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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2356-h.zip b/2356-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..62b8682 --- /dev/null +++ b/2356-h.zip diff --git a/2356-h/2356-h.htm b/2356-h/2356-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2765e7b --- /dev/null +++ b/2356-h/2356-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7269 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Tommy and Co.</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Tommy and Co., by Jerome K. Jerome</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tommy and Co., by Jerome K. Jerome + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Tommy and Co. + + +Author: Jerome K. Jerome + + + +Release Date: July 10, 2007 [eBook #2356] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMMY AND CO.*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1904 Hutchinson and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>TOMMY AND CO.</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +JEROME K. JEROME<br /> +<span class="smcap">author of</span><br /> +“<span class="smcap">paul kelver</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">idle thoughts of an idle +fellow</span>,”<br /> +“<span class="smcap">three men in a boat</span>,” +<span class="smcap">etc.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">london</span><br /> +HUTCHINSON AND CO.<br /> +<span class="smcap">paternoster row</span><br /> +1904</p> +<h2>STORY THE FIRST—Peter Hope plans his Prospectus</h2> +<p>“Come in!” said Peter Hope.</p> +<p>Peter Hope was tall and thin, clean-shaven but for a pair of +side whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below the ear, +with hair of the kind referred to by sympathetic barbers as +“getting a little thin on the top, sir,” but arranged +with economy, that everywhere is poverty’s true +helpmate. About Mr. Peter Hope’s linen, which was +white though somewhat frayed, there was a self-assertiveness that +invariably arrested the attention of even the most casual +observer. Decidedly there was too much of it—its +ostentation aided and abetted by the retiring nature of the +cut-away coat, whose chief aim clearly was to slip off and +disappear behind its owner’s back. “I’m a +poor old thing,” it seemed to say. “I +don’t shine—or, rather, I shine too much among these +up-to-date young modes. I only hamper you. You would +be much more comfortable without me.” To persuade it +to accompany him, its proprietor had to employ force, keeping +fastened the lowest of its three buttons. At every step, it +struggled for its liberty. Another characteristic of +Peter’s, linking him to the past, was his black silk +cravat, secured by a couple of gold pins chained together. +Watching him as he now sat writing, his long legs encased in +tightly strapped grey trousering, crossed beneath the table, the +lamplight falling on his fresh-complexioned face, upon the +shapely hand that steadied the half-written sheet, a stranger +might have rubbed his eyes, wondering by what hallucination he +thus found himself in presence seemingly of some young beau +belonging to the early ’forties; but looking closer, would +have seen the many wrinkles.</p> +<p>“Come in!” repeated Mr. Peter Hope, raising his +voice, but not his eyes.</p> +<p>The door opened, and a small, white face, out of which gleamed +a pair of bright, black eyes, was thrust sideways into the +room.</p> +<p>“Come in!” repeated Mr. Peter Hope for the third +time. “Who is it?”</p> +<p>A hand not over clean, grasping a greasy cloth cap, appeared +below the face.</p> +<p>“Not ready yet,” said Mr. Hope. “Sit +down and wait.”</p> +<p>The door opened wider, and the whole of the figure slid in +and, closing the door behind it, sat itself down upon the extreme +edge of the chair nearest.</p> +<p>“Which are you—<i>Central News</i> or +<i>Courier</i>?” demanded Mr. Peter Hope, but without +looking up from his work.</p> +<p>The bright, black eyes, which had just commenced an +examination of the room by a careful scrutiny of the smoke-grimed +ceiling, descended and fixed themselves upon the one clearly +defined bald patch upon his head that, had he been aware of it, +would have troubled Mr. Peter Hope. But the full, red lips +beneath the turned-up nose remained motionless.</p> +<p>That he had received no answer to his question appeared to +have escaped the attention of Mr. Peter Hope. The thin, +white hand moved steadily to and fro across the paper. +Three more sheets were added to those upon the floor. Then +Mr. Peter Hope pushed back his chair and turned his gaze for the +first time upon his visitor.</p> +<p>To Peter Hope, hack journalist, long familiar with the genus +Printer’s Devil, small white faces, tangled hair, dirty +hands, and greasy caps were common objects in the neighbourhood +of that buried rivulet, the Fleet. But this was a new +species. Peter Hope sought his spectacles, found them after +some trouble under a heap of newspapers, adjusted them upon his +high, arched nose, leant forward, and looked long and up and +down.</p> +<p>“God bless my soul!” said Mr. Peter Hope. +“What is it?”</p> +<p>The figure rose to its full height of five foot one and came +forward slowly.</p> +<p>Over a tight-fitting garibaldi of blue silk, excessively +<i>décolleté</i>, it wore what once had been a +boy’s pepper-and-salt jacket. A worsted comforter +wound round the neck still left a wide expanse of throat showing +above the garibaldi. Below the jacket fell a long, black +skirt, the train of which had been looped up about the waist and +fastened with a cricket-belt.</p> +<p>“Who are you? What do you want?” asked Mr. +Peter Hope.</p> +<p>For answer, the figure, passing the greasy cap into its other +hand, stooped down and, seizing the front of the long skirt, +began to haul it up.</p> +<p>“Don’t do that!” said Mr. Peter Hope. +“I say, you know, you—”</p> +<p>But by this time the skirt had practically disappeared, +leaving to view a pair of much-patched trousers, diving into the +right-hand pocket of which the dirty hand drew forth a folded +paper, which, having opened and smoothed out, it laid upon the +desk.</p> +<p>Mr. Peter Hope pushed up his spectacles till they rested on +his eyebrows, and read aloud—“‘Steak and Kidney +Pie, 4d.; Do. (large size), <i>6d.</i>; Boiled +Mutton—’”</p> +<p>“That’s where I’ve been for the last two +weeks,” said the figure,—“Hammond’s +Eating House!”</p> +<p>The listener noted with surprise that the voice—though +it told him as plainly as if he had risen and drawn aside the red +rep curtains, that outside in Gough Square the yellow fog lay +like the ghost of a dead sea—betrayed no Cockney accent, +found no difficulty with its aitches.</p> +<p>“You ask for Emma. She’ll say a good word +for me. She told me so.”</p> +<p>“But, my good—” Mr. Peter Hope, checking +himself, sought again the assistance of his glasses. The +glasses being unable to decide the point, their owner had to put +the question bluntly:</p> +<p>“Are you a boy or a girl?”</p> +<p>“I dunno.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know!”</p> +<p>“What’s the difference?”</p> +<p>Mr. Peter Hope stood up, and taking the strange figure by the +shoulders, turned it round slowly twice, apparently under the +impression that the process might afford to him some clue. +But it did not.</p> +<p>“What is your name?”</p> +<p>“Tommy.”</p> +<p>“Tommy what?”</p> +<p>“Anything you like. I dunno. I’ve had +so many of ’em.”</p> +<p>“What do you want? What have you come +for?”</p> +<p>“You’re Mr. Hope, ain’t you, second floor, +16, Gough Square?”</p> +<p>“That is my name.”</p> +<p>“You want somebody to do for you?”</p> +<p>“You mean a housekeeper!”</p> +<p>“Didn’t say anything about housekeeper. Said +you wanted somebody to do for you—cook and clean the place +up. Heard ’em talking about it in the shop this +afternoon. Old lady in green bonnet was asking Mother +Hammond if she knew of anyone.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Postwhistle—yes, I did ask her to look out +for someone for me. Why, do you know of anyone? Have +you been sent by anybody?”</p> +<p>“You don’t want anything too ’laborate in +the way o’ cooking? You was a simple old chap, so +they said; not much trouble.”</p> +<p>“No—no. I don’t want +much—someone clean and respectable. But why +couldn’t she come herself? Who is it?”</p> +<p>“Well, what’s wrong about me?”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“Why won’t I do? I can make beds and clean +rooms—all that sort o’ thing. As for cooking, +I’ve got a natural aptitude for it. You ask Emma; +she’ll tell you. You don’t want nothing +’laborate?”</p> +<p>“Elizabeth,” said Mr. Peter Hope, as he crossed +and, taking up the poker, proceeded to stir the fire, “are +we awake or asleep?”</p> +<p>Elizabeth thus appealed to, raised herself on her hind legs +and dug her claws into her master’s thigh. Mr. +Hope’s trousers being thin, it was the most practical +answer she could have given him.</p> +<p>“Done a lot of looking after other people for their +benefit,” continued Tommy. “Don’t see why +I shouldn’t do it for my own.”</p> +<p>“My dear—I do wish I knew whether you were a boy +or a girl. Do you seriously suggest that I should engage +you as my housekeeper?” asked Mr. Peter Hope, now upright +with his back to the fire.</p> +<p>“I’d do for you all right,” persisted +Tommy. “You give me my grub and a shake-down and, +say, sixpence a week, and I’ll grumble less than most of +’em.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mr. Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“You won’t try me?”</p> +<p>“Of course not; you must be mad.”</p> +<p>“All right. No harm done.” The dirty +hand reached out towards the desk, and possessing itself again of +Hammond’s Bill of Fare, commenced the operations necessary +for bearing it away in safety.</p> +<p>“Here’s a shilling for you,” said Mr. Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“Rather not,” said Tommy. “Thanks all +the same.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” said Mr. Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“Rather not,” repeated Tommy. “Never +know where that sort of thing may lead you to.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Mr. Peter Hope, replacing the +coin in his pocket. “Don’t!”</p> +<p>The figure moved towards the door.</p> +<p>“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” said Mr. +Peter Hope irritably.</p> +<p>The figure, with its hand upon the door, stood still.</p> +<p>“Are you going back to Hammond’s?”</p> +<p>“No. I’ve finished there. Only took me +on for a couple o’ weeks, while one of the gals was +ill. She came back this morning.”</p> +<p>“Who are your people?”</p> +<p>Tommy seemed puzzled. “What d’ye +mean?”</p> +<p>“Well, whom do you live with?”</p> +<p>“Nobody.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got nobody to look after you—to take +care of you?”</p> +<p>“Take care of me! D’ye think I’m a +bloomin’ kid?”</p> +<p>“Then where are you going to now?”</p> +<p>“Going? Out.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope’s irritation was growing.</p> +<p>“I mean, where are you going to sleep? Got any +money for a lodging?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve got some money,” answered +Tommy. “But I don’t think much o’ +lodgings. Not a particular nice class as you meet +there. I shall sleep out to-night. +’Tain’t raining.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth uttered a piercing cry.</p> +<p>“Serves you right!” growled Peter savagely. +“How can anyone help treading on you when you will get just +between one’s legs. Told you of it a hundred +times.”</p> +<p>The truth of the matter was that Peter was becoming very angry +with himself. For no reason whatever, as he told himself, +his memory would persist in wandering to Ilford Cemetery, in a +certain desolate corner of which lay a fragile little woman whose +lungs had been but ill adapted to breathing London fogs; with, on +the top of her, a still smaller and still more fragile mite of +humanity that, in compliment to its only relative worth a +penny-piece, had been christened Thomas—a name common +enough in all conscience, as Peter had reminded himself more than +once. In the name of common sense, what had dead and buried +Tommy Hope to do with this affair? The whole thing was the +veriest sentiment, and sentiment was Mr. Peter Hope’s +abomination. Had he not penned articles innumerable +pointing out its baneful influence upon the age? Had he not +always condemned it, wherever he had come across it in play or +book? Now and then the suspicion had crossed Peter’s +mind that, in spite of all this, he was somewhat of a +sentimentalist himself—things had suggested this to +him. The fear had always made him savage.</p> +<p>“You wait here till I come back,” he growled, +seizing the astonished Tommy by the worsted comforter and +spinning it into the centre of the room. “Sit down, +and don’t you dare to move.” And Peter went out +and slammed the door behind him.</p> +<p>“Bit off his chump, ain’t he?” remarked +Tommy to Elizabeth, as the sound of Peter’s descending +footsteps died away. People had a way of addressing remarks +to Elizabeth. Something in her manner invited this.</p> +<p>“Oh, well, it’s all in the day’s +work,” commented Tommy cheerfully, and sat down as bid.</p> +<p>Five minutes passed, maybe ten. Then Peter returned, +accompanied by a large, restful lady, to whom surprise—one +felt it instinctively—had always been, and always would +remain, an unknown quantity.</p> +<p>Tommy rose.</p> +<p>“That’s the—the article,” explained +Peter.</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle compressed her lips and slightly tossed her +head. It was the attitude of not ill-natured contempt from +which she regarded most human affairs.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” said Mrs. Postwhistle; +“I remember seeing ’er there—leastways, it was +an ’er right enough then. What ’ave you done +with your clothes?”</p> +<p>“They weren’t mine,” explained Tommy. +“They were things what Mrs. Hammond had lent me.”</p> +<p>“Is that your own?” asked Mrs. Postwhistle, +indicating the blue silk garibaldi.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“What went with it?”</p> +<p>“Tights. They were too far gone.”</p> +<p>“What made you give up the tumbling business and go to +Mrs. ’Ammond’s?”</p> +<p>“It gave me up. Hurt myself.”</p> +<p>“Who were you with last?”</p> +<p>“Martini troupe.”</p> +<p>“And before that?”</p> +<p>“Oh! heaps of ’em.”</p> +<p>“Nobody ever told you whether you was a boy or a +girl?”</p> +<p>“Nobody as I’d care to believe. Some of them +called me the one, some of them the other. It depended upon +what was wanted.”</p> +<p>“How old are you?”</p> +<p>“I dunno.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle turned to Peter, who was jingling keys.</p> +<p>“Well, there’s the bed upstairs. It’s +for you to decide.”</p> +<p>“What I don’t want to do,” explained Peter, +sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, “is to make a +fool of myself.”</p> +<p>“That’s always a good rule,” agreed Mrs. +Postwhistle, “for those to whom it’s +possible.”</p> +<p>“Anyhow,” said Peter, “one night can’t +do any harm. To-morrow we can think what’s to be +done.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow” had always been Peter’s lucky +day. At the mere mention of the magic date his spirits +invariably rose. He now turned upon Tommy a countenance +from which all hesitation was banished.</p> +<p>“Very well, Tommy,” said Mr. Peter Hope, +“you can sleep here to-night. Go with Mrs. +Postwhistle, and she’ll show you your room.”</p> +<p>The black eyes shone.</p> +<p>“You’re going to give me a trial?”</p> +<p>“We’ll talk about all that to-morrow.” +The black eyes clouded.</p> +<p>“Look here. I tell you straight, it ain’t no +good.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean? What isn’t any +good?” demanded Peter.</p> +<p>“You’ll want to send me to prison.”</p> +<p>“To prison!”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. You’ll call it a school, I +know. You ain’t the first that’s tried that +on. It won’t work.” The bright, black +eyes were flashing passionately. “I ain’t done +any harm. I’m willing to work. I can keep +myself. I always have. What’s it got to do with +anybody else?”</p> +<p>Had the bright, black eyes retained their expression of +passionate defiance, Peter Hope might have retained his common +sense. Only Fate arranged that instead they should suddenly +fill with wild tears. And at sight of them Peter’s +common sense went out of the room disgusted, and there was born +the history of many things.</p> +<p>“Don’t be silly,” said Peter. +“You didn’t understand. Of course I’m +going to give you a trial. You’re going to +‘do’ for me. I merely meant that we’d +leave the details till to-morrow. Come, housekeepers +don’t cry.”</p> +<p>The little wet face looked up.</p> +<p>“You mean it? Honour bright?”</p> +<p>“Honour bright. Now go and wash yourself. +Then you shall get me my supper.”</p> +<p>The odd figure, still heaving from its paroxysm of sobs, stood +up.</p> +<p>“And I have my grub, my lodging, and sixpence a +week?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; I think that’s a fair +arrangement,” agreed Mr. Peter Hope, considering. +“Don’t you, Mrs. Postwhistle?”</p> +<p>“With a frock—or a suit of trousers—thrown +in,” suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. “It’s +generally done.”</p> +<p>“If it’s the custom, certainly,” agreed Mr. +Peter Hope. “Sixpence a week and clothes.”</p> +<p>And this time it was Peter that, in company with Elizabeth, +sat waiting the return of Tommy.</p> +<p>“I rather hope,” said Peter, “it’s a +boy. It was the fogs, you know. If only I could have +afforded to send him away!”</p> +<p>Elizabeth looked thoughtful. The door opened.</p> +<p>“Ah! that’s better, much better,” said Mr. +Peter Hope. “’Pon my word, you look quite +respectable.”</p> +<p>By the practical Mrs. Postwhistle a working agreement, +benefiting both parties, had been arrived at with the +long-trained skirt; while an ample shawl arranged with judgment +disguised the nakedness that lay below. Peter, a fastidious +gentleman, observed with satisfaction that the hands, now clean, +had been well cared for.</p> +<p>“Give me that cap,” said Peter. He threw it +in the glowing fire. It burned brightly, diffusing strange +odours.</p> +<p>“There’s a travelling cap of mine hanging up in +the passage. You can wear that for the present. Take +this half-sovereign and get me some cold meat and beer for +supper. You’ll find everything else you want in that +sideboard or else in the kitchen. Don’t ask me a +hundred questions, and don’t make a noise,” and Peter +went back to his work.</p> +<p>“Good idea, that half-sovereign,” said +Peter. “Shan’t be bothered with ‘Master +Tommy’ any more, don’t expect. Starting a +nursery at our time of life. Madness.” +Peter’s pen scratched and spluttered. Elizabeth kept +an eye upon the door.</p> +<p>“Quarter of an hour,” said Peter, looking at his +watch. “Told you so.” The article on +which Peter was now engaged appeared to be of a worrying +nature.</p> +<p>“Then why,” said Peter, “why did he refuse +that shilling? Artfulness,” concluded Peter, +“pure artfulness. Elizabeth, old girl, we’ve +got out of this business cheaply. Good idea, that +half-sovereign.” Peter gave vent to a chuckle that +had the effect of alarming Elizabeth.</p> +<p>But luck evidently was not with Peter that night.</p> +<p>“Pingle’s was sold out,” explained Tommy, +entering with parcels; “had to go to Bow’s in +Farringdon Street.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Peter, without looking up.</p> +<p>Tommy passed through into the little kitchen behind. +Peter wrote on rapidly, making up for lost time.</p> +<p>“Good!” murmured Peter, smiling to himself, +“that’s a neat phrase. That ought to irritate +them.”</p> +<p>Now, as he wrote, while with noiseless footsteps Tommy, unseen +behind him, moved to and fro and in and out the little kitchen, +there came to Peter Hope this very curious experience: it felt to +him as if for a long time he had been ill—so ill as not +even to have been aware of it—and that now he was beginning +to be himself again; consciousness of things returning to +him. This solidly furnished, long, oak-panelled room with +its air of old-world dignity and repose—this sober, kindly +room in which for more than half his life he had lived and +worked—why had he forgotten it? It came forward +greeting him with an amused smile, as of some old friend long +parted from. The faded photos, in stiff, wooden frames upon +the chimney-piece, among them that of the fragile little woman +with the unadaptable lungs.