"He could often come here. Or perhaps the Infanta would fetch and
carry. He is with an uncle, a fisherman, and the wife keeps a little
shop. Stagg is the name. They are very respectable people, but of a
lower stamp than this lad, and he is rather lost for want of
companionship. The London doctors say his recovery depends on sea
air for the winter, so here he is, and whatever you can do for him
will be a real good work."
"What is the name?" asked Mrs. Brownlow.
"Stagg. It is over a little grocery shop. You must ask for Percy
Stagg."
Perhaps Armine suspected the motive to be his own good, for he took a
dislike to the idea at once.
"Percy Stagg!" he began, as soon as Mr. Ogilvie was gone. "What a
detestable conjunction, just showing what the fellow must be. And to
have him on my hands."
"I thought you liked teaching?" said his mother.
"As if this would be like a Woodside boy!"
"Yes," said Babie; I don't suppose he will carry onions and lollipops
in his pockets, nor put cockchafers down on one's book."
"Babie, that was only Ted Stokes!"
"And I should _think_ he might have rather cleaner hands, and not
leave their traces on every book."
"He'll do worse!" said Armine. "He will be vulgarly stuck up, and
excruciate me with every French word he attempts to pronounce.
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