Free The Fourth Pig by Naomi Mitchison Marina Warner Page A

of all Betty Wothers.
    But Betty got to know. Oh yes! That George Higginson went straight round to her house, just like a man, and he said: “We aren’t going to get married. See?” Just like that he said it, for she told me so herself, and then there was a nice turn-up, what with Betty screeching and her mother going all red and dignified and getting the words mixed up, and him telling them both off—oh real nasty, he was, and he said he was going to marry Mary Snow and no other girl, no, not if all the girls in Aston came along on their bended knees, and that was that!
    Well then, it was all over the place and everyone set on Mary, like they would. But she said: “I’m not having any of that fromhim. He’s not going to sell me any samples!” And you saw she really meant it like that. Some thought she was just kidding, but I didn’t. I knew she came all over queer when a man got hold of her that way, felt like she was melting, she said. She’d get real frightened, and she couldn’t get it out of her head except by studying in her school books, that were getting more and more difficult and full of outlandish looking figures and squiggles. She shut herself up now in her attic, and studied for her scholarship, and when young George Higginson’s thick red lips and curly hair came back on her—you know, like onions—she got up and scrubbed her face with cold water and went on at her books and figuring.
    Well, after that, three things happened. Young George had half a ticket in the sweep and won £100, and Betty’s mother, Mrs. Wothers, took it into her head that Betty ought to sue him for breach. That was one. But Betty wouldn’t, and why? Because Bert Hobbis, the boy who was keen on mathematics, had got a job as draughtsman at Austin’s, and he got keen on Betty, and she got keen on him, and pretty soon they were walking out regular. That was two. And then old Mrs. Smith began going on at Mary about how she ought to be a bit nice to George Higginson, who was always hanging about the place whenever he was in Birmingham, and who’d bought a scarf and a 2 lb. box of chocs for Mary out of his sweep money; Mrs. Smith kept on hinting how useful that £100 would come in, and how she’d always treated Mary as a real daughter—which was true enough. That was three.
    Mary, poor kid, took it a bit hard. She couldn’t get away from Mrs. Smith nagging and hinting, not even when she was sitting over her books, for the old woman had got all worked up over the £100 and what a chance it was for Mary. But when she went outthere was plenty of neighbours ready to say something spiteful, as if it had been her fault. She let on she didn’t care, but of course she did, and they noticed at school that she wasn’t as careful over her work as she had been. Most of the boys wanted to take her out still, though some were beginning to be a bit impatient, saying you never got anywhere with such a stuck-up kid, and they were a bit afraid of what George Higginson might do—if he saw another fellow hanging round Mary, he’d go for them like a bull. Anyway, Mary didn’t want to go out with fellows, no more than she used to; she just wasn’t made that way. She did want to go talking mathematics with Bert Hobbis, but that was n.b.g. now; he spent all his evenings with Betty, and he didn’t seem somehow so taken up with mathematics as he was. Not that I could ever see what either of them saw in it.
    There were times Mary got her home-work finished early and then she’d go out for a walk before bed-time, and sometimes she used to see Betty and Bert together, walking home, as it might be, and his arm round her and her head snuggling down on his shoulder, both looking soft and solemn, the way two of you do when he’s got a steady job and prospects, and you’re both thinking about getting a little house and a bit of garden somewhere on the