fire, she decided to look over the rest of the house. Rosa herself had suggested this the morning before: they were wasting space, she thought. Perhaps there was room for a lodger.
Sally thought that she was right. The house was much more extensive than it seemed from the street. There were three floors, together with an attic and a cellar, and a long yard behind the house. Two of the rooms were full of photographic apparatus, besides the darkroom and the laboratory. The room beside the shop, on the ground floor, was fitted out as a studio for formal portraits. One of the upstairs rooms was filled with such a miscellaneous collection of things that Sally thought she had stumbled into a museum; but there were two empty attic rooms,
104
and three others which would make very comfortable bedrooms, once decently furnished.
The result of this exploring was revealed to the rest of the household at breakfast. She cooked it: porridge, this time, and very good, too, she thought.
"Frederick, are you busy this morning?" she asked.
"Inordinately. But it can wait."
"Rosa, do you have to rehearse?"
"Not till one. Why?"
"And Trembler, can you spare some time?"
"I dunno, miss. I got some processing to do."
"Well, it won't take long. I just want to tell you how to make some money."
"Well, for that," said Rosa, "you can have all the time you like. How do we do it?"
"It's something I thought about in Oxford the other day. I started to tell Frederick on the train."
"Mmm," he said. "Stereoscopes."
"Not the stereoscopes themselves, but the pictures for them. People are always wanting them. I looked at the rest of the house this morning, and I suddenly realized the kind of thing we could do. There's a room that's full of strange things—spears and drums and idols and I don't know what—"
"Uncle Webster's Cabinet," said Rosa. "He's been collecting it for years."
"So that's one part of it," Sally went on. "The other is Rosa. Wouldn't it be possible to tell a story in pictures? With people—actors—in dramatic situations, like a play—with scenery and things?"
There was a little silence.
"D'you think they'd sell?" said Rosa.
"They'd sell like bleedin' hotcakes," said Trembler. "Give me a thousand, and I'll sell 'em before dinner. Course they'd sell."
"Advertising," said Sally. "We'd take a column in all the papers. Think of a clever name for them. I'd see to all that—that's easy. But what about making them?"
"Nothing to it," said Rosa. "It's a marvelous idea! You could take scenes from popular plays—"
"And sell them to the theater!" said Sally.
"Songs," said Trembler. "Pictures to illustrate all the new songs at the music halls."
"With advertisements on the back," said Sally, "so we get paid extra for each one sold."
"Sally, it's a brilliant idea!" said Rosa. "And with all those props—"
"And there's space outside to set up a real studio. Like an artist's. With room for scenery and sets and all kinds of things."
They all looked at Frederick, who had not spoken. His expression was resigned. He spread his hands wide.
"What can I do.^" he said. "Art, farewell!"
"Oh, don't be silly," said Rosa. "Make an art out of this."
He turned and looked at her. Sally thought. They're like panthers^ both of them. They're so alive and intense. ...
"You're right!" he said suddenly, and banged the table.
"I don't believe it," said Rosa.
"Of course she's right, you foolish woman. I saw it at once. And we'll do it. But what about the debts.^"
"First, no one's actually pressing for money. We owe quite a lot, but if we can show that we're making an effort
to pay, I think it'll be all right. Second, there are the accounts which are owing to us. I'm going to send off reminders this morning. And third, Rosa said something about lodgers. You've got room to spare, even with me here. That'll bring in a steady income, even if it's only a few shillings a week. And lastly, there's the stock. Frederick, I want you to go through it with
Sally thought that she was right. The house was much more extensive than it seemed from the street. There were three floors, together with an attic and a cellar, and a long yard behind the house. Two of the rooms were full of photographic apparatus, besides the darkroom and the laboratory. The room beside the shop, on the ground floor, was fitted out as a studio for formal portraits. One of the upstairs rooms was filled with such a miscellaneous collection of things that Sally thought she had stumbled into a museum; but there were two empty attic rooms,
104
and three others which would make very comfortable bedrooms, once decently furnished.
The result of this exploring was revealed to the rest of the household at breakfast. She cooked it: porridge, this time, and very good, too, she thought.
"Frederick, are you busy this morning?" she asked.
"Inordinately. But it can wait."
"Rosa, do you have to rehearse?"
"Not till one. Why?"
"And Trembler, can you spare some time?"
"I dunno, miss. I got some processing to do."
"Well, it won't take long. I just want to tell you how to make some money."
"Well, for that," said Rosa, "you can have all the time you like. How do we do it?"
"It's something I thought about in Oxford the other day. I started to tell Frederick on the train."
"Mmm," he said. "Stereoscopes."
"Not the stereoscopes themselves, but the pictures for them. People are always wanting them. I looked at the rest of the house this morning, and I suddenly realized the kind of thing we could do. There's a room that's full of strange things—spears and drums and idols and I don't know what—"
"Uncle Webster's Cabinet," said Rosa. "He's been collecting it for years."
"So that's one part of it," Sally went on. "The other is Rosa. Wouldn't it be possible to tell a story in pictures? With people—actors—in dramatic situations, like a play—with scenery and things?"
There was a little silence.
"D'you think they'd sell?" said Rosa.
"They'd sell like bleedin' hotcakes," said Trembler. "Give me a thousand, and I'll sell 'em before dinner. Course they'd sell."
"Advertising," said Sally. "We'd take a column in all the papers. Think of a clever name for them. I'd see to all that—that's easy. But what about making them?"
"Nothing to it," said Rosa. "It's a marvelous idea! You could take scenes from popular plays—"
"And sell them to the theater!" said Sally.
"Songs," said Trembler. "Pictures to illustrate all the new songs at the music halls."
"With advertisements on the back," said Sally, "so we get paid extra for each one sold."
"Sally, it's a brilliant idea!" said Rosa. "And with all those props—"
"And there's space outside to set up a real studio. Like an artist's. With room for scenery and sets and all kinds of things."
They all looked at Frederick, who had not spoken. His expression was resigned. He spread his hands wide.
"What can I do.^" he said. "Art, farewell!"
"Oh, don't be silly," said Rosa. "Make an art out of this."
He turned and looked at her. Sally thought. They're like panthers^ both of them. They're so alive and intense. ...
"You're right!" he said suddenly, and banged the table.
"I don't believe it," said Rosa.
"Of course she's right, you foolish woman. I saw it at once. And we'll do it. But what about the debts.^"
"First, no one's actually pressing for money. We owe quite a lot, but if we can show that we're making an effort
to pay, I think it'll be all right. Second, there are the accounts which are owing to us. I'm going to send off reminders this morning. And third, Rosa said something about lodgers. You've got room to spare, even with me here. That'll bring in a steady income, even if it's only a few shillings a week. And lastly, there's the stock. Frederick, I want you to go through it with
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