“No, Mother, not yet.”
“Then we will dine in. Just the two of us.”
And that night after dinner she said, “Basil, I never thought I should have to say this to you. I’ve been pleased, of course, that you were able to be of help to Barbara with her evacués, but now that you have returned to London, I must tell you that I do not think it is man’s work. At a time like this you ought to be fighting.”
“But Mother, as far as I know, no one’s fighting much at the moment.”
“Don’t quibble, dear, you know what I mean.”
“Well, I went to see that colonel when you asked me to.”