</p> +<p>“God bless my soul!” said Mr. Peter Hope, pushing +back his chair. “It’s thirty years ago. +How time does fly! Why, let me see, I must +be—”</p> +<p>“D’you like it with a head on it?” demanded +Tommy, who had been waiting patiently for signs.</p> +<p>Peter shook himself awake and went to his supper.</p> +<p>A bright idea occurred to Peter in the night. “Of +course; why didn’t I think of it before? Settle the +question at once.” Peter fell into an easy sleep.</p> +<p>“Tommy,” said Peter, as he sat himself down to +breakfast the next morning. “By-the-by,” asked +Peter with a puzzled expression, putting down his cup, +“what is this?”</p> +<p>“Cauffee,” informed him Tommy. “You +said cauffee.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” replied Peter. “For the future, +Tommy, if you don’t mind, I will take tea of a +morning.”</p> +<p>“All the same to me,” explained the agreeable +Tommy, “it’s your breakfast.”</p> +<p>“What I was about to say,” continued Peter, +“was that you’re not looking very well, +Tommy.”</p> +<p>“I’m all right,” asserted Tommy; +“never nothing the matter with me.”</p> +<p>“Not that you know of, perhaps; but one can be in a very +bad way, Tommy, without being aware of it. I cannot have +anyone about me that I am not sure is in thoroughly sound +health.”</p> +<p>“If you mean you’ve changed your mind and want to +get rid of me—” began Tommy, with its chin in the +air.</p> +<p>“I don’t want any of your uppishness,” +snapped Peter, who had wound himself up for the occasion to a +degree of assertiveness that surprised even himself. +“If you are a thoroughly strong and healthy person, as I +think you are, I shall be very glad to retain your +services. But upon that point I must be satisfied. It +is the custom,” explained Peter. “It is always +done in good families. Run round to this +address”—Peter wrote it upon a leaf of his +notebook—“and ask Dr. Smith to come and see me before +he begins his round. You go at once, and don’t let us +have any argument.”</p> +<p>“That is the way to talk to that young +person—clearly,” said Peter to himself, listening to +Tommy’s footsteps dying down the stairs.</p> +<p>Hearing the street-door slam, Peter stole into the kitchen and +brewed himself a cup of coffee.</p> +<p>Dr. Smith, who had commenced life as Herr Schmidt, but who in +consequence of difference of opinion with his Government was now +an Englishman with strong Tory prejudices, had but one sorrow: it +was that strangers would mistake him for a foreigner. He +was short and stout, with bushy eyebrows and a grey moustache, +and looked so fierce that children cried when they saw him, until +he patted them on the head and addressed them as “mein +leedle frent” in a voice so soft and tender that they had +to leave off howling just to wonder where it came from. He +and Peter, who was a vehement Radical, had been cronies for many +years, and had each an indulgent contempt for the other’s +understanding, tempered by a sincere affection for one another +they would have found it difficult to account for.</p> +<p>“What tink you is de matter wid de leedle wench?” +demanded Dr. Smith, Peter having opened the case. Peter +glanced round the room. The kitchen door was closed.</p> +<p>“How do you know it’s a wench?”</p> +<p>The eyes beneath the bushy brows grew rounder. “If +id is not a wench, why dress it—”</p> +<p>“Haven’t dressed it,” interrupted +Peter. “Just what I’m waiting to do—so +soon as I know.”</p> +<p>And Peter recounted the events of the preceding evening.</p> +<p>Tears gathered in the doctor’s small, round eyes. +His absurd sentimentalism was the quality in his friend that most +irritated Peter.</p> +<p>“Poor leedle waif!” murmured the soft-hearted old +gentleman. “Id was de good Providence dat guided +her—or him, whichever id be.”</p> +<p>“Providence be hanged!” snarled Peter. +“What was my Providence doing—landing me with a +gutter-brat to look after?”</p> +<p>“So like you Radicals,” sneered the doctor, +“to despise a fellow human creature just because id may not +have been born in burble and fine linen.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t send for you to argue politics,” +retorted Peter, controlling his indignation by an effort. +“I want you to tell me whether it’s a boy or a girl, +so that I may know what to do with it.”</p> +<p>“What mean you to do wid id?” inquired the +doctor.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” confessed Peter. +“If it’s a boy, as I rather think it is, maybe +I’ll be able to find it a place in one of the +offices—after I’ve taught it a little +civilisation.”</p> +<p>“And if id be a girl?”</p> +<p>“How can it be a girl when it wears trousers?” +demanded Peter. “Why anticipate +difficulties?”</p> +<p>Peter, alone, paced to and fro the room, his hands behind his +back, his ear on the alert to catch the slightest sound from +above.</p> +<p>“I do hope it is a boy,” said Peter, glancing +up.</p> +<p>Peter’s eyes rested on the photo of the fragile little +woman gazing down at him from its stiff frame upon the +chimney-piece. Thirty years ago, in this same room, Peter +had paced to and fro, his hands behind his back, his ear alert to +catch the slightest sound from above, had said to himself the +same words.</p> +<p>“It’s odd,” mused Peter—“very +odd indeed.”</p> +<p>The door opened. The stout doctor, preceded at a little +distance by his watch-chain, entered and closed the door behind +him.</p> +<p>“A very healthy child,” said the doctor, “as +fine a child as any one could wish to see. A +girl.”</p> +<p>The two old gentlemen looked at one another. Elizabeth, +possibly relieved in her mind, began to purr.</p> +<p>“What am I to do with it?” demanded Peter.</p> +<p>“A very awkward bosition for you,” agreed the +sympathetic doctor.</p> +<p>“I was a fool!” declared Peter.</p> +<p>“You haf no one here to look after de leedle wench when +you are away,” pointed out the thoughtful doctor.</p> +<p>“And from what I’ve seen of the imp,” added +Peter, “it will want some looking after.”</p> +<p>“I tink—I tink,” said the helpful doctor, +“I see a way out!”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>The doctor thrust his fierce face forward and tapped knowingly +with his right forefinger the right side of his round nose. +“I will take charge of de leedle wench.”</p> +<p>“You?”</p> +<p>“To me de case will not present de same +difficulties. I haf a housekeeper.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Mrs. Whateley.”</p> +<p>“She is a goot woman when you know her,” explained +the doctor. “She only wants managing.”</p> +<p>“Pooh!” ejaculated Peter.</p> +<p>“Why do you say dat?” inquired the doctor.</p> +<p>“You! bringing up a headstrong girl. The +idea!”</p> +<p>“I should be kind, but firm.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know her.”</p> +<p>“How long haf you known her?”</p> +<p>“Anyhow, I’m not a soft-hearted sentimentalist +that would just ruin the child.”</p> +<p>“Girls are not boys,” persisted the doctor; +“dey want different treatment.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not a brute!” snarled +Peter. “Besides, suppose she turns out rubbish! +What do you know about her?”</p> +<p>“I take my chance,” agreed the generous +doctor.</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t be fair,” retorted honest +Peter.</p> +<p>“Tink it over,” said the doctor. “A +place is never home widout de leedle feet. We Englishmen +love de home. You are different. You haf no +sentiment.”</p> +<p>“I cannot help feeling,” explained Peter, “a +sense of duty in this matter. The child came to me. +It is as if this thing had been laid upon me.”</p> +<p>“If you look upon id dat way, Peter,” sighed the +doctor.</p> +<p>“With sentiment,” went on Peter, “I have +nothing to do; but duty—duty is quite another +thing.” Peter, feeling himself an ancient Roman, +thanked the doctor and shook hands with him.</p> +<p>Tommy, summoned, appeared.</p> +<p>“The doctor, Tommy,” said Peter, without looking +up from his writing, “gives a very satisfactory account of +you. So you can stop.”</p> +<p>“Told you so,” returned Tommy. “Might +have saved your money.”</p> +<p>“But we shall have to find you another name.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“If you are to be a housekeeper, you must be a +girl.”</p> +<p>“Don’t like girls.”</p> +<p>“Can’t say I think much of them myself, +Tommy. We must make the best of it. To begin with, we +must get you proper clothes.”</p> +<p>“Hate skirts. They hamper you.”</p> +<p>“Tommy,” said Peter severely, “don’t +argue.”</p> +<p>“Pointing out facts ain’t arguing,” argued +Tommy. “They do hamper you. You try +’em.”</p> +<p>The clothes were quickly made, and after a while they came to +fit; but the name proved more difficult of adjustment. A +sweet-faced, laughing lady, known to fame by a title respectable +and orthodox, appears an honoured guest to-day at many a literary +gathering. But the old fellows, pressing round, still call +her “Tommy.”</p> +<p>The week’s trial came to an end. Peter, whose +digestion was delicate, had had a happy thought.</p> +<p>“What I propose, Tommy—I mean Jane,” said +Peter, “is that we should get in a woman to do just the +mere cooking. That will give you more time to—to +attend to other things, Tommy—Jane, I mean.”</p> +<p>“What other things?” chin in the air.</p> +<p>“The—the keeping of the rooms in order, +Tommy. The—the dusting.”</p> +<p>“Don’t want twenty-four hours a day to dust four +rooms.”</p> +<p>“Then there are messages, Tommy. It would be a +great advantage to me to have someone I could send on a message +without feeling I was interfering with the housework.”</p> +<p>“What are you driving at?” demanded Tommy. +“Why, I don’t have half enough to do as it is. +I can do all—”</p> +<p>Peter put his foot down. “When I say a thing, I +mean a thing. The sooner you understand that, the +better. How dare you argue with me! +Fiddle-de-dee!” For two pins Peter would have +employed an expletive even stronger, so determined was he +feeling.</p> +<p>Tommy without another word left the room. Peter looked +at Elizabeth and winked.</p> +<p>Poor Peter! His triumph was short-lived. Five +minutes later, Tommy returned, clad in the long, black skirt, +supported by the cricket belt, the blue garibaldi cut +<i>décolleté</i>, the pepper-and-salt jacket, the +worsted comforter, the red lips very tightly pressed, the long +lashes over the black eyes moving very rapidly.</p> +<p>“Tommy” (severely), “what is this +tomfoolery?”</p> +<p>“I understand. I ain’t no good to you. +Thanks for giving me a trial. My fault.”</p> +<p>“Tommy” (less severely), “don’t be an +idiot.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t an idiot. ’Twas Emma. +Told me I was good at cooking. Said I’d got an +aptitude for it. She meant well.”</p> +<p>“Tommy” (no trace of severity), “sit +down. Emma was quite right. Your cooking is—is +promising. As Emma puts it, you have aptitude. +Your—perseverance, your hopefulness proves it.”</p> +<p>“Then why d’ye want to get someone else in to do +it?”</p> +<p>If Peter could have answered truthfully! If Peter could +have replied:</p> +<p>“My dear, I am a lonely old gentleman. I did not +know it until—until the other day. Now I cannot +forget it again. Wife and child died many years ago. +I was poor, or I might have saved them. That made me +hard. The clock of my life stood still. I hid away +the key. I did not want to think. You crept to me out +of the cruel fog, awakened old dreams. Do not go away any +more”—perhaps Tommy, in spite of her fierce +independence, would have consented to be useful; and thus Peter +might have gained his end at less cost of indigestion. But +the penalty for being an anti-sentimentalist is that you must not +talk like this even to yourself. So Peter had to cast about +for other methods.</p> +<p>“Why shouldn’t I keep two servants if I +like?” It did seem hard on the old gentleman.</p> +<p>“What’s the sense of paying two to do the work of +one? You would only be keeping me on out of +charity.” The black eyes flashed. “I +ain’t a beggar.”</p> +<p>“And you really think, Tommy—I should say Jane, +you can manage the—the whole of it? You won’t +mind being sent on a message, perhaps in the very middle of your +cooking. It was that I was thinking of, Tommy—some +cooks would.”</p> +<p>“You go easy,” advised him Tommy, “till I +complain of having too much to do.”</p> +<p>Peter returned to his desk. Elizabeth looked up. +It seemed to Peter that Elizabeth winked.</p> +<p>The fortnight that followed was a period of trouble to Peter, +for Tommy, her suspicions having been aroused, was sceptical of +“business” demanding that Peter should dine with this +man at the club, lunch with this editor at the Cheshire +Cheese. At once the chin would go up into the air, the +black eyes cloud threateningly. Peter, an unmarried man for +thirty years, lacking experience, would under cross-examination +contradict himself, become confused, break down over essential +points.</p> +<p>“Really,” grumbled Peter to himself one evening, +sawing at a mutton chop, “really there’s no other +word for it—I’m henpecked.”</p> +<p>Peter that day had looked forward to a little dinner at a +favourite restaurant, with his “dear old friend +Blenkinsopp, a bit of a gourmet, Tommy—that means a man who +likes what you would call elaborate +cooking!”—forgetful at the moment that he had used up +“Blenkinsopp” three days before for a farewell +supper, “Blenkinsopp” having to set out the next +morning for Egypt. Peter was not facile at invention. +Names in particular had always been a difficulty to him.</p> +<p>“I like a spirit of independence,” continued Peter +to himself. “Wish she hadn’t quite so much of +it. Wonder where she got it from.”</p> +<p>The situation was becoming more serious to Peter than he cared +to admit. For day by day, in spite of her tyrannies, Tommy +was growing more and more indispensable to Peter. Tommy was +the first audience that for thirty years had laughed at +Peter’s jokes; Tommy was the first public that for thirty +years had been convinced that Peter was the most brilliant +journalist in Fleet Street; Tommy was the first anxiety that for +thirty years had rendered it needful that Peter each night should +mount stealthily the creaking stairs, steal with shaded candle to +a bedside. If only Tommy wouldn’t “do” +for him! If only she could be persuaded to “do” +something else.</p> +<p>Another happy thought occurred to Peter.</p> +<p>“Tommy—I mean Jane,” said Peter, “I +know what I’ll do with you.”</p> +<p>“What’s the game now?”</p> +<p>“I’ll make a journalist of you.”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk rot.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t rot. Besides, I won’t have +you answer me like that. As a Devil—that means, +Tommy, the unseen person in the background that helps a +journalist to do his work—you would be invaluable to +me. It would pay me, Tommy—pay me very +handsomely. I should make money out of you.”</p> +<p>This appeared to be an argument that Tommy understood. +Peter, with secret delight, noticed that the chin retained its +normal level.</p> +<p>“I did help a chap to sell papers, once,” +remembered Tommy; “he said I was fly at it.”</p> +<p>“I told you so,” exclaimed Peter +triumphantly. “The methods are different, but the +instinct required is the same. We will get a woman in to +relieve you of the housework.”</p> +<p>The chin shot up into the air.</p> +<p>“I could do it in my spare time.”</p> +<p>“You see, Tommy, I should want you to go about with +me—to be always with me.”</p> +<p>“Better try me first. Maybe you’re making an +error.”</p> +<p>Peter was learning the wisdom of the serpent.</p> +<p>“Quite right, Tommy. We will first see what you +can do. Perhaps, after all, it may turn out that you are +better as a cook.” In his heart Peter doubted +this.</p> +<p>But the seed had fallen upon good ground. It was Tommy +herself that manoeuvred her first essay in journalism. A +great man had come to London—was staying in apartments +especially prepared for him in St. James’s Palace. +Said every journalist in London to himself: “If I could +obtain an interview with this Big Man, what a big thing it would +be for me!” For a week past, Peter had carried +everywhere about with him a paper headed: “Interview of Our +Special Correspondent with Prince Blank,” questions down +left-hand column, very narrow; space for answers right-hand side, +very wide. But the Big Man was experienced.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” said Peter, spreading the neatly +folded paper on the desk before him, “I wonder if there can +be any way of getting at him—any dodge or trick, any piece +of low cunning, any plausible lie that I haven’t thought +of.”</p> +<p>“Old Man Martin—called himself Martini—was +just such another,” commented Tommy. “Come pay +time, Saturday afternoon, you just couldn’t get at +him—simply wasn’t any way. I was a bit too good +for him once, though,” remembered Tommy, with a touch of +pride in her voice; “got half a quid out of him that +time. It did surprise him.”</p> +<p>“No,” communed Peter to himself aloud, “I +don’t honestly think there can be any method, creditable or +discreditable, that I haven’t tried.” Peter +flung the one-sided interview into the wastepaper-basket, and +slipping his notebook into his pocket, departed to drink tea with +a lady novelist, whose great desire, as stated in a postscript to +her invitation, was to avoid publicity, if possible.</p> +<p>Tommy, as soon as Peter’s back was turned, fished it out +again.</p> +<p>An hour later in the fog around St. James’s Palace stood +an Imp, clad in patched trousers and a pepper-and-salt jacket +turned up about the neck, gazing with admiring eyes upon the +sentry.</p> +<p>“Now, then, young seventeen-and-sixpence the +soot,” said the sentry, “what do you want?”</p> +<p>“Makes you a bit anxious, don’t it,” +suggested the Imp, “having a big pot like him to look +after?”</p> +<p>“Does get a bit on yer mind, if yer thinks about +it,” agreed the sentry.</p> +<p>“How do you find him to talk to, like?”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the sentry, bringing his right leg +into action for the purpose of relieving his left, +“ain’t ’ad much to do with ’im myself, +not person’ly, as yet. Oh, ’e ain’t a bad +sort when yer know ’im.”</p> +<p>“That’s his shake-down, ain’t it?” +asked the Imp, “where the lights are.”</p> +<p>“That’s it,” admitted sentry. +“You ain’t an Anarchist? Tell me if you +are.”</p> +<p>“I’ll let you know if I feel it coming on,” +the Imp assured him.</p> +<p>Had the sentry been a man of swift and penetrating +observation—which he wasn’t—he might have asked +the question in more serious a tone. For he would have +remarked that the Imp’s black eyes were resting lovingly +upon a rain-water-pipe, giving to a skilful climber easy access +to the terrace underneath the Prince’s windows.</p> +<p>“I would like to see him,” said the Imp.</p> +<p>“Friend o’ yours?” asked the sentry.</p> +<p>“Well, not exactly,” admitted the Imp. +“But there, you know, everybody’s talking about him +down our street.”</p> +<p>“Well, yer’ll ’ave to be quick about +it,” said the sentry. “’E’s off +to-night.”</p> +<p>Tommy’s face fell. “I thought it +wasn’t till Friday morning.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said the sentry, “that’s what +the papers say, is it?” The sentry’s voice took +unconsciously the accent of those from whom no secret is +hid. “I’ll tell yer what yer can do,” +continued the sentry, enjoying an unaccustomed sense of +importance. The sentry glanced left, then right. +“’E’s a slipping off all by ’imself down +to Osborne by the 6.40 from Waterloo. Nobody knows +it—’cept, o’ course, just a few of us. +That’s ’is way all over. ’E just +’ates—”</p> +<p>A footstep sounded down the corridor. The sentry became +statuesque.</p> +<p>At Waterloo, Tommy inspected the 6.40 train. Only one +compartment indicated possibilities, an extra large one at the +end of the coach next the guard’s van. It was +labelled “Reserved,” and in the place of the usual +fittings was furnished with a table and four easy-chairs. +Having noticed its position, Tommy took a walk up the platform +and disappeared into the fog.</p> +<p>Twenty minutes later, Prince Blank stepped hurriedly across +the platform, unnoticed save by half a dozen obsequious +officials, and entered the compartment reserved for him. +The obsequious officials bowed. Prince Blank, in military +fashion, raised his hand. The 6.40 steamed out slowly.