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Page 39

Of course it would have been no use attempting to instruct Lubin in
the cryptic properties of the quincunx, or any other theories of
garden arrangement propounded by Sir Thomas Browne. And Aunt Charlotte
would have proved a still more hopeless subject. She had no head for
mysticism, poor dear, and Austin often told her she was one of the
greatest sceptics he had ever known. "You believe in nothing but your
dinner, your bank-book, and your Bible, auntie; I declare it's
perfectly shocking," he said to her one day. "And a very good creed
too," she replied; "it wouldn't be a bad thing for you either, if you
had a little more sound religion and practical common-sense." Just now
it was the bank-book phase that was uppermost, and when a letter was
brought in to her at breakfast-time next morning bearing the London
postmark, she clutched it eagerly and opened it with evident
anticipation. But as she read the contents her brow clouded and her
face fell. Clearly she was disappointed and surprised, but made no
remark to Austin.

A couple of days passed without anything of importance happening,
except that she wrote again to her bankers and looked out anxiously
for their reply. But none came, and she grew irritable and disturbed.
It really was most extraordinary; she had always thought that bankers
were so shrewd, and prompt, and business-like, and yet here they were,
treating her as though she were of no account whatever, and actually
leaving her second letter without an answer. The affair was pressing,
too. There was certain to be a perfect rush for shares in so
exceptional an undertaking, and when once they were all allotted, of
course up they'd go to an enormous premium, and all her chances of
investing would be lost. It was too exasperating for words. What were
the men thinking of? Why were they so neglectful of her interests? She
had always been an excellent customer, and had never overdrawn her
account--never. And now they were leaving her in the lurch. However,
she determined she would not submit. She fumed in silence for yet
another day, and then, at dinner in the evening, came out with a most
unexpected declaration.

"Austin," she said suddenly, after a long pause, "I'm going to town
to-morrow by the 10.27 train."

Austin was peeling an apple, intent on seeing how long a strip he
could pare off without breaking it. "Won't it be very hot?" he asked
absently.

"Hot? Well, perhaps it will," said Aunt Charlotte, rather nettled at
his indifference. "But I can't help that. The fact is that my bankers
are giving me a great deal of annoyance just now, and I'm going up to
London to have it out with them."

"Really?" replied Austin, politely interested. "I hope they haven't
been embezzling your money?"

"Do, for goodness sake, pull yourself together and try not to talk
nonsense for once in your life," retorted Aunt Charlotte, tartly.
"Embezzling my money, indeed!--I should just like to catch them at it.
Of course it's nothing of the kind. But I've lately given them certain
instructions which they virtually refuse to carry out, and in a case
of that sort it's always better to discuss the affair in person."

"I see," said Austin, beginning to munch his apple. "I wonder why they
won't do what you want them to. Isn't it very rude of them?"

"Rude? Well--I can't say they've been exactly rude," acknowledged Aunt
Charlotte. "But they're making all sorts of difficulties, and hint
that they know better than I do----"

"Which is absurd, of course," put in Austin, with his very simplest
air.

Aunt Charlotte glanced sharply at him, but there was not the faintest
trace of irony in his expression. "I fancy they don't quite understand
the question," she said, "so I intend to run up and explain it to
them. One can do these things so much better in conversation than by
writing. I shall get lunch in town, and then there'll be time for me
to do a little shopping, perhaps, before catching the 4.40 back. That
will get me here in ample time for dinner at half-past seven."

"And what train do you go by in the morning?" enquired Austin.

"The 10.27," replied his aunt. "I shall take the omnibus from the
Peacock that starts at a quarter to ten."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 22nd Dec 2025, 12:45

Austin and His Friends by Frederic H. Balfour