Free Poverty Castle by John Robin Jenkins

only eight lines and no pictures.
    The girls were curious about the naked nymphs and gods.
    â€˜We’ll have to ask Edwin if we can get seeing them,’ said Effie.
    â€˜You mustn’t embarrass the poor boy,’ said Mama. ‘It may not be a handsome building, Edward, but it is certainly large.’
    â€˜No more than forty rooms, I assure you.’
    â€˜Forty!’ cried the girls, astounded.
    â€˜Some stately homes have hundreds. Bear in mind that the Camptons, on his side at any rate, are no more blue-blooded than we are ourselves.’
    â€˜We read a story in which a boy had green blood,’ said Effie. ‘He came from an alien planet.’
    â€˜He ate daisies,’ said Jeanie.
    â€˜But Lady Campton’s family is aristocratic,’ said Mama. ‘Isn’t her father Lord Marsley?’
    â€˜Who ever heard of the Marsleys? I have no objections to titles, provided the right people are ennobled.’
    Mama smiled. He had once confided to her that he would have liked to be Sir Edward or better still Lord Sempill.
    â€˜You will see that Sir Edwin looks no more distinguished than the man who delivers our milk.’
    He drove the car forward until they could see people on the grass outside the house.
    He had brought binoculars. He looked through them. ‘That’s him, seated in the deckchair. Look, Meg. If you ask me an oaf, an arrogant oaf.’
    Mama took the binoculars. ‘I can’t see his face for his hat.’ She was more interested in Lady Campton. Alas, her face too was obscured.
    â€˜Drive right up, darling,’ she said. ‘Be bold.’
    â€˜We’re late enough as it is, Papa,’ said Effie.
    â€˜Princes are punctual,’ said Jeanie.
    Nettled by insinuation that he was timid Papa sent the car roaring up to the house.
    In their deckchairs Sir Edwin was reading a newspaper, his wife a book. Both were smoking: in Papa’s opinion a plebian habit. Sir Edwin wore a floppy white hat, she a wide-brimmed one. They raised their heads and stared at the visitors.
    â€˜He doesn’t look arrogant, Edward,’ murmured Mama. He did look rather oafish though, but she didn’t say so. There were people who didn’t think Edward looked very intelligent at times. One of them was Granny Ruthven. Her word for him was glaikit.
    Wearing a cap of many colours and white shorts held up by a tie, Nigel was ready for cricket, with pads on and a bat in his hand. Edwin, also in white shorts and shirt, was holding the ball. It did not look soft, though he himself did, soft and nice, with his shy smile. Not only his nose was big, so were his ears.
    â€˜Where are the dogs?’ asked Jeanie.
    â€˜Out you get girls,’ said Papa. ‘I’ll come back for you at five prompt. Be ready. I would not wish to wait here a moment longer than necessary.’
    He turned the car and raced it down the drive, making the gravel spurt.
    The sun still shone. It was going to be a good afternoon for cricket.
    The girls walked over and presented themselves to their hostess.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Lady Campton,’ they said.
    She hardly looked up from her book. ‘Good afternoon.’
    â€˜Who was driving that car?’ cried Sir Edwin.
    They turned and faced him. They were not going to let him or anyone else say anything bad about Papa.
    â€˜Our father,’ said Diana.
    â€˜In a devil of a hurry, wasn’t he? Did he want to get to the public house before it closed?’
    They looked at one another and agreed by signs that that was meant to be a joke. It wasn’t a good one but it wasn’t a mean one either. Sir Edwin laughed at it himself. He was theonly one who did, but it was quite jolly if rather silly laughter. They did not think it likely that he knew about Papa’s fondness for wine. In any case his own cheeks were as purple as Papa’s, probably from the same cause. He had piggy eyes and a fat face but he was