MR, SMEETH GETS HIS RISE 305

because she's good with her fingers—when she cares to
use 'em and that's not often in the house—and she likes
altering hats, which is more than I ever did."

"Everybody says I'm clever at it," said Edna, looking
rather defiant.

"I don't know what you mean by 'everybody/ but
if you mean your Minnie Watsons and such like, I don't
think whatever they say amounts to much. They'd tell
you anything for tuppence. But still. Dad, it's not a
bad idea—but, as I told her, this apprenticeship busi-
ness is coming a bit hard on us because it's working for
nothing and now that she'd been earning money, she's
used to having it to spend, and we've got to keep her
looking decent and she'll still want to be spending some-
thing and she'll be bringing nothing in for a long time.
You say I haven't a head for business, Dad—and I dare
say I haven't and I don't know that I want to have-
but I saw that as soon as she mentioned it and asked
her what she thought we were going to get out of it."

"Dad can't talk," cried Edna, looking across at him
triumphantly, " 'cos he wanted me to be a teacher and
if I'd started to be a teacher, I'd have been going to
college now, and then he'd have had to be paying for
me, never mind me not earning anything."

"Yes, but you didn't want to be a teacher, did you?"
said Mrs. Smeeth, as if that somehow settled the matter.

"Besides, my girl," Mr. Smeeth began, rather pom-
pously.

"Take your tea, Dad." It was a curious thing, but
whenever Mr. Smeeth had some really dignified state-
ment to make, Mrs. Smeeth invariably broke in to hand
him a cup or a plate or to ask him to put some coal on
the fire or to see if there was somebody at the front door.