</p> +<p>Prince Blank, who was a stout gentleman, though he tried to +disguise the fact, seldom found himself alone. When he did, +he generally indulged himself in a little healthy +relaxation. With two hours’ run to Southampton before +him, free from all possibility of intrusion, Prince Blank let +loose the buttons of his powerfully built waistcoat, rested his +bald head on the top of his chair, stretched his great legs +across another, and closed his terrible, small eyes.</p> +<p>For an instant it seemed to Prince Blank that a draught had +entered into the carriage. As, however, the sensation +immediately passed away, he did not trouble to wake up. +Then the Prince dreamed that somebody was in the carriage with +him—was sitting opposite to him. This being an +annoying sort of dream, the Prince opened his eyes for the +purpose of dispelling it. There was somebody sitting +opposite to him—a very grimy little person, wiping blood +off its face and hands with a dingy handkerchief. Had the +Prince been a man capable of surprise, he would have been +surprised.</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” assured him Tommy. +“I ain’t here to do any harm. I ain’t an +Anarchist.”</p> +<p>The Prince, by a muscular effort, retired some four or five +inches and commenced to rebutton his waistcoat.</p> +<p>“How did you get here?” asked the Prince.</p> +<p>“’Twas a bigger job than I’d reckoned +on,” admitted Tommy, seeking a dry inch in the smeared +handkerchief, and finding none. “But that don’t +matter,” added Tommy cheerfully, “now I’m +here.”</p> +<p>“If you do not wish me to hand you over to the police at +Southampton, you had better answer my questions,” remarked +the Prince drily.</p> +<p>Tommy was not afraid of princes, but in the lexicon of her +harassed youth “Police” had always been a word of +dread.</p> +<p>“I wanted to get at you.”</p> +<p>“I gather that.”</p> +<p>“There didn’t seem any other way. It’s +jolly difficult to get at you. You’re so jolly +artful.”</p> +<p>“Tell me how you managed it.”</p> +<p>“There’s a little bridge for signals just outside +Waterloo. I could see that the train would have to pass +under it. So I climbed up and waited. It being a +foggy night, you see, nobody twigged me. I say, you are +Prince Blank, ain’t you?”</p> +<p>“I am Prince Blank.”</p> +<p>“Should have been mad if I’d landed the wrong +man.”</p> +<p>“Go on.”</p> +<p>“I knew which was your carriage—leastways, I +guessed it; and as it came along, I did a drop.” +Tommy spread out her arms and legs to illustrate the +action. “The lamps, you know,” explained Tommy, +still dabbing at her face—“one of them caught +me.”</p> +<p>“And from the roof?”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, it was easy after that. There’s +an iron thing at the back, and steps. You’ve only got +to walk downstairs and round the corner, and there you are. +Bit of luck your other door not being locked. I +hadn’t thought of that. Haven’t got such a +thing as a handkerchief about you, have you?”</p> +<p>The Prince drew one from his sleeve and passed it to +her. “You mean to tell me, boy—”</p> +<p>“Ain’t a boy,” explained Tommy. +“I’m a girl!”</p> +<p>She said it sadly. Deeming her new friends such as could +be trusted, Tommy had accepted their statement that she really +was a girl. But for many a long year to come the thought of +her lost manhood tinged her voice with bitterness.</p> +<p>“A girl!”</p> +<p>Tommy nodded her head.</p> +<p>“Umph!” said the Prince; “I have heard a +good deal about the English girl. I was beginning to think +it exaggerated. Stand up.”</p> +<p>Tommy obeyed. It was not altogether her way; but with +those eyes beneath their shaggy brows bent upon her, it seemed +the simplest thing to do.</p> +<p>“So. And now that you are here, what do you +want?”</p> +<p>“To interview you.”</p> +<p>Tommy drew forth her list of questions.</p> +<p>The shaggy brows contracted.</p> +<p>“Who put you up to this absurdity? Who was +it? Tell me at once.”</p> +<p>“Nobody.”</p> +<p>“Don’t lie to me. His name?”</p> +<p>The terrible, small eyes flashed fire. But Tommy also +had a pair of eyes. Before their blaze of indignation the +great man positively quailed. This type of opponent was new +to him.</p> +<p>“I’m not lying.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said the Prince.</p> +<p>And at this point it occurred to the Prince, who being really +a great man, had naturally a sense of humour, that a conference +conducted on these lines between the leading statesman of an +Empire and an impertinent hussy of, say, twelve years old at the +outside, might end by becoming ridiculous. So the Prince +took up his chair and put it down again beside Tommy’s, and +employing skilfully his undoubted diplomatic gifts, drew from her +bit by bit the whole story.</p> +<p>“I’m inclined, Miss Jane,” said the Great +Man, the story ended, “to agree with our friend Mr. +Hope. I should say your <i>métier</i> was +journalism.”</p> +<p>“And you’ll let me interview you?” asked +Tommy, showing her white teeth.</p> +<p>The Great Man, laying a hand heavier than he guessed on +Tommy’s shoulder, rose. “I think you are +entitled to it.”</p> +<p>“What’s your views?” demanded Tommy, +reading, “of the future political and social +relationships—”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” suggested the Great Man, “it will +be simpler if I write it myself.”</p> +<p>“Well,” concurred Tommy; “my spelling is a +bit rocky.”</p> +<p>The Great Man drew a chair to the table.</p> +<p>“You won’t miss out anything—will +you?” insisted Tommy.</p> +<p>“I shall endeavour, Miss Jane, to give you no cause for +complaint,” gravely he assured her, and sat down to +write.</p> +<p>Not till the train began to slacken speed had the Prince +finished. Then, blotting and refolding the paper, he stood +up.</p> +<p>“I have added some instructions on the back of the last +page,” explained the Prince, “to which you will draw +Mr. Hope’s particular attention. I would wish you to +promise me, Miss Jane, never again to have recourse to dangerous +acrobatic tricks, not even in the sacred cause of +journalism.”</p> +<p>“Of course, if you hadn’t been so jolly difficult +to get at—”</p> +<p>“My fault, I know,” agreed the Prince. +“There is not the least doubt as to which sex you belong +to. Nevertheless, I want you to promise me. +Come,” urged the Prince, “I have done a good deal for +you—more than you know.”</p> +<p>“All right,” consented Tommy a little +sulkily. Tommy hated making promises, because she always +kept them. “I promise.”</p> +<p>“There is your Interview.” The first +Southampton platform lamp shone in upon the Prince and Tommy as +they stood facing one another. The Prince, who had acquired +the reputation, not altogether unjustly, of an ill-tempered and +savage old gentleman, did a strange thing: taking the little, +blood-smeared face between his paws, he kissed it. Tommy +always remembered the smoky flavour of the bristly grey +moustache.</p> +<p>“One thing more,” said the Prince +sternly—“not a word of all this. Don’t +open your mouth to speak of it till you are back in Gough +Square.”</p> +<p>“Do you take me for a mug?” answered Tommy.</p> +<p>They behaved very oddly to Tommy after the Prince had +disappeared. Everybody took a deal of trouble for her, but +none of them seemed to know why they were doing it. They +looked at her and went away, and came again and looked at +her. And the more they thought about it, the more puzzled +they became. Some of them asked her questions, but what +Tommy really didn’t know, added to what she didn’t +mean to tell, was so prodigious that Curiosity itself paled at +contemplation of it.</p> +<p>They washed and brushed her up and gave her an excellent +supper; and putting her into a first-class compartment labelled +“Reserved,” sent her back to Waterloo, and thence in +a cab to Gough Square, where she arrived about midnight, +suffering from a sense of self-importance, traces of which to +this day are still discernible.</p> +<p>Such and thus was the beginning of all things. Tommy, +having talked for half an hour at the rate of two hundred words a +minute, had suddenly dropped her head upon the table, had been +aroused with difficulty and persuaded to go to bed. Peter, +in the deep easy-chair before the fire, sat long into the +night. Elizabeth, liking quiet company, purred +softly. Out of the shadows crept to Peter Hope an old +forgotten dream—the dream of a wonderful new Journal, price +one penny weekly, of which the Editor should come to be one +Thomas Hope, son of Peter Hope, its honoured Founder and +Originator: a powerful Journal that should supply a long-felt +want, popular, but at the same time elevating—a pleasure to +the public, a profit to its owners. “Do you not +remember me?” whispered the Dream. “We had long +talks together. The morning and the noonday pass. The +evening still is ours. The twilight also brings its +promise.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth stopped purring and looked up surprised. Peter +was laughing to himself.</p> +<h2>STORY THE SECOND—William Clodd appoints himself +Managing Director</h2> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle sat on a Windsor-chair in the centre of Rolls +Court. Mrs. Postwhistle, who, in the days of her Hebehood, +had been likened by admiring frequenters of the old Mitre in +Chancery Lane to the ladies, somewhat emaciated, that an English +artist, since become famous, was then commencing to popularise, +had developed with the passing years, yet still retained a face +of placid youthfulness. The two facts, taken in +conjunction, had resulted in an asset to her income not to be +despised. The wanderer through Rolls Court this +summer’s afternoon, presuming him to be familiar with +current journalism, would have retired haunted by the sense that +the restful-looking lady on the Windsor-chair was someone that he +ought to know. Glancing through almost any illustrated +paper of the period, the problem would have been solved for +him. A photograph of Mrs. Postwhistle, taken quite +recently, he would have encountered with this legend: +“<i>Before</i> use of Professor Hardtop’s certain +cure for corpulency.” Beside it a photograph of Mrs. +Postwhistle, then Arabella Higgins, taken twenty years ago, the +legend slightly varied: “<i>After</i> use,” +etc. The face was the same, the figure—there was no +denying it—had undergone decided alteration.</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle had reached with her chair the centre of +Rolls Court in course of following the sun. The little +shop, over the lintel of which ran: “Timothy Postwhistle, +Grocer and Provision Merchant,” she had left behind her in +the shadow. Old inhabitants of St. Dunstan-in-the-West +retained recollection of a gentlemanly figure, always in a very +gorgeous waistcoat, with Dundreary whiskers, to be seen +occasionally there behind the counter. All customers it +would refer, with the air of a Lord High Chamberlain introducing +<i>débutantes</i>, to Mrs. Postwhistle, evidently +regarding itself purely as ornamental. For the last ten +years, however, no one had noticed it there, and Mrs. Postwhistle +had a facility amounting almost to genius for ignoring or +misunderstanding questions it was not to her taste to +answer. Most things were suspected, nothing known. +St. Dunstan-in-the-West had turned to other problems.</p> +<p>“If I wasn’t wanting to see ’im,” +remarked to herself Mrs. Postwhistle, who was knitting with one +eye upon the shop, “’e’d a been ’ere +’fore I’d ’ad time to clear the dinner things +away; certain to ’ave been. It’s a strange +world.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle was desirous for the arrival of a gentleman +not usually awaited with impatience by the ladies of Rolls +Court—to wit, one William Clodd, rent-collector, whose day +for St. Dunstan-in-the-West was Tuesday.</p> +<p>“At last,” said Mrs. Postwhistle, though without +hope that Mr. Clodd, who had just appeared at the other end of +the court, could possibly hear her. “Was beginning to +be afraid as you’d tumbled over yerself in your ’urry +and ’urt yerself.”</p> +<p>Mr. Clodd, perceiving Mrs. Postwhistle, decided to abandon +method and take No. 7 first.</p> +<p>Mr. Clodd was a short, thick-set, bullet-headed young man, +with ways that were bustling, and eyes that, though kind, +suggested trickiness.</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Clodd admiringly, as he pocketed +the six half-crowns that the lady handed up to him. +“If only they were all like you, Mrs. +Postwhistle!”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t be no need of chaps like you to worry +’em,” pointed out Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“It’s an irony of fate, my being a rent-collector, +when you come to think of it,” remarked Mr. Clodd, writing +out the receipt. “If I had my way, I’d put an +end to landlordism, root and branch. Curse of the +country.”</p> +<p>“Just the very thing I wanted to talk to you +about,” returned the lady—“that lodger o’ +mine.”</p> +<p>“Ah! don’t pay, don’t he? You just +hand him over to me. I’ll soon have it out of +him.”</p> +<p>“It’s not that,” explained Mrs. +Postwhistle. “If a Saturday morning ’appened to +come round as ’e didn’t pay up without me asking, I +should know I’d made a mistake—that it must be +Friday. If I don’t ’appen to be in at +’alf-past ten, ’e puts it in an envelope and leaves +it on the table.”</p> +<p>“Wonder if his mother has got any more like him?” +mused Mr. Clodd. “Could do with a few about this +neighbourhood. What is it you want to say about him, +then? Merely to brag about him?”</p> +<p>“I wanted to ask you,” continued Mrs. Postwhistle, +“’ow I could get rid of ’im. It was +rather a curious agreement.”</p> +<p>“Why do you want to get rid of him? Too +noisy?”</p> +<p>“Noisy! Why, the cat makes more noise about the +’ouse than ’e does. ’E’d make +’is fortune as a burglar.”</p> +<p>“Come home late?”</p> +<p>“Never known ’im out after the shutters are +up.”</p> +<p>“Gives you too much trouble then?”</p> +<p>“I can’t say that of ’im. Never know +whether ’e’s in the ’ouse or isn’t, +without going upstairs and knocking at the door.”</p> +<p>“Here, you tell it your own way,” suggested the +bewildered Clodd. “If it was anyone else but you, I +should say you didn’t know your own business.”</p> +<p>“’E gets on my nerves,” said Mrs. +Postwhistle. “You ain’t in a ’urry for +five minutes?”</p> +<p>Mr. Clodd was always in a hurry. “But I can forget +it talking to you,” added the gallant Mr. Clodd.</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle led the way into the little parlour.</p> +<p>“Just the name of it,” consented Mr. Clodd. +“Cheerfulness combined with temperance; that’s the +ideal.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what ’appened only last +night,” commenced Mrs. Postwhistle, seating herself the +opposite side of the loo-table. “A letter came for +’im by the seven o’clock post. I’d seen +’im go out two hours before, and though I’d been +sitting in the shop the whole blessed time, I never saw or +’eard ’im pass through. E’s like +that. It’s like ’aving a ghost for a +lodger. I opened ’is door without knocking and went +in. If you’ll believe me, ’e was clinging with +’is arms and legs to the top of the +bedstead—it’s one of those old-fashioned, four-post +things—’is ’ead touching the ceiling. +’E ’adn’t got too much clothes on, and was +cracking nuts with ’is teeth and eating ’em. +’E threw a ’andful of shells at me, and making the +most awful faces at me, started off gibbering softly to +himself.”</p> +<p>“All play, I suppose? No real vice?” +commented the interested Mr. Clodd.</p> +<p>“It will go on for a week, that will,” continued +Mrs. Postwhistle—“’e fancying ’imself a +monkey. Last week he was a tortoise, and was crawling about +on his stomach with a tea-tray tied on to ’is back. +’E’s as sensible as most men, if that’s saying +much, the moment ’e’s outside the front door; but in +the ’ouse—well, I suppose the fact is that +’e’s a lunatic.”</p> +<p>“Don’t seem no hiding anything from you,” +Mrs. Postwhistle remarked Mr. Clodd in tones of admiration. +“Does he ever get violent?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know what ’e would be like if +’e ’appened to fancy ’imself something really +dangerous,” answered Mrs. Postwhistle. “I am a +bit nervous of this new monkey game, I don’t mind +confessing to you—the things that they do according to the +picture-books. Up to now, except for imagining +’imself a mole, and taking all his meals underneath the +carpet, it’s been mostly birds and cats and ’armless +sort o’ things I ’aven’t seemed to mind so +much.”</p> +<p>“How did you get hold of him?” demanded Mr. +Clodd. “Have much trouble in finding him, or did +somebody come and tell you about him?”</p> +<p>“Old Gladman, of Chancery Lane, the law stationer, +brought ’im ’ere one evening about two months +ago—said ’e was a sort of distant relative of +’is, a bit soft in the ’ead, but perfectly +’armless—wanted to put ’im with someone who +wouldn’t impose on ’im. Well, what between +’aving been empty for over five weeks, the poor old gaby +’imself looking as gentle as a lamb, and the figure being +reasonable, I rather jumped at the idea; and old Gladman, +explaining as ’ow ’e wanted the thing settled and +done with, got me to sign a letter.”</p> +<p>“Kept a copy of it?” asked the business-like +Clodd.</p> +<p>“No. But I can remember what it was. Gladman +’ad it all ready. So long as the money was paid +punctual and ’e didn’t make no disturbance and +didn’t fall sick, I was to go on boarding and lodging +’im for seventeen-and-sixpence a week. It +didn’t strike me as anything to be objected to at the time; +but ’e payin’ regular, as I’ve explained to +you, and be’aving, so far as disturbance is concerned, more +like a Christian martyr than a man, well, it looks to me as if +I’d got to live and die with ’im.”</p> +<p>“Give him rope, and possibly he’ll have a week at +being a howling hyæna, or a laughing jackass, or something +of that sort that will lead to a disturbance,” thought Mr. +Clodd, “in which case, of course, you would have your +remedy.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” thought Mrs. Postwhistle, “and +possibly also ’e may take it into what ’e calls is +’ead to be a tiger or a bull, and then perhaps before +’e’s through with it I’ll be beyond the reach +of remedies.”</p> +<p>“Leave it to me,” said Mr. Clodd, rising and +searching for his hat. “I know old Gladman; +I’ll have a talk with him.”</p> +<p>“You might get a look at that letter if you can,” +suggested Mrs. Postwhistle, “and tell me what you think +about it. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days +in a lunatic asylum of my own if I can ’elp it.”</p> +<p>“You leave it to me,” was Mr. Clodd’s +parting assurance.</p> +<p>The July moon had thrown a silver veil over the grimness of +Rolls Court when, five hours later, Mr. Clodd’s nailed +boots echoed again upon its uneven pavement; but Mr. Clodd had no +eye for moon or stars or such-like; always he had things more +important to think of.</p> +<p>“Seen the old ’umbug?” asked Mrs. +Postwhistle, who was partial to the air, leading the way into the +parlour.</p> +<p>“First and foremost commenced,” Mr. Clodd, as he +laid aside his hat, “it is quite understood that you really +do want to get rid of him? What’s that?” +demanded Mr. Clodd, a heavy thud upon the floor above having +caused him to start out of his chair.</p> +<p>“’E came in an hour after you’d gone,” +explained Mrs. Postwhistle, “bringing with him a curtain +pole as ’e’d picked up for a shilling in Clare +Market. ’E’s rested one end upon the +mantelpiece and tied the other to the back of the +easy-chair—’is idea is to twine ’imself round +it and go to sleep upon it. Yes, you’ve got it quite +right without a single blunder. I do want to get rid of +’im.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said Mr. Clodd, reseating himself, +“it can be done.”</p> +<p>“Thank God for that!” was Mrs. Postwhistle’s +pious ejaculation.</p> +<p>“It is just as I thought,” continued Mr. +Clodd. “The old innocent—he’s +Gladman’s brother-in-law, by the way—has got a small +annuity. I couldn’t get the actual figure, but I +guess it’s about sufficient to pay for his keep and leave +old Gladman, who is running him, a very decent profit. They +don’t want to send him to an asylum. They can’t +say he’s a pauper, and to put him into a private +establishment would swallow up, most likely, the whole of his +income. On the other hand, they don’t want the bother +of looking after him themselves. I talked pretty straight +to the old man—let him see I understood the business; +and—well, to cut a long story short, I’m willing to +take on the job, provided you really want to have done with it, +and Gladman is willing in that case to let you off your +contract.