"You were relying upon that, were you not?"
"Entirely," Burton admitted. "If I don't earn some money before
Saturday, I shan't know how to send the three pounds to Ellen."
"You had better," Mr. Waddington said gently, accept a trifling loan.
"Not if I can help it," Burton answered, hastily. "Thank you all the
same, Mr. Waddington, but I would rather not. We will see what
happens. I am going back now to try and write something."
They returned to the office. Burton pointed towards the easy-chair.
"Look!"
Mr. Waddington nodded. Alfred had propped up the book of engravings
before him, was holding a sheet of paper on the blotting-pad, and with a
pencil was intently copying one of the heads. They crossed the room and
peered over his shoulder. For an untrained child it was an amazing
piece of work.
"It is a Botticelli head," Mr. Waddington whispered. "Look at the
outline."
The boy glanced up and saw them standing there. He excused himself
gracefully.
"You don't mind, sir, do you?" he asked Mr. Waddington. "I took a
sheet of paper from your office. This head was so wonderful, I wanted
to carry away something that would remind me of it."
"If you like," Mr. Waddington offered, "I will lend you the book of
engravings.
Pages:
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229