Big Game - A Story for Girls

Brother and sister cast a swift glance down the road, but there was no

male figure in sight which could by any possibility belong to a visitor

from the South.

"You go in, and I'll mount guard at the door. Buy some postcards to

send home!" suggested Ron; and, nothing loath, Margot entered the little

shop, glancing round with a curious air. There was no other customer

but herself; but a queer little figure of a man stood behind the

counter, sorting packets of stationery. He turned his head at her

approach, and displayed a face thickly powdered with freckles of

extraordinary size and darkness. Margot was irresistibly reminded of an

advertisement of "The Spotted Man," which she had once seen in a

travelling circus, and had some ado to restrain a start of surprise.

The eyes looking out between the hairless lids, looked like nothing so

much as a pair of larger and more animated freckles, and the hair was of

the same washed--out brown. Whether the curious-looking specimen was

fourteen or forty was at first sight a problem to decide, but a closer

inspection proved the latter age to be the more likely, and when Margot

smiled and wished him a cheery good afternoon, he responded with unusual

cordiality for an inhabitant of the glen.

"Good efternoun to ye, mem! What may ye be seeking, the day?"

Margot took refuge in the picture postcards, which afforded a good

excuse for deliberation. The great object was to dally in the post

office as long as possible, in the hope of meeting the real Mr Elgood;

and to this end she turned over several packets of views, making the

while many inquiries; and the spotted man was delighted to expatiate on

the beauties of his native land, the more so, as, presumably, it was not

often that so lavish a purchaser came his way.

They were in the middle of the fourth packet of views, and the selected

pile of cards had reached quite a formidable height, when a familiar

whistle from the doorway started Margot into vivid attention, and a

minute later a tall dark man stepped hastily into the shop.

What a marvellous thing is family likeness! In height, in complexion,

and feature alike this man appeared diametrically the opposite of the

stout little person encountered outside the inn; yet in his thin,

cadaverous face there was an intangible something which marked him out

as a child of the same parents. The brother on whom Margot was now

gazing was considerably the younger of the two, and might have been

handsome, given a trifle more flesh and animation. As it was, he looked

gaunt and livid, and his shoulders were rounded, as with much stooping

over a scholar's desk.

"A fine big bundle for ye the day, Mister Elgood! I'm thinking the

whole of London is coming down upon ye," the postmaster declared

affably, as he handed over a formidable packet of letters. Envelopes

white and envelopes blue, long manuscript envelopes, which Margot

recognised with a reminiscent pang; rolled-up bundles of papers. The

stranger took them over with a thin hand, thrust them into the pockets

of his coat, with a muttered word of acknowledgment, and turned back to

the door.