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle went to the cupboard to get Mr. Clodd a +drink. Another thud upon the floor above—one +suggestive of exceptional velocity—arrived at the precise +moment when Mrs. Postwhistle, the tumbler level with her eye, was +in the act of measuring.</p> +<p>“I call this making a disturbance,” said Mrs. +Postwhistle, regarding the broken fragments.</p> +<p>“It’s only for another night,” comforted her +Mr. Clodd. “I’ll take him away some time +to-morrow. Meanwhile, if I were you, I should spread a +mattress underneath that perch of his before I went to bed. +I should like him handed over to me in reasonable +repair.”</p> +<p>“It will deaden the sound a bit, any’ow,” +agreed Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“Success to temperance,” drank Mr. Clodd, and rose +to go.</p> +<p>“I take it you’ve fixed things up all right for +yourself,” said Mrs. Postwhistle; “and nobody can +blame you if you ’ave. ’Eaven bless you, is +what I say.”</p> +<p>“We shall get on together,” prophesied Mr. +Clodd. “I’m fond of animals.”</p> +<p>Early the next morning a four-wheeled cab drew up at the +entrance to Rolls Court, and in it and upon it went away Clodd +and Clodd’s Lunatic (as afterwards he came to be known), +together with all the belongings of Clodd’s Lunatic, the +curtain-pole included; and there appeared again behind the +fanlight of the little grocer’s shop the intimation: +“Lodgings for a Single Man,” which caught the eye a +few days later of a weird-looking, lanky, rawboned laddie, whose +language Mrs. Postwhistle found difficulty for a time in +comprehending; and that is why one sometimes meets to-day +worshippers of Kail Yard literature wandering disconsolately +about St. Dunstan-in-the-West, seeking Rolls Court, discomforted +because it is no more. But that is the history of the +“Wee Laddie,” and this of the beginnings of William +Clodd, now Sir William Clodd, Bart., M.P., proprietor of a +quarter of a hundred newspapers, magazines, and journals: +“Truthful Billy” we called him then.</p> +<p>No one can say of Clodd that he did not deserve whatever +profit his unlicensed lunatic asylum may have brought him. +A kindly man was William Clodd when indulgence in sentiment did +not interfere with business.</p> +<p>“There’s no harm in him,” asserted Mr. +Clodd, talking the matter over with one Mr. Peter Hope, +journalist, of Gough Square. “He’s just a bit +dotty, same as you or I might get with nothing to do and all day +long to do it in. Kid’s play, that’s all it +is. The best plan, I find, is to treat it as a game and +take a hand in it. Last week he wanted to be a lion. +I could see that was going to be awkward, he roaring for raw meat +and thinking to prowl about the house at night. Well, I +didn’t nag him—that’s no good. I just got +a gun and shot him. He’s a duck now, and I’m +trying to keep him one: sits for an hour beside his bath on three +china eggs I’ve bought him. Wish some of the sane +ones were as little trouble.”</p> +<p>The summer came again. Clodd and his Lunatic, a +mild-looking little old gentleman of somewhat clerical cut, one +often met with arm-in-arm, bustling about the streets and courts +that were the scene of Clodd’s rent-collecting +labours. Their evident attachment to one another was +curiously displayed; Clodd, the young and red-haired, treating +his white-haired, withered companion with fatherly indulgence; +the other glancing up from time to time into Clodd’s face +with a winning expression of infantile affection.</p> +<p>“We are getting much better,” explained Clodd, the +pair meeting Peter Hope one day at the corner of Newcastle +Street. “The more we are out in the open air, and the +more we have to do and think about, the better for +us—eh?”</p> +<p>The mild-looking little old gentleman hanging on Clodd’s +arm smiled and nodded.</p> +<p>“Between ourselves,” added Mr. Clodd, sinking his +voice, “we are not half as foolish as folks think we +are.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope went his way down the Strand.</p> +<p>“Clodd’s a good sort—a good sort,” +said Peter Hope, who, having in his time lived much alone, had +fallen into the habit of speaking his thoughts aloud; “but +he’s not the man to waste his time. I +wonder.”</p> +<p>With the winter Clodd’s Lunatic fell ill.</p> +<p>Clodd bustled round to Chancery Lane.</p> +<p>“To tell you the truth,” confessed Mr. Gladman, +“we never thought he would live so long as he +has.”</p> +<p>“There’s the annuity you’ve got to think +of,” said Clodd, whom his admirers of to-day (and they are +many, for he must be a millionaire by this time) are fond of +alluding to as “that frank, outspoken +Englishman.” “Wouldn’t it be worth your +while to try what taking him away from the fogs might do for +him?”</p> +<p>Old Gladman seemed inclined to consider the question, but Mrs. +Gladman, a brisk, cheerful little woman, had made up her +mind.</p> +<p>“We’ve had what there is to have,” said Mrs. +Gladman. “He’s seventy-three. +What’s the sense of risking good money? Be +content.”</p> +<p>No one could say—no one ever did say—that Clodd, +under the circumstances, did not do his best. Perhaps, +after all, nothing could have helped. The little old +gentleman, at Clodd’s suggestion, played at being a +dormouse and lay very still. If he grew restless, thereby +bringing on his cough, Clodd, as a terrible black cat, was +watching to pounce upon him. Only by keeping very quiet and +artfully pretending to be asleep could he hope to escape the +ruthless Clodd.</p> +<p>Doctor William Smith (né Wilhelm Schmidt) shrugged his +fat shoulders. “We can do noding. Dese fogs of +ours: id is de one ting dat enables the foreigner to crow over +us. Keep him quiet. De dormouse—id is a goot +idea.”</p> +<p>That evening William Clodd mounted to the second floor of 16, +Gough Square, where dwelt his friend, Peter Hope, and knocked +briskly at the door.</p> +<p>“Come in,” said a decided voice, which was not +Peter Hope’s.</p> +<p>Mr. William Clodd’s ambition was, and always had been, +to be the owner or part-owner of a paper. To-day, as I have +said, he owns a quarter of a hundred, and is in negotiation, so +rumour goes, for seven more. But twenty years ago +“Clodd and Co., Limited,” was but in embryo. +And Peter Hope, journalist, had likewise and for many a long year +cherished the ambition to be, before he died, the owner or +part-owner of a paper. Peter Hope to-day owns nothing, +except perhaps the knowledge, if such things be permitted, that +whenever and wherever his name is mentioned, kind thoughts arise +unbidden—that someone of the party will surely say: +“Dear old Peter! What a good fellow he +was!” Which also may be in its way a valuable +possession: who knows? But twenty years ago Peter’s +horizon was limited by Fleet Street.</p> +<p>Peter Hope was forty-seven, so he said, a dreamer and a +scholar. William Clodd was three-and-twenty, a born +hustler, very wide awake. Meeting one day by accident upon +an omnibus, when Clodd lent Peter, who had come out without his +purse, threepence to pay his fare with; drifting into +acquaintanceship, each had come to acquire a liking and respect +for the other. The dreamer thought with wonder of +Clodd’s shrewd practicability; the cute young man of +business was lost in admiration of what seemed to him his old +friend’s marvellous learning. Both had arrived at the +conclusion that a weekly journal with Peter Hope as editor, and +William Clodd as manager, would be bound to be successful.</p> +<p>“If only we could scrape together a thousand +pounds!” had sighed Peter.</p> +<p>“The moment we lay our hands upon the coin, we’ll +start that paper. Remember, it’s a bargain,” +had answered William Clodd.</p> +<p>Mr. William Clodd turned the handle and walked in. With +the door still in his hand he paused to look round the +room. It was the first time he had seen it. His +meetings hitherto with Peter Hope had been chance +<i>rencontres</i> in street or restaurant. Always had he +been curious to view the sanctuary of so much erudition.</p> +<p>A large, oak-panelled room, its three high windows, each with +a low, cushioned seat beneath it, giving on to Gough +Square. Thirty-five years before, Peter Hope, then a young +dandy with side whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below +the ear; with wavy, brown hair, giving to his fresh-complexioned +face an appearance almost girlish; in cut-away blue coat, +flowered waistcoat, black silk cravat secured by two gold pins +chained together, and tightly strapped grey trouserings, had, +aided and abetted by a fragile little lady in crinoline and +much-flounced skirt, and bodice somewhat low, with corkscrew +curls each movement of her head set ringing, planned and +furnished it in accordance with the sober canons then in vogue, +spending thereupon more than they should, as is to be expected +from the young to whom the future promises all things. The +fine Brussels carpet! A little too bright, had thought the +shaking curls. “The colours will tone down, +miss—ma’am.” The shopman knew. Only +by the help of the round island underneath the massive Empire +table, by excursions into untrodden corners, could Peter +recollect the rainbow floor his feet had pressed when he was +twenty-one. The noble bookcase, surmounted by +Minerva’s bust. Really it was too expensive. +But the nodding curls had been so obstinate. Peter’s +silly books and papers must be put away in order; the curls did +not intend to permit any excuse for untidiness. So, too, +the handsome, brass-bound desk; it must be worthy of the +beautiful thoughts Peter would pen upon it. The great +sideboard, supported by two such angry-looking mahogany lions; it +must be strong to support the weight of silver clever Peter would +one day purchase to place upon it. The few oil paintings in +their heavy frames. A solidly furnished, sober apartment; +about it that subtle atmosphere of dignity one finds but in old +rooms long undisturbed, where one seems to read upon the walls: +“I, Joy and Sorrow, twain in one, have dwelt +here.” One item only there was that seemed out of +place among its grave surroundings—a guitar, hanging from +the wall, ornamented with a ridiculous blue bow, somewhat +faded.</p> +<p>“Mr. William Clodd?” demanded the decided +voice.</p> +<p>Clodd started and closed the door.</p> +<p>“Guessed it in once,” admitted Mr. Clodd.</p> +<p>“I thought so,” said the decided voice. +“We got your note this afternoon. Mr. Hope will be +back at eight. Will you kindly hang up your hat and coat in +the hall? You will find a box of cigars on the +mantelpiece. Excuse my being busy. I must finish +this, then I’ll talk to you.”</p> +<p>The owner of the decided voice went on writing. Clodd, +having done as he was bid, sat himself in the easy-chair before +the fire and smoked. Of the person behind the desk Mr. +Clodd could see but the head and shoulders. It had black, +curly hair, cut short. It’s only garment visible +below the white collar and red tie might have been a boy’s +jacket designed more like a girl’s, or a girl’s +designed more like a boy’s; partaking of the genius of +English statesmanship, it appeared to be a compromise. Mr. +Clodd remarked the long, drooping lashes over the bright, black +eyes.</p> +<p>“It’s a girl,” said Mr. Clodd to himself; +“rather a pretty girl.”</p> +<p>Mr. Clodd, continuing downward, arrived at the nose.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mr. Clodd to himself, “it’s +a boy—a cheeky young beggar, I should say.”</p> +<p>The person at the desk, giving a grunt of satisfaction, +gathered together sheets of manuscript and arranged them; then, +resting its elbows on the desk and taking its head between its +hands, regarded Mr. Clodd.</p> +<p>“Don’t you hurry yourself,” said Mr. Clodd; +“but when you really have finished, tell me what you think +of me.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” apologised the person at the +desk. “I have got into a habit of staring at +people. I know it’s rude. I’m trying to +break myself of it.”</p> +<p>“Tell me your name,” suggested Mr. Clodd, +“and I’ll forgive you.”</p> +<p>“Tommy,” was the answer—“I mean +Jane.”</p> +<p>“Make up your mind,” advised Mr. Clodd; +“don’t let me influence you. I only want the +truth.”</p> +<p>“You see,” explained the person at the desk, +“everybody calls me Tommy, because that used to be my +name. But now it’s Jane.”</p> +<p>“I see,” said Mr. Clodd. “And which am +I to call you?”</p> +<p>The person at the desk pondered. “Well, if this +scheme you and Mr. Hope have been talking about really comes to +anything, we shall be a good deal thrown together, you see, and +then I expect you’ll call me Tommy—most people +do.”</p> +<p>“You’ve heard about the scheme? Mr. Hope has +told you?”</p> +<p>“Why, of course,” replied Tommy. +“I’m Mr. Hope’s devil.”</p> +<p>For the moment Clodd doubted whether his old friend had not +started a rival establishment to his own.</p> +<p>“I help him in his work,” Tommy relieved his mind +by explaining. “In journalistic circles we call it +devilling.”</p> +<p>“I understand,” said Mr. Clodd. “And +what do you think, Tommy, of the scheme? I may as well +start calling you Tommy, because, between you and me, I think the +idea will come to something.”</p> +<p>Tommy fixed her black eyes upon him. She seemed to be +looking him right through.</p> +<p>“You are staring again, Tommy,” Clodd reminded +her. “You’ll have trouble breaking yourself of +that habit, I can see.”</p> +<p>“I was trying to make up my mind about you. +Everything depends upon the business man.”</p> +<p>“Glad to hear you say so,” replied the +self-satisfied Clodd.</p> +<p>“If you are very clever—Do you mind coming nearer +to the lamp? I can’t quite see you over +there.”</p> +<p>Clodd never could understand why he did it—never could +understand why, from first to last, he always did what Tommy +wished him to do; his only consolation being that other folks +seemed just as helpless. He rose and, crossing the long +room, stood at attention before the large desk, nervousness, to +which he was somewhat of a stranger, taking possession of +him.</p> +<p>“You don’t <i>look</i> very clever.”</p> +<p>Clodd experienced another new sensation—that of falling +in his own estimation.</p> +<p>“And yet one can see that you <i>are</i> +clever.”</p> +<p>The mercury of Clodd’s conceit shot upward to a point +that in the case of anyone less physically robust might have been +dangerous to health.</p> +<p>Clodd held out his hand. “We’ll pull it +through, Tommy. The Guv’nor shall find the +literature; you and I will make it go. I like +you.”</p> +<p>And Peter Hope, entering at the moment, caught a spark from +the light that shone in the eyes of William Clodd and Tommy, +whose other name was Jane, as, gripping hands, they stood with +the desk between them, laughing they knew not why. And the +years fell from old Peter, and, again a boy, he also laughed he +knew not why. He had sipped from the wine-cup of youth.</p> +<p>“It’s all settled, Guv’nor!” cried +Clodd. “Tommy and I have fixed things up. +We’ll start with the New Year.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got the money?”</p> +<p>“I’m reckoning on it. I don’t see very +well how I can miss it.”</p> +<p>“Sufficient?”</p> +<p>“Just about. You get to work.”</p> +<p>“I’ve saved a little,” began Peter. +“It ought to have been more, but somehow it +isn’t.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps we shall want it,” Clodd replied; +“perhaps we shan’t. You are supplying the +brains.”</p> +<p>The three for a few moments remained silent.</p> +<p>“I think, Tommy,” said Peter, “I think a +bottle of the old Madeira—”</p> +<p>“Not to-night,” said Clodd; “next +time.”</p> +<p>“To drink success,” urged Peter.</p> +<p>“One man’s success generally means some other poor +devil’s misfortune,” answered Clodd.</p> +<p>“Can’t be helped, of course, but don’t want +to think about it to-night. Must be getting back to my +dormouse. Good night.”</p> +<p>Clodd shook hands and bustled out.</p> +<p>“I thought as much,” mused Peter aloud.</p> +<p>“What an odd mixture the man is! Kind—no one +could have been kinder to the poor old fellow. Yet all the +while—We are an odd mixture, Tommy,” said Peter Hope, +“an odd mixture, we men and women.” Peter was a +philosopher.</p> +<p>The white-whiskered old dormouse soon coughed himself to sleep +for ever.</p> +<p>“I shall want you and the missis to come to the funeral, +Gladman,” said Mr. Clodd, as he swung into the +stationer’s shop; “and bring Pincer with you. +I’m writing to him.”</p> +<p>“Don’t see what good we can do,” demurred +Gladman.</p> +<p>“Well, you three are his only relatives; it’s only +decent you should be present,” urged Clodd. +“Besides, there’s the will to be read. You may +care to hear it.”</p> +<p>The dry old law stationer opened wide his watery eyes.</p> +<p>“His will! Why, what had he got to leave? +There was nothing but the annuity.”</p> +<p>“You turn up at the funeral,” Clodd told him, +“and you’ll learn all about it. Bonner’s +clerk will be there and will bring it with him. Everything +is going to be done <i>comme il faut</i>, as the French +say.”</p> +<p>“I ought to have known of this,” began Mr. +Gladman.</p> +<p>“Glad to find you taking so much interest in the old +chap,” said Clodd. “Pity he’s dead and +can’t thank you.”</p> +<p>“I warn you,” shouted old Gladman, whose voice was +rising to a scream, “he was a helpless imbecile, incapable +of acting for himself! If any undue +influence—”</p> +<p>“See you on Friday,” broke in Clodd, who was +busy.</p> +<p>Friday’s ceremony was not a sociable affair. Mrs. +Gladman spoke occasionally in a shrill whisper to Mr. Gladman, +who replied with grunts. Both employed the remainder of +their time in scowling at Clodd. Mr. Pincer, a stout, heavy +gentleman connected with the House of Commons, maintained a +ministerial reserve. The undertaker’s foreman +expressed himself as thankful when it was over. He +criticised it as the humpiest funeral he had ever known; for a +time he had serious thoughts of changing his profession.</p> +<p>The solicitor’s clerk was waiting for the party on its +return from Kensal Green. Clodd again offered +hospitality. Mr. Pincer this time allowed himself a glass +of weak whisky-and-water, and sipped it with an air of doing so +without prejudice. The clerk had one a little stronger, +Mrs. Gladman, dispensing with consultation, declined shrilly for +self and partner. Clodd, explaining that he always followed +legal precedent, mixed himself one also and drank “To our +next happy meeting.” Then the clerk read.</p> +<p>It was a short and simple will, dated the previous +August. It appeared that the old gentleman, unknown to his +relatives, had died possessed of shares in a silver mine, once +despaired of, now prospering. Taking them at present value, +they would produce a sum well over two thousand pounds. The +old gentleman had bequeathed five hundred pounds to his +brother-in-law, Mr. Gladman; five hundred pounds to his only +other living relative, his first cousin, Mr. Pincer; the residue +to his friend, William Clodd, as a return for the many kindnesses +that gentleman had shown him.</p> +<p>Mr. Gladman rose, more amused than angry.</p> +<p>“And you think you are going to pocket that one thousand +to twelve hundred pounds. You really do?” he asked +Mr. Clodd, who, with legs stretched out before him, sat with his +hands deep in his trousers pockets.</p> +<p>“That’s the idea,” admitted Mr. Clodd.</p> +<p>Mr. Gladman laughed, but without much lightening the +atmosphere. “Upon my word, Clodd, you amuse +me—you quite amuse me,” repeated Mr. Gladman.</p> +<p>“You always had a sense of humour,” commented Mr. +Clodd.</p> +<p>“You villain! You double-dyed villain!” +screamed Mr. Gladman, suddenly changing his tone. +“You think the law is going to allow you to swindle honest +men! You think we are going to sit still for you to rob +us! That will—” Mr. Gladman pointed a +lank forefinger dramatically towards the table.</p> +<p>“You mean to dispute it?” inquired Mr. Clodd.</p> +<p>For a moment Mr. Gladman stood aghast at the other’s +coolness, but soon found his voice again.