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And then Mary Lennox was led up a broad staircase and down a long corridor and up a short flight of steps and through another corridor and another, until a door opened in a wall and she found herself in a room with a fire in it and a supper on a table. Mrs. Medlock said unceremoniously: "Well, here you are! This room and the next are where you'll live and you must keep to them.
"You naturally would be glad to improve your income. How much do you get where you are?" "Eighteen shillings a week." Mr Medlock whistled softly. "Eighteen shillings; that's very little, very poor pay," said he. "I should have thought, with your education, you could have got more than that." It pleased Reginald to have his education recognised in this delicate way.
Mr Medlock paused, and Reginald's face changed to one of keen anxiety. "I'm afraid, Mr Cruden, you're not altogether the sort we want." The boy's face fell sadly. "I would do my best," he said, as bravely as he could, "if you'd try me. I don't know what the work is yet, but I'm ready to do anything I can." "Humph!" said Mr Medlock.
He deliberately made away with the sponge, and after a battle royal was allowed his own way, and continued to lick till his tongue literally clave to the roof of his mouth. By the end of a fortnight the first rush of work was over, and Reginald and his henchman had time to draw breath. Mr Medlock had gone to London, presumably to superintend the dispatch of the various articles ordered.
It just burst out because all at once I couldn't help remembering that last big potato you ate and the way your mouth stretched when you bit through that thick lovely crust with jam and clotted cream on it." "Is there any way in which those children can get food secretly?" Dr. Craven inquired of Mrs. Medlock. "There's no way unless they dig it out of the earth or pick it off the trees," Mrs.
She did not say any more for a few moments and then she began again. "I suppose you might as well be told something to prepare you. You are going to a queer place." Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by her apparent indifference, but, after taking a breath, she went on. "Not but that it's a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr.
But she did not intend to look as if she were interested. That was one of her unhappy, disagreeable ways. So she sat still. "Well," said Mrs. Medlock. "What do you think of it?" "Nothing," she answered. "I know nothing about such places." That made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh. "Eh!" she said, "but you are like an old woman. Don't you care?"
"Nor it isn't fields nor mountains, it's just miles and miles and miles of wild land that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but wild ponies and sheep." "I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were water on it," said Mary. "It sounds like the sea just now." "That's the wind blowing through the bushes," Mrs. Medlock said.
Mr Medlock was in his room, the waiter said, and Mr Cruden was to step up. He did step up, and was ushered into a little sitting-room, where a middle-aged gentleman stood before the fire-place reading the paper and softly humming to himself as he did so. "Mr Cruden, sir," said the waiter. "Ah! Mr Cruden, good morning. Take a seat. John, I shall be ready for lunch in about ten-minutes."
He needn't send receipts, Mr Medlock would see to that. Any orders that came he was to take copies of, and then forward them to Mr John Smith, Weaver's Hotel, London, "to be called for," for execution. He would have to answer the questions of any who called to make inquiries, without of course disclosing any business secrets.
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