</p> +<p>“Dispute it!” he shrieked. “Do you +dispute that you influenced him?—dictated it to him word +for word, made the poor old helpless idiot sign it, he utterly +incapable of even understanding—”</p> +<p>“Don’t chatter so much,” interrupted Mr. +Clodd. “It’s not a pretty voice, yours. +What I asked you was, do you intend to dispute it?”</p> +<p>“If you will kindly excuse us,” struck in Mrs. +Gladman, addressing Mr. Clodd with an air of much politeness, +“we shall just have time, if we go now, to catch our +solicitor before he leaves his office.”</p> +<p>Mr. Gladman took up his hat from underneath his chair.</p> +<p>“One moment,” suggested Mr. Clodd. “I +did influence him to make that will. If you don’t +like it, there’s an end of it.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” commenced Mr. Gladman in a mollified +tone.</p> +<p>“Sit down,” suggested Mr. Clodd. +“Let’s try another one.” Mr. Clodd turned +to the clerk. “The previous one, Mr. Wright, if you +please; the one dated June the 10th.”</p> +<p>An equally short and simple document, it bequeathed three +hundred pounds to Mr. William Clodd in acknowledgment of +kindnesses received, the residue to the Royal Zoological Society +of London, the deceased having been always interested in and fond +of animals. The relatives, “Who have never shown me +the slightest affection or given themselves the slightest trouble +concerning me, and who have already received considerable sums +out of my income,” being by name excluded.</p> +<p>“I may mention,” observed Mr. Clodd, no one else +appearing inclined to break the silence, “that in +suggesting the Royal Zoological Society to my poor old friend as +a fitting object for his benevolence, I had in mind a very +similar case that occurred five years ago. A bequest to +them was disputed on the grounds that the testator was of unsound +mind. They had to take their case to the House of Lords +before they finally won it.”</p> +<p>“Anyhow,” remarked Mr. Gladman, licking his lips, +which were dry, “you won’t get anything, Mr. +Clodd—no, not even your three-hundred pounds, clever as you +think yourself. My brother-in-law’s money will go to +the lawyers.”</p> +<p>Then Mr. Pincer rose and spoke slowly and clearly. +“If there must be a lunatic connected with our family, +which I don’t see why there should be, it seems to me to be +you, Nathaniel Gladman.”</p> +<p>Mr. Gladman stared back with open mouth. Mr. Pincer went +on impressively.</p> +<p>“As for my poor old cousin Joe, he had his +eccentricities, but that was all. I for one am prepared to +swear that he was of sound mind in August last and quite capable +of making his own will. It seems to me that the other +thing, dated in June, is just waste paper.”</p> +<p>Mr. Pincer having delivered himself, sat down again. Mr. +Gladman showed signs of returning language.</p> +<p>“Oh! what’s the use of quarrelling?” chirped +in cheery Mrs. Gladman. “It’s five hundred +pounds we never expected. Live and let live is what I +always say.”</p> +<p>“It’s the damned artfulness of the thing,” +said Mr. Gladman, still very white about the gills.</p> +<p>“Oh, you have a little something to thaw your +face,” suggested his wife.</p> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Gladman, on the strength of the five hundred +pounds, went home in a cab. Mr. Pincer stayed behind and +made a night of it with Mr. Clodd and Bonner’s clerk, at +Clodd’s expense.</p> +<p>The residue worked out at eleven hundred and sixty-nine pounds +and a few shillings. The capital of the new company, +“established for the purpose of carrying on the business of +newspaper publishers and distributors, printers, advertising +agents, and any other trade and enterprise affiliated to the +same,” was one thousand pounds in one pound shares, fully +paid up; of which William Clodd, Esquire, was registered +proprietor of four hundred and sixty-three; Peter Hope, M.A., of +16, Gough Square, of also four hundred and sixty-three; Miss Jane +Hope, adopted daughter of said Peter Hope (her real name nobody, +herself included, ever having known), and generally called Tommy, +of three, paid for by herself after a battle royal with William +Clodd; Mrs. Postwhistle, of Rolls Court, of ten, presented by the +promoter; Mr. Pincer, of the House of Commons, also of ten (still +owing for); Dr. Smith (né Schmidt) of fifty; James Douglas +Alexander Calder McTear (otherwise the “Wee Laddie”), +residing then in Mrs. Postwhistle’s first floor front, of +one, paid for by poem published in the first number: “The +Song of the Pen.”</p> +<p>Choosing a title for the paper cost much thought. Driven +to despair, they called it <i>Good Humour</i>.</p> +<h2>STORY THE THIRD—Grindley Junior drops into the Position +of Publisher</h2> +<p>Few are the ways of the West Central district that have +changed less within the last half-century than Nevill’s +Court, leading from Great New Street into Fetter Lane. Its +north side still consists of the same quaint row of small low +shops that stood there—doing perhaps a little brisker +business—when George the Fourth was King; its southern side +of the same three substantial houses each behind a strip of +garden, pleasant by contrast with surrounding grimness, built +long ago—some say before Queen Anne was dead.</p> +<p>Out of the largest of these, passing through the garden, then +well cared for, came one sunny Sunday morning, some fifteen years +before the commencement proper of this story, one Solomon +Appleyard, pushing in front of him a perambulator. At the +brick wall surmounted by wooden railings that divides the garden +from the court, Solomon paused, hearing behind him the voice of +Mrs. Appleyard speaking from the doorstep.</p> +<p>“If I don’t see you again until dinner-time, +I’ll try and get on without you, understand. +Don’t think of nothing but your pipe and forget the +child. And be careful of the crossings.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Appleyard retired into the darkness. Solomon, +steering the perambulator carefully, emerged from Nevill’s +Court without accident. The quiet streets drew Solomon +westward. A vacant seat beneath the shade overlooking the +Long Water in Kensington Gardens invited to rest.</p> +<p>“Piper?” suggested a small boy to Solomon. +“<i>Sunday Times</i>, <i>’Server</i>?”</p> +<p>“My boy,” said Mr. Appleyard, speaking slowly, +“when you’ve been mewed up with newspapers eighteen +hours a day for six days a week, you can do without ’em for +a morning. Take ’em away. I want to forget the +smell of ’em.”</p> +<p>Solomon, having assured himself that the party in the +perambulator was still breathing, crossed his legs and lit his +pipe.</p> +<p>“Hezekiah!”</p> +<p>The exclamation had been wrung from Solomon Appleyard by the +approach of a stout, short man clad in a remarkably ill-fitting +broad-cloth suit.</p> +<p>“What, Sol, my boy?”</p> +<p>“It looked like you,” said Solomon. +“And then I said to myself: ‘No; surely it +can’t be Hezekiah; he’ll be at +chapel.’”</p> +<p>“You run about,” said Hezekiah, addressing a youth +of some four summers he had been leading by the hand. +“Don’t you go out of my sight; and whatever you do, +don’t you do injury to those new clothes of yours, or +you’ll wish you’d never been put into them. The +truth is,” continued Hezekiah to his friend, his sole +surviving son and heir being out of earshot, “the morning +tempted me. ’Tain’t often I get a bit of fresh +air.”</p> +<p>“Doing well?”</p> +<p>“The business,” replied Hezekiah, “is going +up by leaps and bounds—leaps and bounds. But, of +course, all that means harder work for me. It’s from +six in the morning till twelve o’clock at night.”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing I know of,” returned +Solomon, who was something of a pessimist, “that’s +given away free gratis for nothing except misfortune.”</p> +<p>“Keeping yourself up to the mark ain’t too +easy,” continued Hezekiah; “and when it comes to +other folks! play’s all they think of. Talk religion +to them—why, they laugh at you! What the +world’s coming to, I don’t know. How’s +the printing business doing?”</p> +<p>“The printing business,” responded the other, +removing his pipe and speaking somewhat sadly, “the +printing business looks like being a big thing. Capital, of +course, is what hampers me—or, rather, the want of +it. But Janet, she’s careful; she don’t waste +much, Janet don’t.”</p> +<p>“Now, with Anne,” replied Hezekiah, +“it’s all the other way—pleasure, gaiety, a day +at Rosherville or the Crystal Palace—anything to waste +money.”</p> +<p>“Ah! she was always fond of her bit of fun,” +remembered Solomon.</p> +<p>“Fun!” retorted Hezekiah. “I like a +bit of fun myself. But not if you’ve got to pay for +it. Where’s the fun in that?”</p> +<p>“What I ask myself sometimes,” said Solomon, +looking straight in front of him, “is what do we do it +for?”</p> +<p>“What do we do what for?”</p> +<p>“Work like blessed slaves, depriving ourselves of all +enjoyments. What’s the sense of it? +What—”</p> +<p>A voice from the perambulator beside him broke the thread of +Solomon Appleyard’s discourse. The sole surviving son +of Hezekiah Grindley, seeking distraction and finding none, had +crept back unperceived. A perambulator! A thing his +experience told him out of which excitement in some form or +another could generally be obtained. You worried it and +took your chance. Either it howled, in which case you had +to run for your life, followed—and, unfortunately, +overtaken nine times out of ten—by a whirlwind of +vengeance; or it gurgled: in which case the heavens smiled and +halos descended on your head. In either event you escaped +the deadly ennui that is the result of continuous virtue. +Master Grindley, his star having pointed out to him a +peacock’s feather lying on the ground, had, with one eye +upon his unobservant parent, removed the complicated coverings +sheltering Miss Helvetia Appleyard from the world, and +anticipating by a quarter of a century the prime enjoyment of +British youth, had set to work to tickle that lady on the +nose. Miss Helvetia Appleyard awakened, did precisely what +the tickled British maiden of to-day may be relied upon to do +under corresponding circumstances: she first of all took swift +and comprehensive survey of the male thing behind the +feather. Had he been displeasing in her eyes, she would, +one may rely upon it, have anteceded the behaviour in similar +case of her descendant of to-day—that is to say, have +expressed resentment in no uncertain terms. Master +Nathaniel Grindley proving, however, to her taste, that which +might have been considered impertinence became accepted as a fit +and proper form of introduction. Miss Appleyard smiled +graciously—nay, further, intimated desire for more.</p> +<p>“That your only one?” asked the paternal +Grindley.</p> +<p>“She’s the only one,” replied Solomon, +speaking in tones less pessimistic.</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard had with the help of Grindley junior wriggled +herself into a sitting posture. Grindley junior continued +his attentions, the lady indicating by signs the various points +at which she was most susceptible.</p> +<p>“Pretty picture they make together, eh?” suggested +Hezekiah in a whisper to his friend.</p> +<p>“Never saw her take to anyone like that before,” +returned Solomon, likewise in a whisper.</p> +<p>A neighbouring church clock chimed twelve. Solomon +Appleyard, knocking the ashes from his pipe, arose.</p> +<p>“Don’t know any reason myself why we +shouldn’t see a little more of one another than we +do,” suggested Grindley senior, shaking hands.</p> +<p>“Give us a look-up one Sunday afternoon,” +suggested Solomon. “Bring the youngster with +you.”</p> +<p>Solomon Appleyard and Hezekiah Grindley had started life +within a few months of one another some five-and-thirty years +before. Likewise within a few hundred yards of one another, +Solomon at his father’s bookselling and printing +establishment on the east side of the High Street of a small +Yorkshire town; Hezekiah at his father’s grocery shop upon +the west side, opposite. Both had married farmers’ +daughters. Solomon’s natural bent towards gaiety Fate +had corrected by directing his affections to a partner instinct +with Yorkshire shrewdness; and with shrewdness go other qualities +that make for success rather than for happiness. Hezekiah, +had circumstances been equal, might have been his friend’s +rival for Janet’s capable and saving hand, had not +sweet-tempered, laughing Annie Glossop—directed by +Providence to her moral welfare, one must presume—fallen in +love with him. Between Jane’s virtues and +Annie’s three hundred golden sovereigns Hezekiah had not +hesitated a moment. Golden sovereigns were solid facts; +wifely virtues, by a serious-minded and strong-willed husband, +could be instilled—at all events, light-heartedness +suppressed. The two men, Hezekiah urged by his own +ambition, Solomon by his wife’s, had arrived in London +within a year of one another: Hezekiah to open a grocer’s +shop in Kensington, which those who should have known assured him +was a hopeless neighbourhood. But Hezekiah had the instinct +of the money-maker. Solomon, after looking about him, had +fixed upon the roomy, substantial house in Nevill’s Court +as a promising foundation for a printer’s business.</p> +<p>That was ten years ago. The two friends, scorning +delights, living laborious days, had seen but little of one +another. Light-hearted Annie had borne to her dour partner +two children who had died. Nathaniel George, with the luck +supposed to wait on number three, had lived on, and, inheriting +fortunately the temperament of his mother, had brought sunshine +into the gloomy rooms above the shop in High Street, +Kensington. Mrs. Grindley, grown weak and fretful, had +rested from her labours.</p> +<p>Mrs. Appleyard’s guardian angel, prudent like his +protégé, had waited till Solomon’s business +was well established before despatching the stork to +Nevill’s Court, with a little girl. Later had sent a +boy, who, not finding the close air of St. Dunstan to his liking, +had found his way back again; thus passing out of this story and +all others. And there remained to carry on the legend of +the Grindleys and the Appleyards only Nathaniel George, now aged +five, and Janet Helvetia, quite a beginner, who took lift +seriously.</p> +<p>There are no such things as facts. Narrow-minded +folk—surveyors, auctioneers, and such like—would have +insisted that the garden between the old Georgian house and +Nevill’s Court was a strip of land one hundred and eighteen +feet by ninety-two, containing a laburnum tree, six laurel +bushes, and a dwarf deodora. To Nathaniel George and Janet +Helvetia it was the land of Thule, “the furthest boundaries +of which no man has reached.” On rainy Sunday +afternoons they played in the great, gloomy pressroom, where +silent ogres, standing motionless, stretched out iron arms to +seize them as they ran. Then just when Nathaniel George was +eight, and Janet Helvetia four and a half, Hezekiah launched the +celebrated “Grindley’s Sauce.” It added a +relish to chops and steaks, transformed cold mutton into a +luxury, and swelled the head of Hezekiah Grindley—which was +big enough in all conscience as it was—and shrivelled up +his little hard heart. The Grindleys and the Appleyards +visited no more. As a sensible fellow ought to have seen +for himself, so thought Hezekiah, the Sauce had altered all +things. The possibility of a marriage between their +children, things having remained equal, might have been a pretty +fancy; but the son of the great Grindley, whose name in +three-foot letters faced the world from every hoarding, would +have to look higher than a printer’s daughter. +Solomon, a sudden and vehement convert to the principles of +mediæval feudalism, would rather see his only child, +granddaughter of the author of <i>The History of Kettlewell</i> +and other works, dead and buried than married to a grocer’s +son, even though he might inherit a fortune made out of poisoning +the public with a mixture of mustard and sour beer. It was +many years before Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia met one +another again, and when they did they had forgotten one +another.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Hezekiah S. Grindley, a short, stout, and pompous gentleman, +sat under a palm in the gorgeously furnished drawing-room of his +big house at Notting Hill. Mrs. Grindley, a thin, faded +woman, the despair of her dressmaker, sat as near to the fire as +its massive and imposing copper outworks would permit, and +shivered. Grindley junior, a fair-haired, well-shaped +youth, with eyes that the other sex found attractive, leant with +his hands in his pockets against a scrupulously robed statue of +Diana, and appeared uncomfortable.</p> +<p>“I’m making the money—making it hand over +fist. All you’ll have to do will be to spend +it,” Grindley senior was explaining to his son and +heir.</p> +<p>“I’ll do that all right, dad.”</p> +<p>“I’m not so sure of it,” was his +father’s opinion. “You’ve got to prove +yourself worthy to spend it. Don’t you think I shall +be content to have slaved all these years merely to provide a +brainless young idiot with the means of self-indulgence. I +leave my money to somebody worthy of me. Understand, +sir?—somebody worthy of me.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Grindley commenced a sentence; Mr. Grindley turned his +small eyes upon her. The sentence remained unfinished.</p> +<p>“You were about to say something,” her husband +reminded her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Grindley said it was nothing.</p> +<p>“If it is anything worth hearing—if it is anything +that will assist the discussion, let’s have +it.” Mr. Grindley waited. “If not, if you +yourself do not consider it worth finishing, why have begun +it?”</p> +<p>Mr. Grindley returned to his son and heir. “You +haven’t done too well at school—in fact, your school +career has disappointed me.”</p> +<p>“I know I’m not clever,” Grindley junior +offered as an excuse.</p> +<p>“Why not? Why aren’t you clever?”</p> +<p>His son and heir was unable to explain.</p> +<p>“You are my son—why aren’t you clever? +It’s laziness, sir; sheer laziness!”</p> +<p>“I’ll try and do better at Oxford, +sir—honour bright I will!”</p> +<p>“You had better,” advised him his father; +“because I warn you, your whole future depends upon +it. You know me. You’ve got to be a credit to +me, to be worthy of the name of Grindley—or the name, my +boy, is all you’ll have.”</p> +<p>Old Grindley meant it, and his son knew that he meant +it. The old Puritan principles and instincts were strong in +the old gentleman—formed, perhaps, the better part of +him. Idleness was an abomination to him; devotion to +pleasure, other than the pleasure of money-making, a grievous sin +in his eyes. Grindley junior fully intended to do well at +Oxford, and might have succeeded. In accusing himself of +lack of cleverness, he did himself an injustice. He had +brains, he had energy, he had character. Our virtues can be +our stumbling-blocks as well as our vices. Young Grindley +had one admirable virtue that needs, above all others, careful +controlling: he was amiability itself. Before the charm and +sweetness of it, Oxford snobbishness went down. The Sauce, +against the earnest counsel of its own advertisement, was +forgotten; the pickles passed by. To escape the natural +result of his popularity would have needed a stronger will than +young Grindley possessed. For a time the true state of +affairs was hidden from the eye of Grindley senior. To +“slack” it this term, with the full determination of +“swotting” it the next, is always easy; the +difficulty beginning only with the new term. Possibly with +luck young Grindley might have retrieved his position and covered +up the traces of his folly, but for an unfortunate +accident. Returning to college with some other choice +spirits at two o’clock in the morning, it occurred to young +Grindley that trouble might be saved all round by cutting out a +pane of glass with a diamond ring and entering his rooms, which +were on the ground-floor, by the window. That, in mistake +for his own, he should have selected the bedroom of the College +Rector was a misfortune that might have occurred to anyone who +had commenced the evening on champagne and finished it on +whisky. Young Grindley, having been warned already twice +before, was “sent down.” And then, of course, +the whole history of the three wasted years came out. Old +Grindley in his study chair having talked for half an hour at the +top of his voice, chose, partly by reason of physical necessity, +partly by reason of dormant dramatic instinct, to speak quietly +and slowly.</p> +<p>“I’ll give you one chance more, my boy, and one +only. I’ve tried you as a gentleman—perhaps +that was my mistake. Now I’ll try you as a +grocer.”</p> +<p>“As a what?”</p> +<p>“As a grocer, sir—g-r-o-c-e-r—grocer, a man +who stands behind a counter in a white apron and his +shirt-sleeves; who sells tea and sugar and candied peel and +such-like things to customers—old ladies, little girls; who +rises at six in the morning, takes down the shutters, sweeps out +the shop, cleans the windows; who has half an hour for his dinner +of corned beef and bread; who puts up the shutters at ten +o’clock at night, tidies up the shop, has his supper, and +goes to bed, feeling his day has not been wasted. I meant +to spare you. I was wrong. You shall go through the +mill as I went through it. If at the end of two years +you’ve done well with your time, learned +something—learned to be a man, at all events—you can +come to me and thank me.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid, sir,” suggested Grindley +junior, whose handsome face during the last few minutes had grown +very white, “I might not make a very satisfactory +grocer. You see, sir, I’ve had no +experience.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you have some sense,” returned his +father drily. “You are quite right. Even a +grocer’s business requires learning. It will cost me +a little money; but it will be the last I shall ever spend upon +you. For the first year you will have to be apprenticed, +and I shall allow you something to live on. It shall be +more than I had at your age—we’ll say a pound a +week. After that I shall expect you to keep +yourself.”</p> +<p>Grindley senior rose. “You need not give me your +answer till the evening. You are of age. I have no +control over you unless you are willing to agree. You can +go my way, or you can go your own.”</p> +<p>Young Grindley, who had inherited a good deal of his +father’s grit, felt very much inclined to go his own; but, +hampered on the other hand by the sweetness of disposition he had +inherited from his mother, was unable to withstand the argument +of that lady’s tears, so that evening accepted old +Grindley’s terms, asking only as a favour that the scene of +his probation might be in some out-of-the-way neighbourhood where +there would be little chance of his being met by old friends.</p> +<p>“I have thought of all that,” answered his +father. “My object isn’t to humiliate you more +than is necessary for your good. The shop I have already +selected, on the assumption that you would submit, is as quiet +and out-of-the-way as you could wish. It is in a turning +off Fetter Lane, where you’ll see few other people than +printers and caretakers. You’ll lodge with a woman, a +Mrs. Postwhistle, who seems a very sensible person. +She’ll board you and lodge you, and every Saturday +you’ll receive a post-office order for six shillings, out +of which you’ll find yourself in clothes. You can +take with you sufficient to last you for the first six months, +but no more. At the end of the year you can change if you +like and go to another shop, or make your own arrangements with +Mrs. Postwhistle. If all is settled, you go there +to-morrow. You go out of this house to-morrow in any +event.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle was a large, placid lady of philosophic +temperament. Hitherto the little grocer’s shop in +Rolls Court, Fetter Lane, had been easy of management by her own +unaided efforts; but the neighbourhood was rapidly +changing. Other grocers’ shops were disappearing one +by one, making way for huge blocks of buildings, where hundreds +of iron presses, singing day and night, spread to the earth the +song of the Mighty Pen. There were hours when the little +shop could hardly accommodate its crowd of customers. Mrs. +Postwhistle, of a bulk not to be moved quickly, had, after mature +consideration, conquering a natural disinclination to change, +decided to seek assistance.</p> +<p>Young Grindley, alighting from a four-wheeled cab in Fetter +Lane, marched up the court, followed by a weak-kneed wastrel +staggering under the weight of a small box. In the doorway +of the little shop, young Grindley paused and raised his hat.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Postwhistle?”</p> +<p>The lady, from her chair behind the counter, rose slowly.</p> +<p>“I am Mr. Nathaniel Grindley, the new +assistant.”</p> +<p>The weak-kneed wastrel let fall the box with a thud upon the +floor. Mrs. Postwhistle looked her new assistant up and +down.</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Mrs. Postwhistle. “Well, I +shouldn’t ’ave felt instinctively it must be you, not +if I’d ’ad to pick you out of a crowd. But if +you tell me so, why, I suppose you are. Come in.”</p> +<p>The weak-kneed wastrel, receiving to his astonishment a +shilling, departed.</p> +<p>Grindley senior had selected wisely. Mrs. +Postwhistle’s theory was that although very few people in +this world understood their own business, they understood it +better than anyone else could understand it for them. If +handsome, well-educated young gentlemen, who gave shillings to +wastrels, felt they wanted to become smart and capable +grocers’ assistants, that was their affair. Her +business was to teach them their work, and, for her own sake, to +see that they did it. A month went by. Mrs. +Postwhistle found her new assistant hard-working, willing, +somewhat clumsy, but with a smile and a laugh that transformed +mistakes, for which another would have been soundly rated, into +welcome variations of the day’s monotony.</p> +<p>“If you were the sort of woman that cared to make your +fortune,” said one William Clodd, an old friend of Mrs. +Postwhistle’s, young Grindley having descended into the +cellar to grind coffee, “I’d tell you what to +do. Take a bun-shop somewhere in the neighbourhood of a +girls’ school, and put that assistant of yours in the +window. You’d do a roaring business.”</p> +<p>“There’s a mystery about ’im,” said +Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“Know what it is?”</p> +<p>“If I knew what it was, I shouldn’t be calling it +a mystery,” replied Mrs. Postwhistle, who was a stylist in +her way.</p> +<p>“How did you get him? Win him in a +raffle?”</p> +<p>“Jones, the agent, sent ’im to me all in a +’urry. An assistant is what I really wanted, not an +apprentice; but the premium was good, and the references +everything one could desire.”</p> +<p>“Grindley, Grindley,” murmured Clodd. +“Any relation to the Sauce, I wonder?”</p> +<p>“A bit more wholesome, I should say, from the look of +him,” thought Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>The question of a post office to meet its growing need had +long been under discussion by the neighbourhood. Mrs. +Postwhistle was approached upon the subject. Grindley +junior, eager for anything that might bring variety into his new, +cramped existence, undertook to qualify himself.</p> +<p>Within two months the arrangements were complete. +Grindley junior divided his time between dispensing groceries and +despatching telegrams and letters, and was grateful for the +change.</p> +<p>Grindley junior’s mind was fixed upon the fashioning of +a cornucopia to receive a quarter of a pound of moist. The +customer, an extremely young lady, was seeking to hasten his +operations by tapping incessantly with a penny on the +counter. It did not hurry him; it only worried him. +Grindley junior had not acquired facility in the fashioning of +cornucopias—the vertex would invariably become unrolled at +the last moment, allowing the contents to dribble out on to the +floor or counter. Grindley junior was sweet-tempered as a +rule, but when engaged upon the fashioning of a cornucopia, was +irritable.</p> +<p>“Hurry up, old man!” urged the extremely young +lady. “I’ve got another appointment in less +than half an hour.”</p> +<p>“Oh, damn the thing!” said Grindley junior, as the +paper for the fourth time reverted to its original shape.</p> +<p>An older lady, standing behind the extremely young lady and +holding a telegram-form in her hand, looked indignant.</p> +<p>“Temper, temper,” remarked the extremely young +lady in reproving tone.</p> +<p>The fifth time was more successful. The extremely young +lady went out, commenting upon the waste of time always resulting +when boys were employed to do the work of men. The older +lady, a haughty person, handed across her telegram with the +request that it should be sent off at once.</p> +<p>Grindley junior took his pencil from his pocket and commenced +to count.</p> +<p>“<i>Digniori</i>, not <i>digniorus</i>,” commented +Grindley junior, correcting the word, “<i>datur +digniori</i>, dative singular.” Grindley junior, +still irritable from the struggle with the cornucopia, spoke +sharply.</p> +<p>The haughty lady withdrew her eyes from a spot some ten miles +beyond the back of the shop, where hitherto they had been +resting, and fixed them for the first time upon Grindley +junior.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said the haughty lady.</p> +<p>Grindley junior looked up and immediately, to his annoyance, +felt that he was blushing. Grindley junior blushed +easily—it annoyed him very much.</p> +<p>The haughty young lady also blushed. She did not often +blush; when she did, she felt angry with herself.</p> +<p>“A shilling and a penny,” demanded Grindley +junior.</p> +<p>The haughty young lady counted out the money and +departed. Grindley junior, peeping from behind a tin of +Abernethy biscuits, noticed that as she passed the window she +turned and looked back. She was a very pretty, haughty +lady. Grindley junior rather admired dark, level brows and +finely cut, tremulous lips, especially when combined with a mass +of soft, brown hair, and a rich olive complexion that flushed and +paled as one looked at it.</p> +<p>“Might send that telegram off if you’ve nothing +else to do, and there’s no particular reason for keeping it +back,” suggested Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“It’s only just been handed in,” explained +Grindley junior, somewhat hurt.</p> +<p>“You’ve been looking at it for the last five +minutes by the clock,” said Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>Grindley junior sat down to the machine. The name and +address of the sender was Helvetia Appleyard, Nevill’s +Court.</p> +<p>Three days passed—singularly empty days they appeared to +Grindley junior. On the fourth, Helvetia Appleyard had +occasion to despatch another telegram—this time entirely in +English.</p> +<p>“One-and-fourpence,” sighed Grindley junior.</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard drew forth her purse. The shop was +empty.</p> +<p>“How did you come to know Latin?” inquired Miss +Appleyard in quite a casual tone.</p> +<p>“I picked up a little at school. It was a phrase I +happened to remember,” confessed Grindley junior, wondering +why he should be feeling ashamed of himself.</p> +<p>“I am always sorry,” said Miss Appleyard, +“when I see anyone content with the lower life whose +talents might, perhaps, fit him for the higher.” +Something about the tone and manner of Miss Appleyard reminded +Grindley junior of his former Rector. Each seemed to have +arrived by different roads at the same philosophical aloofness +from the world, tempered by chastened interest in human +phenomena. “Would you like to try to raise +yourself—to improve yourself—to educate +yourself?”</p> +<p>An unseen little rogue, who was enjoying himself immensely, +whispered to Grindley junior to say nothing but +“Yes,” he should.</p> +<p>“Will you let me help you?” asked Miss +Appleyard. And the simple and heartfelt gratitude with +which Grindley junior closed upon the offer proved to Miss +Appleyard how true it is that to do good to others is the highest +joy.</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard had come prepared for possible +acceptance. “You had better begin with this,” +thought Miss Appleyard. “I have marked the passages +that you should learn by heart. Make a note of anything you +do not understand, and I will explain it to you when—when +next I happen to be passing.”</p> +<p>Grindley junior took the book—<i>Bell’s +Introduction to the Study of the Classics</i>, <i>for Use of +Beginners</i>—and held it between both hands. Its +price was ninepence, but Grindley junior appeared to regard it as +a volume of great value.</p> +<p>“It will be hard work at first,” Miss Appleyard +warned him; “but you must persevere. I have taken an +interest in you; you must try not to disappoint me.”</p> +<p>And Miss Appleyard, feeling all the sensations of a Hypatia, +departed, taking light with her and forgetting to pay for the +telegram. Miss Appleyard belonged to the class that young +ladies who pride themselves on being tiresomely ignorant and +foolish sneer at as “blue-stockings”; that is to say, +possessing brains, she had felt the necessity of using +them. Solomon Appleyard, widower, a sensible old gentleman, +prospering in the printing business, and seeing no necessity for +a woman regarding herself as nothing but a doll, a somewhat +uninteresting plaything the newness once worn off, thankfully +encouraged her. Miss Appleyard had returned from Girton +wise in many things, but not in knowledge of the world, which +knowledge, too early acquired, does not always make for good in +young man or woman. A serious little virgin, Miss +Appleyard’s ambition was to help the human race. What +more useful work could have come to her hand than the raising of +this poor but intelligent young grocer’s assistant unto the +knowledge and the love of higher things. That Grindley +junior happened to be an exceedingly good-looking and charming +young grocer’s assistant had nothing to do with the matter, +so Miss Appleyard would have informed you. In her own +reasoning she was convinced that her interest in him would have +been the same had he been the least attractive of his sex. +That there could be danger in such relationship never occurred to +her.</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard, a convinced Radical, could not conceive the +possibility of a grocer’s assistant regarding the daughter +of a well-to-do printer in any other light than that of a +graciously condescending patron. That there could be danger +to herself! you would have been sorry you had suggested the +idea. The expression of lofty scorn would have made you +feel yourself contemptible.</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard’s judgment of mankind was justified; no +more promising pupil could have been selected. It was +really marvellous the progress made by Grindley junior, under the +tutelage of Helvetia Appleyard. His earnestness, his +enthusiasm, it quite touched the heart of Helvetia +Appleyard. There were many points, it is true, that puzzled +Grindley junior. Each time the list of them grew +longer. But when Helvetia Appleyard explained them, all +became clear. She marvelled herself at her own wisdom, that +in a moment made darkness luminous to this young man; his rapt +attention while she talked, it was most encouraging. The +boy must surely be a genius. To think that but for her +intuition he might have remained wasted in a grocer’s +shop! To rescue such a gem from oblivion, to polish it, was +surely the duty of a conscientious Hypatia. Two +visits—three visits a week to the little shop in Rolls +Court were quite inadequate, so many passages there were +requiring elucidation. London in early morning became their +classroom: the great, wide, empty, silent streets; the +mist-curtained parks, the silence broken only by the +blackbirds’ amorous whistle, the thrushes’ invitation +to delight; the old gardens, hidden behind narrow ways. +Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia would rest upon a seat, no +living creature within sight, save perhaps a passing policeman or +some dissipated cat. Janet Helvetia would expound. +Nathaniel George, his fine eyes fixed on hers, seemed never to +tire of drinking in her wisdom.</p> +<p>There were times when Janet Helvetia, to reassure herself as +to the maidenly correctness of her behaviour, had to recall quite +forcibly the fact that she was the daughter of Solomon Appleyard, +owner of the big printing establishment; and he a simple +grocer. One day, raised a little in the social scale, +thanks to her, Nathaniel George would marry someone in his own +rank of life. Reflecting upon the future of Nathaniel +George, Janet Helvetia could not escape a shade of sadness. +It was difficult to imagine precisely the wife she would have +chosen for Nathaniel George. She hoped he would do nothing +foolish. Rising young men so often marry wives that hamper +rather than help them.</p> +<p>One Sunday morning in late autumn, they walked and talked in +the shady garden of Lincoln’s Inn. Greek they thought +it was they had been talking; as a matter of fact, a much older +language. A young gardener was watering flowers, and as +they passed him he grinned. It was not an offensive grin, +rather a sympathetic grin; but Miss Appleyard didn’t like +being grinned at. What was there to grin at? Her +personal appearance? some <i>gaucherie</i> in her dress? +Impossible. No lady in all St. Dunstan was ever more +precise. She glanced at her companion: a clean-looking, +well-groomed, well-dressed youth. Suddenly it occurred to +Miss Appleyard that she and Grindley junior were holding each +other’s hand. Miss Appleyard was justly +indignant.</p> +<p>“How dare you!” said Miss Appleyard. +“I am exceedingly angry with you. How dare +you!”</p> +<p>The olive skin was scarlet. There were tears in the +hazel eyes.</p> +<p>“Leave me this minute!” commanded Miss +Appleyard.</p> +<p>Instead of which, Grindley junior seized both her hands.</p> +<p>“I love you! I adore you! I worship +you!” poured forth young Grindley, forgetful of all Miss +Appleyard had ever told him concerning the folly of +tautology.</p> +<p>“You had no right,” said Miss Appleyard.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t help it,” pleaded young +Grindley. “And that isn’t the worst.”</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard paled visibly. For a grocer’s +assistant to dare to fall in love with her, especially after all +the trouble she had taken with him! What could be +worse?</p> +<p>“I’m not a grocer,” continued young +Grindley, deeply conscious of crime. “I mean, not a +real grocer.”</p> +<p>And Grindley junior then and there made a clean breast of the +whole sad, terrible tale of shameless deceit, practised by the +greatest villain the world had ever produced, upon the noblest +and most beautiful maiden that ever turned grim London town into +a fairy city of enchanted ways.</p> +<p>Not at first could Miss Appleyard entirely grasp it; not till +hours later, when she sat alone in her own room, where, +fortunately for himself, Grindley junior was not, did the whole +force and meaning of the thing come home to her. It was a +large room, taking up half of the top story of the big Georgian +house in Nevill’s Court; but even as it was, Miss Appleyard +felt cramped.</p> +<p>“For a year—for nearly a whole year,” said +Miss Appleyard, addressing the bust of William Shakespeare, +“have I been slaving my life out, teaching him elementary +Latin and the first five books of Euclid!”</p> +<p>As it has been remarked, it was fortunate for Grindley junior +he was out of reach. The bust of William Shakespeare +maintained its irritating aspect of benign philosophy.</p> +<p>“I suppose I should,” mused Miss Appleyard, +“if he had told me at first—as he ought to have told +me—of course I should naturally have had nothing more to do +with him. I suppose,” mused Miss Appleyard, “a +man in love, if he is really in love, doesn’t quite know +what he’s doing. I suppose one ought to make +allowances. But, oh! when I think of it—”</p> +<p>And then Grindley junior’s guardian angel must surely +have slipped into the room, for Miss Appleyard, irritated beyond +endurance at the philosophical indifference of the bust of +William Shakespeare, turned away from it, and as she did so, +caught sight of herself in the looking-glass. Miss +Appleyard approached the glass a little nearer. A +woman’s hair is never quite as it should be. Miss +Appleyard, standing before the glass, began, she knew not why, to +find reasons excusing Grindley junior. After all, was not +forgiveness an excellent thing in woman? None of us are +quite perfect. The guardian angel of Grindley junior seized +the opportunity.</p> +<p>That evening Solomon Appleyard sat upright in his chair, +feeling confused. So far as he could understand it, a +certain young man, a grocer’s assistant, but not a +grocer’s assistant—but that, of course, was not his +fault, his father being an old brute—had behaved most +abominably; but not, on reflection, as badly as he might have +done, and had acted on the whole very honourably, taking into +consideration the fact that one supposed he could hardly help +it. Helvetia was, of course, very indignant with him, but +on the other hand, did not quite see what else she could have +done, she being not at all sure whether she really cared for him +or whether she didn’t; that everything had been quite +proper and would not have happened if she had known it; that +everything was her fault, except most things, which +weren’t; but that of the two she blamed herself entirely, +seeing that she could not have guessed anything of the +kind. And did he, Solomon Appleyard, think that she ought +to be very angry and never marry anybody else, or was she +justified in overlooking it and engaging herself to the only man +she felt she could ever love?</p> +<p>“You mustn’t think, Dad, that I meant to deceive +you. I should have told you at the beginning—you know +I would—if it hadn’t all happened so +suddenly.”</p> +<p>“Let me see,” said Solomon Appleyard, “did +you tell me his name, or didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Nathaniel,” said Miss Appleyard. +“Didn’t I mention it?”</p> +<p>“Don’t happen to know his surname, do you,” +inquired her father.</p> +<p>“Grindley,” explained Miss +Appleyard—“the son of Grindley, the Sauce +man.”</p> +<p>Miss Appleyard experienced one of the surprises of her +life. Never before to her recollection had her father +thwarted a single wish of her life. A widower for the last +twelve years, his chief delight had been to humour her. His +voice, as he passionately swore that never with his consent +should his daughter marry the son of Hezekiah Grindley, sounded +strange to her. Pleadings, even tears, for the first time +in her life proved fruitless.</p> +<p>Here was a pretty kettle of fish! That Grindley junior +should defy his own parent, risk possibly the loss of his +inheritance, had seemed to both a not improper proceeding. +When Nathaniel George had said with fine enthusiasm: “Let +him keep his money if he will; I’ll make my own way; there +isn’t enough money in the world to pay for losing +you!” Janet Helvetia, though she had expressed +disapproval of such unfilial attitude, had in secret +sympathised. But for her to disregard the wishes of her own +doting father was not to be thought of. What was to be +done?</p> +<p>Perhaps one Peter Hope, residing in Gough Square hard by, +might help young folks in sore dilemma with wise counsel. +Peter Hope, editor and part proprietor of <i>Good Humour</i>, one +penny weekly, was much esteemed by Solomon Appleyard, printer and +publisher of aforesaid paper.</p> +<p>“A good fellow, old Hope,” Solomon would often +impress upon his managing clerk. “Don’t worry +him more than you can help; things will improve. We can +trust him.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope sat at his desk, facing Miss Appleyard. +Grindley junior sat on the cushioned seat beneath the middle +window. <i>Good Humour’s</i> sub-editor stood before +the fire, her hands behind her back.</p> +<p>The case appeared to Peter Hope to be one of exceeding +difficulty.</p> +<p>“Of course,” explained Miss Appleyard, “I +shall never marry without my father’s consent.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope thought the resolution most proper.</p> +<p>“On the other hand,” continued Miss Appleyard, +“nothing shall induce me to marry a man I do not +love.” Miss Appleyard thought the probabilities were +that she would end by becoming a female missionary.</p> +<p>Peter Hope’s experience had led him to the conclusion +that young people sometimes changed their mind.</p> +<p>The opinion of the House, clearly though silently expressed, +was that Peter Hope’s experience, as regarded this +particular case, counted for nothing.</p> +<p>“I shall go straight to the Governor,” explained +Grindley junior, “and tell him that I consider myself +engaged for life to Miss Appleyard. I know what will +happen—I know the sort of idea he has got into his +head. He will disown me, and I shall go off to +Africa.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope was unable to see how Grindley junior’s +disappearance into the wilds of Africa was going to assist the +matter under discussion.</p> +<p>Grindley junior’s view was that the wilds of Africa +would afford a fitting background to the passing away of a +blighted existence.</p> +<p>Peter Hope had a suspicion that Grindley junior had for the +moment parted company with that sweet reasonableness that +otherwise, so Peter Hope felt sure, was Grindley junior’s +guiding star.</p> +<p>“I mean it, sir,” reasserted Grindley +junior. “I am—” Grindley junior was about +to add “well educated”; but divining that education +was a topic not pleasing at the moment to the ears of Helvetia +Appleyard, had tact enough to substitute “not a fool. +I can earn my own living; and I should like to get +away.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me—” said the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“Now, Tommy—I mean Jane,” warned her Peter +Hope. He always called her Jane in company, unless he was +excited. “I know what you are going to say. I +won’t have it.”</p> +<p>“I was only going to say—” urged the +sub-editor in tone of one suffering injustice.</p> +<p>“I quite know what you were going to say,” +retorted Peter hotly. “I can see it by your +chin. You are going to take their part—and suggest +their acting undutifully towards their parents.”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t,” returned the sub-editor. +“I was only—”</p> +<p>“You were,” persisted Peter. “I ought +not to have allowed you to be present. I might have known +you would interfere.”</p> +<p>“—going to say we are in want of some help in the +office. You know we are. And that if Mr. Grindley +would be content with a small salary—”</p> +<p>“Small salary be hanged!” snarled Peter.</p> +<p>“—there would be no need for his going to +Africa.”</p> +<p>“And how would that help us?” demanded +Peter. “Even if the boy were so—so headstrong, +so unfilial as to defy his father, who has worked for him all +these years, how would that remove the obstacle of Mr. +Appleyard’s refusal?”</p> +<p>“Why, don’t you see—” explained the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>“No, I don’t,” snapped Peter.</p> +<p>“If, on his declaring to his father that nothing will +ever induce him to marry any other woman but Miss Appleyard, his +father disowns him, as he thinks it likely—”</p> +<p>“A dead cert!” was Grindley junior’s +conviction.</p> +<p>“Very well; he is no longer old Grindley’s son, +and what possible objection can Mr. Appleyard have to him +then?”</p> +<p>Peter Hope arose and expounded at length and in suitable +language the folly and uselessness of the scheme.</p> +<p>But what chance had ever the wisdom of Age against the +enthusiasm of Youth, reaching for its object. Poor Peter, +expostulating, was swept into the conspiracy. Grindley +junior the next morning stood before his father in the private +office in High Holborn.</p> +<p>“I am sorry, sir,” said Grindley junior, “if +I have proved a disappointment to you.”</p> +<p>“Damn your sympathy!” said Grindley senior. +“Keep it till you are asked for it.”</p> +<p>“I hope we part friends, sir,” said Grindley +junior, holding out his hand.</p> +<p>“Why do you irate me?” asked Grindley +senior. “I have thought of nothing but you these +five-and-twenty years.”</p> +<p>“I don’t, sir,” answered Grindley +junior. “I can’t say I love you. It did +not seem to me you—you wanted it. But I like you, +sir, and I respect you. And—and I’m sorry to +have to hurt you, sir.”</p> +<p>“And you are determined to give up all your prospects, +all the money, for the sake of this—this girl?”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t seem like giving up anything, +sir,” replied Grindley junior, simply.</p> +<p>“It isn’t so much as I thought it was going to +be,” said the old man, after a pause. “Perhaps +it is for the best. I might have been more obstinate if +things had been going all right. The Lord has chastened +me.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t the business doing well, Dad?” asked +the young man, with sorrow in his voice.</p> +<p>“What’s it got to do with you?” snapped his +father. “You’ve cut yourself adrift from +it. You leave me now I am going down.”</p> +<p>Grindley junior, not knowing what to say, put his arms round +the little old man.</p> +<p>And in this way Tommy’s brilliant scheme fell through +and came to naught. Instead, old Grindley visited once +again the big house in Nevill’s Court, and remained long +closeted with old Solomon in the office on the second +floor. It was late in the evening when Solomon opened the +door and called upstairs to Janet Helvetia to come down.</p> +<p>“I used to know you long ago,” said Hezekiah +Grindley, rising. “You were quite a little girl +then.”</p> +<p>Later, the troublesome Sauce disappeared entirely, cut out by +newer flavours. Grindley junior studied the printing +business. It almost seemed as if old Appleyard had been +waiting but for this. Some six months later they found him +dead in his counting-house. Grindley junior became the +printer and publisher of <i>Good Humour</i>.</p> +<h2>STORY THE FOURTH—Miss Ramsbotham gives her +Services</h2> +<p>To regard Miss Ramsbotham as a marriageable quantity would +have occurred to few men. Endowed by Nature with every +feminine quality calculated to inspire liking, she had, on the +other hand, been disinherited of every attribute calculated to +excite passion. An ugly woman has for some men an +attraction; the proof is ever present to our eyes. Miss +Ramsbotham was plain but pleasant looking. Large, healthy +in mind and body, capable, self-reliant, and cheerful, blessed +with a happy disposition together with a keen sense of humour, +there was about her absolutely nothing for tenderness to lay hold +of. An ideal wife, she was an impossible sweetheart. +Every man was her friend. The suggestion that any man could +be her lover she herself would have greeted with a clear, ringing +laugh.</p> +<p>Not that she held love in despite; for such folly she was +possessed of far too much sound sense. “To have +somebody in love with you—somebody strong and good,” +so she would confess to her few close intimates, a dreamy +expression clouding for an instant her broad, sunny face, +“why, it must be just lovely!” For Miss +Ramsbotham was prone to American phraseology, and had even been +at some pains, during a six months’ journey through the +States (whither she had been commissioned by a conscientious +trade journal seeking reliable information concerning the +condition of female textile workers) to acquire a slight but +decided American accent. It was her one affectation, but +assumed, as one might feel certain, for a practical and +legitimate object.</p> +<p>“You can have no conception,” she would explain, +laughing, “what a help I find it. ‘I’m +‘Muriken’ is the ‘Civis Romanus sum’ of +the modern woman’s world. It opens every door to +us. If I ring the bell and say, ‘Oh, if you please, I +have come to interview Mr. So-and-So for such-and-such a +paper,’ the footman looks through me at the opposite side +of the street, and tells me to wait in the hall while he inquires +if Mr. So-and-So will see me or not. But if I say, +‘That’s my keerd, young man. You tell your +master Miss Ramsbotham is waiting for him in the showroom, and +will take it real kind if he’ll just bustle himself,’ +the poor fellow walks backwards till he stumbles against the +bottom stair, and my gentleman comes down with profuse apologies +for having kept me waiting three minutes and a half.</p> +<p>“’And to be in love with someone,” she would +continue, “someone great that one could look up to and +honour and worship—someone that would fill one’s +whole life, make it beautiful, make every day worth living, I +think that would be better still. To work merely for +one’s self, to think merely for one’s self, it is so +much less interesting.”</p> +<p>Then, at some such point of the argument, Miss Ramsbotham +would jump up from her chair and shake herself indignantly.</p> +<p>“Why, what nonsense I’m talking,” she would +tell herself, and her listeners. “I make a very fair +income, have a host of friends, and enjoy every hour of my +life. I should like to have been pretty or handsome, of +course; but no one can have all the good things of this world, +and I have my brains. At one time, perhaps, yes; but +now—no, honestly I would not change myself.”</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham was sorry that no man had ever fallen in love +with her, but that she could understand.</p> +<p>“It is quite clear to me.” So she had once +unburdened herself to her bosom friend. “Man for the +purposes of the race has been given two kinds of love, between +which, according to his opportunities and temperament, he is free +to choose: he can fall down upon his knees and adore physical +beauty (for Nature ignores entirely our mental side), or he can +take delight in circling with his protecting arm the weak and +helpless. Now, I make no appeal to either instinct. I +possess neither the charm nor beauty to attract—”</p> +<p>“Beauty,” reminded her the bosom friend, +consolingly, “dwells in the beholder’s +eye.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” cheerfully replied Miss Ramsbotham, +“it would have to be an eye of the range and capacity Sam +Weller frankly owned up to not possessing—a patent +double-million magnifying, capable of seeing through a deal board +and round the corner sort of eye—to detect any beauty in +me. And I am much too big and sensible for any man not a +fool ever to think of wanting to take care of me.</p> +<p>“I believe,” remembered Miss Ramsbotham, “if +it does not sound like idle boasting, I might have had a husband, +of a kind, if Fate had not compelled me to save his life. I +met him one year at Huyst, a small, quiet watering-place on the +Dutch coast. He would walk always half a step behind me, +regarding me out of the corner of his eye quite approvingly at +times. He was a widower—a good little man, devoted to +his three charming children. They took an immense fancy to +me, and I really think I could have got on with him. I am +very adaptable, as you know. But it was not to be. He +got out of his depth one morning, and unfortunately there was no +one within distance but myself who could swim. I knew what +the result would be. You remember Labiche’s comedy, +<i>Les Voyage de Monsieur Perrichon</i>? Of course, every +man hates having had his life saved, after it is over; and you +can imagine how he must hate having it saved by a woman. +But what was I to do? In either case he would be lost to +me, whether I let him drown or whether I rescued him. So, +as it really made no difference, I rescued him. He was very +grateful, and left the next morning.</p> +<p>“It is my destiny. No man has ever fallen in love +with me, and no man ever will. I used to worry myself about +it when I was younger. As a child I hugged to my bosom for +years an observation I had overheard an aunt of mine whisper to +my mother one afternoon as they sat knitting and talking, not +thinking I was listening. ‘You never can tell,’ +murmured my aunt, keeping her eyes carefully fixed upon her +needles; ‘children change so. I have known the +plainest girls grow up into quite beautiful women. I should +not worry about it if I were you—not yet +awhile.’ My mother was not at all a bad-looking +woman, and my father was decidedly handsome; so there seemed no +reason why I should not hope. I pictured myself the ugly +duckling of Andersen’s fairy-tale, and every morning on +waking I would run straight to my glass and try to persuade +myself that the feathers of the swan were beginning at last to +show themselves.” Miss Ramsbotham laughed, a genuine +laugh of amusement, for of self-pity not a trace was now +remaining to her.</p> +<p>“Later I plucked hope again,” continued Miss +Ramsbotham her confession, “from the reading of a certain +school of fiction more popular twenty years ago than now. +In these romances the heroine was never what you would call +beautiful, unless in common with the hero you happened to possess +exceptional powers of observation. But she was better than +that, she was good. I do not regard as time wasted the +hours I spent studying this quaint literature. It helped +me, I am sure, to form habits that have since been of service to +me. I made a point, when any young man visitor happened to +be staying with us, of rising exceptionally early in the morning, +so that I always appeared at the breakfast-table fresh, cheerful, +and carefully dressed, with, when possible, a dew-besprinkled +flower in my hair to prove that I had already been out in the +garden. The effort, as far as the young man visitor was +concerned, was always thrown away; as a general rule, he came +down late himself, and generally too drowsy to notice anything +much. But it was excellent practice for me. I wake +now at seven o’clock as a matter of course, whatever time I +go to bed. I made my own dresses and most of our cakes, and +took care to let everybody know it. Though I say it who +should not, I play and sing rather well. I certainly was +never a fool. I had no little brothers and sisters to whom +to be exceptionally devoted, but I had my cousins about the house +as much as possible, and damaged their characters, if anything, +by over-indulgence. My dear, it never caught even a +curate! I am not one of those women to run down men; I +think them delightful creatures, and in a general way I find them +very intelligent. But where their hearts are concerned it +is the girl with the frizzy hair, who wants two people to help +her over the stile, that is their idea of an angel. No man +could fall in love with me; he couldn’t if he tried. +That I can understand; but”—Miss Ramsbotham sunk her +voice to a more confidential tone—“what I cannot +understand is that I have never fallen in love with any man, +because I like them all.”</p> +<p>“You have given the explanation yourself,” +suggested the bosom friend—one Susan Fossett, the +“Aunt Emma” of <i>The Ladies’ Journal</i>, a +nice woman, but talkative. “You are too +sensible.”</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham shook her head, “I should just love to +fall in love. When I think about it, I feel quite ashamed +of myself for not having done so.”</p> +<p>Whether it was this idea, namely, that it was her duty, or +whether it was that passion came to her, unsought, somewhat late +in life, and therefore all the stronger, she herself would +perhaps have been unable to declare. Certain only it is +that at over thirty years of age this clever, sensible, +clear-seeing woman fell to sighing and blushing, starting and +stammering at the sounding of a name, as though for all the world +she had been a love-sick girl in her teens.</p> +<p>Susan Fossett, her bosom friend, brought the strange tidings +to Bohemia one foggy November afternoon, her opportunity being a +tea-party given by Peter Hope to commemorate the birthday of his +adopted daughter and sub-editor, Jane Helen, commonly called +Tommy. The actual date of Tommy’s birthday was known +only to the gods; but out of the London mist to wifeless, +childless Peter she had come the evening of a certain November +the eighteenth, and therefore by Peter and his friends November +the eighteenth had been marked upon the calendar as a day on +which they should rejoice together.</p> +<p>“It is bound to leak out sooner or later,” Susan +Fossett was convinced, “so I may as well tell you: that +gaby Mary Ramsbotham has got herself engaged.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” was Peter Hope’s involuntary +ejaculation.</p> +<p>“Precisely what I mean to tell her the very next time I +see her,” added Susan.</p> +<p>“Who to?” demanded Tommy.</p> +<p>“You mean ‘to whom.’ The preeposition +governs the objective case,” corrected her James Douglas +McTear, commonly called “The Wee Laddie,” who himself +wrote English better than he spoke it.</p> +<p>“I meant ‘to whom,’” explained +Tommy.</p> +<p>“Ye didna say it,” persisted the Wee Laddie.</p> +<p>“I don’t know to whom,” replied Miss +Ramsbotham’s bosom friend, sipping tea and breathing +indignation. “To something idiotic and incongruous +that will make her life a misery to her.”</p> +<p>Somerville, the briefless, held that in the absence of all +data such conclusion was unjustifiable.</p> +<p>“If it had been to anything sensible,” was Miss +Fossett’s opinion, “she would not have kept me in the +dark about it, to spring it upon me like a bombshell. +I’ve never had so much as a hint from her until I received +this absurd scrawl an hour ago.”</p> +<p>Miss Fossett produced from her bag a letter written in +pencil.</p> +<p>“There can be no harm in your hearing it,” was +Miss Fossett’s excuse; “it will give you an idea of +the state of the poor thing’s mind.”</p> +<p>The tea-drinkers left their cups and gathered round her. +“Dear Susan,” read Miss Fossett, “I shall not +be able to be with you to-morrow. Please get me out of it +nicely. I can’t remember at the moment what it +is. You’ll be surprised to hear that I’m +<i>engaged</i>—to be married, I mean, I can hardly +<i>realise</i> it. I hardly seem to know where I am. +Have just made up my mind to run down to Yorkshire and see +grandmamma. I must do <i>something</i>. I must +<i>talk</i> to <i>somebody</i> and—forgive me, +dear—but you <i>are</i> so sensible, and just +now—well I don’t <i>feel</i> sensible. Will +tell you all about it when I see you—next week, +perhaps. You must <i>try</i> to like him. He is +<i>so</i> handsome and <i>really</i> clever—in his own +way. Don’t scold me. I never thought it +possible that <i>anyone</i> could be so happy. It’s +quite a different sort of happiness to <i>any</i> other sort of +happiness. I don’t know how to describe it. +Please ask Burcot to let me off the antequarian congress. I +feel I should do it badly. I am so thankful he has +<i>no</i> relatives—in England. I should have been so +<i>terribly</i> nervous. Twelve hours ago I could not have +<i>dreamt</i> of it, and now I walk on tiptoe for fear of waking +up. Did I leave my chinchilla at your rooms? +Don’t be angry with me. I should have told you if I +had known. In haste. Yours, Mary.”</p> +<p>“It’s dated from Marylebone Road, and yesterday +afternoon she did leave her chinchilla in my rooms, which makes +me think it really must be from Mary Ramsbotham. Otherwise +I should have my doubts,” added Miss Fossett, as she folded +up the letter and replaced it in her bag.</p> +<p>“Id is love!” was the explanation of Dr. William +Smith, his round, red face illuminated with poetic ecstasy. +“Love has gone to her—has dransformed her once again +into the leedle maid.”</p> +<p>“Love,” retorted Susan Fossett, +“doesn’t transform an intelligent, educated woman +into a person who writes a letter all in jerks, underlines every +other word, spells antiquarian with an ’e,’ and +Burcott’s name, whom she has known for the last eight +years, with only one ’t.’ The woman has gone +stark, staring mad!”</p> +<p>“We must wait until we have seen him,” was +Peter’s judicious view. “I should be so glad to +think that the dear lady was happy.”</p> +<p>“So should I,” added Miss Fossett drily.</p> +<p>“One of the most sensible women I have ever met,” +commented William Clodd. “Lucky man, whoever he +is. Half wish I’d thought of it myself.”</p> +<p>“I am not saying that he isn’t,” retorted +Miss Fossett. “It isn’t him I’m worrying +about.”</p> +<p>“I preesume you mean ‘he,’” suggested +the Wee Laddie. “The verb ‘to +be’—”</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake,” suggested Miss Fossett +to Tommy, “give that man something to eat or drink. +That’s the worst of people who take up grammar late in +life. Like all converts, they become fanatical.”</p> +<p>“She’s a ripping good sort, is Mary +Ramsbotham,” exclaimed Grindley junior, printer and +publisher of <i>Good Humour</i>. “The marvel to me is +that no man hitherto has ever had the sense to want +her.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you men!” cried Miss Fossett. “A +pretty face and an empty head is all you want.”</p> +<p>“Must they always go together?” laughed Mrs. +Grindley junior, <i>née</i> Helvetia Appleyard.</p> +<p>“Exceptions prove the rule,” grunted Miss +Fossett.</p> +<p>“What a happy saying that is,” smiled Mrs. +Grindley junior. “I wonder sometimes how conversation +was ever carried on before it was invented.”</p> +<p>“De man who would fall in love wid our dear frent +Mary,” thought Dr. Smith, “he must be quite +egsceptional.”</p> +<p>“You needn’t talk about her as if she was a +monster—I mean were,” corrected herself Miss Fossett, +with a hasty glance towards the Wee Laddie. “There +isn’t a man I know that’s worthy of her.”</p> +<p>“I mean,” explained the doctor, “dat he must +be a man of character—of brain. Id is de noble man +dat is attracted by de noble woman.”</p> +<p>“By the chorus-girl more often,” suggested Miss +Fossett.</p> +<p>“We must hope for the best,” counselled +Peter. “I cannot believe that a clever, capable woman +like Mary Ramsbotham would make a fool of herself.”</p> +<p>“From what I have seen,” replied Miss Fossett, +“it’s just the clever people—as regards this +particular matter—who do make fools of +themselves.”</p> +<p>Unfortunately Miss Fossett’s judgment proved to be +correct. On being introduced a fortnight later to Miss +Ramsbotham’s fiancé, the impulse of Bohemia was to +exclaim, “Great Scott! Whatever in the name +of—” Then on catching sight of Miss +Ramsbotham’s transfigured face and trembling hands Bohemia +recollected itself in time to murmur instead: “Delighted, +I’m sure!” and to offer mechanical +congratulations. Reginald Peters was a pretty but +remarkably foolish-looking lad of about two-and-twenty, with +curly hair and receding chin; but to Miss Ramsbotham evidently a +promising Apollo. Her first meeting with him had taken +place at one of the many political debating societies then in +fashion, attendance at which Miss Ramsbotham found useful for +purposes of journalistic “copy.” Miss +Ramsbotham, hitherto a Radical of pronounced views, he had +succeeded under three months in converting into a strong +supporter of the Gentlemanly Party. His feeble political +platitudes, which a little while before she would have seized +upon merrily to ridicule, she now sat drinking in, her plain face +suffused with admiration. Away from him and in connection +with those subjects—somewhat numerous—about which he +knew little and cared less, she retained her sense and humour; +but in his presence she remained comparatively speechless, gazing +up into his somewhat watery eyes with the grateful expression of +one learning wisdom from a master.</p> +<p>Her absurd adoration—irritating beyond measure to her +friends, and which even to her lover, had he possessed a grain of +sense, would have appeared ridiculous—to Master Peters was +evidently a gratification. Of selfish, exacting nature, he +must have found the services of this brilliant woman of the world +of much practical advantage. Knowing all the most +interesting people in London, it was her pride and pleasure to +introduce him everywhere. Her friends put up with him for +her sake; to please her made him welcome, did their best to like +him, and disguised their failure. The free entry to a +places of amusement saved his limited purse. Her influence, +he had instinct enough to perceive, could not fail to be of use +to him in his profession: that of a barrister. She praised +him to prominent solicitors, took him to tea with judges’ +wives, interested examiners on his behalf. In return he +overlooked her many disadvantages, and did not fail to let her +know it. Miss Ramsbotham’s gratitude was +boundless.</p> +<p>“I do so wish I were younger and better looking,” +she sighed to the bosom friend. “For myself, I +don’t mind; I have got used to it. But it is so hard +on Reggie. He feels it, I know he does, though he never +openly complains.”</p> +<p>“He would be a cad if he did,” answered Susan +Fossett, who having tried conscientiously for a month to tolerate +the fellow, had in the end declared her inability even to do more +than avoid open expression of cordial dislike. “Added +to which I don’t quite see of what use it would be. +You never told him you were young and pretty, did you?”</p> +<p>“I told him, my dear,” replied Miss Ramsbotham, +“the actual truth. I don’t want to take any +credit for doing so; it seemed the best course. You see, +unfortunately, I look my age. With most men it would have +made a difference. You have no idea how good he is. +He assured me he had engaged himself to me with his eyes open, +and that there was no need to dwell upon unpleasant topics. +It is so wonderful to me that he should care for me—he who +could have half the women in London at his feet.”</p> +<p>“Yes, he’s the type that would attract them, I +daresay,” agreed Susan Fossett. “But are you +quite sure that he does?—care for you, I mean.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” returned Miss Ramsbotham, “you +remember Rochefoucauld’s definition. ‘One +loves, the other consents to be loved.’ If he will +only let me do that I shall be content. It is more than I +had any right to expect.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you are a fool,” told her bluntly her bosom +friend.</p> +<p>“I know I am,” admitted Miss Ramsbotham; +“but I had no idea that being a fool was so +delightful.”</p> +<p>Bohemia grew day by day more indignant and amazed. Young +Peters was not even a gentleman. All the little offices of +courtship he left to her. It was she who helped him on with +his coat, and afterwards adjusted her own cloak; she who carried +the parcel, she who followed into and out of the +restaurant. Only when he thought anyone was watching would +he make any attempt to behave to her with even ordinary +courtesy. He bullied her, contradicted her in public, +ignored her openly. Bohemia fumed with impotent rage, yet +was bound to confess that so far as Miss Ramsbotham herself was +concerned he had done more to make her happy than had ever all +Bohemia put together. A tender light took up its dwelling +in her eyes, which for the first time it was noticed were +singularly deep and expressive. The blood, of which she +possessed if anything too much, now came and went, so that her +cheeks, in place of their insistent red, took on a varied pink +and white. Life had entered her thick dark hair, giving to +it shade and shadow.</p> +<p>The woman began to grow younger. She put on flesh. +Sex, hitherto dormant, began to show itself; femininities peeped +out. New tones, suggesting possibilities, crept into her +voice. Bohemia congratulated itself that the affair, after +all, might turn out well.</p> +<p>Then Master Peters spoiled everything by showing a better side +to his nature, and, careless of all worldly considerations, +falling in love himself, honestly, with a girl at the bun +shop. He did the best thing under the circumstances that he +could have done: told Miss Ramsbotham the plain truth, and left +the decision in her hands.</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham acted as anyone who knew her would have +foretold. Possibly, in the silence of her delightful little +four-roomed flat over the tailor’s shop in Marylebone Road, +her sober, worthy maid dismissed for a holiday, she may have shed +some tears; but, if so, no trace of them was allowed to mar the +peace of mind of Mr. Peters. She merely thanked him for +being frank with her, and by a little present pain saving them +both a future of disaster. It was quite understandable; she +knew he had never really been in love with her. She had +thought him the type of man that never does fall in love, as the +word is generally understood—Miss Ramsbotham did not add, +with anyone except himself—and had that been the case, and +he content merely to be loved, they might have been happy +together. As it was—well, it was fortunate he had +found out the truth before it was too late. Now, would he +take her advice?</p> +<p>Mr. Peters was genuinely grateful, as well he might be, and +would consent to any suggestion that Miss Ramsbotham might make; +felt he had behaved shabbily, was very much ashamed of himself, +would be guided in all things by Miss Ramsbotham, whom he should +always regard as the truest of friends, and so on.</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham’s suggestion was this: Mr. Peters, no +more robust of body than of mind, had been speaking for some time +past of travel. Having nothing to do now but to wait for +briefs, why not take this opportunity of visiting his only +well-to-do relative, a Canadian farmer. Meanwhile, let Miss +Peggy leave the bun shop and take up her residence in Miss +Ramsbotham’s flat. Let there be no +engagement—merely an understanding. The girl was +pretty, charming, good, Miss Ramsbotham felt sure; +but—well, a little education, a little training in manners +and behaviour would not be amiss, would it? If, on +returning at the end of six months or a year, Mr. Peters was +still of the same mind, and Peggy also wishful, the affair would +be easier, would it not?</p> +<p>There followed further expressions of eternal gratitude. +Miss Ramsbotham swept all such aside. It would be pleasant +to have a bright young girl to live with her; teaching, moulding +such an one would be a pleasant occupation.</p> +<p>And thus it came to pass that Mr. Reginald Peters disappeared +for a while from Bohemia, to the regret of but few, and there +entered into it one Peggy Nutcombe, as pretty a child as ever +gladdened the eye of man. She had wavy, flaxen hair, a +complexion that might have been manufactured from the essence of +wild roses, the nose that Tennyson bestows upon his +miller’s daughter, and a mouth worthy of the Lowther Arcade +in its days of glory. Add to this the quick grace of a +kitten, with the appealing helplessness of a baby in its first +short frock, and you will be able to forgive Mr. Reginald Peters +his faithlessness. Bohemia looked from one to the +other—from the fairy to the woman—and ceased to +blame. That the fairy was as stupid as a camel, as selfish +as a pig, and as lazy as a nigger Bohemia did not know; +nor—so long as her figure and complexion remained what it +was—would its judgment have been influenced, even if it +had. I speak of the Bohemian male.</p> +<p>But that is just what her figure and complexion did not +do. Mr. Reginald Peters, finding his uncle old, feeble, and +inclined to be fond, deemed it to his advantage to stay longer +than he had intended. Twelve months went by. Miss +Peggy was losing her kittenish grace, was becoming lumpy. A +couple of pimples—one near the right-hand corner of her +rosebud mouth, and another on the left-hand side of her +tip-tilted nose—marred her baby face. At the end of +another six months the men called her plump, and the women +fat. Her walk was degenerating into a waddle; stairs caused +her to grunt. She took to breathing with her mouth, and +Bohemia noticed that her teeth were small, badly coloured, and +uneven. The pimples grew in size and number. The +cream and white of her complexion was merging into a general +yellow. A certain greasiness of skin was manifesting +itself. Babyish ways in connection with a woman who must +have weighed about eleven stone struck Bohemia as +incongruous. Her manners, judged alone, had improved. +But they had not improved her. They did not belong to her; +they did not fit her. They sat on her as Sunday broadcloth +on a yokel. She had learned to employ her +“h’s” correctly, and to speak good +grammar. This gave to her conversation a painfully +artificial air. The little learning she had absorbed was +sufficient to bestow upon her an angry consciousness of her own +invincible ignorance.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Miss Ramsbotham had continued upon her course of +rejuvenation. At twenty-nine she had looked thirty-five; at +thirty-two she looked not a day older than five-and-twenty. +Bohemia felt that should she retrograde further at the same rate +she would soon have to shorten her frocks and let down her +hair. A nervous excitability had taken possession of her +that was playing strange freaks not only with her body, but with +her mind. What it gave to the one it seemed to take from +the other. Old friends, accustomed to enjoy with her the +luxury of plain speech, wondered in vain what they had done to +offend her. Her desire was now towards new friends, new +faces. Her sense of humour appeared to be departing from +her; it became unsafe to jest with her. On the other hand, +she showed herself greedy for admiration and flattery. Her +former chums stepped back astonished to watch brainless young +fops making their way with her by complimenting her upon her +blouse, or whispering to her some trite nonsense about her +eyelashes. From her work she took a good percentage of her +brain power to bestow it on her clothes. Of course, she was +successful. Her dresses suited her, showed her to the best +advantage. Beautiful she could never be, and had sense +enough to know it; but a charming, distinguished-looking woman +she had already become. Also, she was on the high road to +becoming a vain, egotistical, commonplace woman.</p> +<p>It was during the process of this, her metamorphosis, that +Peter Hope one evening received a note from her announcing her +intention of visiting him the next morning at the editorial +office of <i>Good Humour</i>. She added in a postscript +that she would prefer the interview to be private.</p> +<p>Punctually to the time appointed Miss Ramsbotham +arrived. Miss Ramsbotham, contrary to her custom, opened +conversation with the weather. Miss Ramsbotham was of +opinion that there was every possibility of rain. Peter +Hope’s experience was that there was always possibility of +rain.</p> +<p>“How is the Paper doing?” demanded Miss +Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>The Paper—for a paper not yet two years old—was +doing well. “We expect very shortly—very +shortly indeed,” explained Peter Hope, “to turn the +corner.”</p> +<p>“Ah! that ‘corner,’” sympathised Miss +Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>“I confess,” smiled Peter Hope, “it +doesn’t seem to be exactly a right-angled corner. One +reaches it as one thinks. But it takes some getting +round—what I should describe as a cornery +corner.”</p> +<p>“What you want,” thought Miss Ramsbotham, +“are one or two popular features.”</p> +<p>“Popular features,” agreed Peter guardedly, +scenting temptation, “are not to be despised, provided one +steers clear of the vulgar and the commonplace.”</p> +<p>“A Ladies’ Page!” suggested Miss +Ramsbotham—“a page that should make the woman buy +it. The women, believe me, are going to be of more and more +importance to the weekly press.”</p> +<p>“But why should she want a special page to +herself?” demanded Peter Hope. “Why should not +the paper as a whole appeal to her?”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t,” was all Miss Ramsbotham could +offer in explanation.</p> +<p>“We give her literature and the drama, poetry, fiction, +the higher politics, the—”</p> +<p>“I know, I know,” interrupted Miss Ramsbotham, who +of late, among other failings new to her, had developed a +tendency towards impatience; “but she gets all that in half +a dozen other papers. I have thought it out.” +Miss Ramsbotham leaned further across the editorial desk and sunk +her voice unconsciously to a confidential whisper. +“Tell her the coming fashions. Discuss the question +whether hat or bonnet makes you look the younger. Tell her +whether red hair or black is to be the new colour, what size +waist is being worn by the best people. Oh, come!” +laughed Miss Ramsbotham in answer to Peter’s shocked +expression; “one cannot reform the world and human nature +all at once. You must appeal to people’s folly in +order to get them to listen to your wisdom. Make your paper +a success first. You can make it a power +afterwards.”</p> +<p>“But,” argued Peter, “there are already such +papers—papers devoted to—to that sort of thing, and +to nothing else.”</p> +<p>“At sixpence!” replied the practical Miss +Ramsbotham. “I am thinking of the lower middle-class +woman who has twenty pounds a year to spend on dress, and who +takes twelve hours a day to think about it, poor creature. +My dear friend, there is a fortune in it. Think of the +advertisements.”</p> +<p>Poor Peter groaned—old Peter, the dreamer of +dreams. But for thought of Tommy! one day to be left alone +to battle with a stony-eyed, deaf world, Peter most assuredly +would have risen in his wrath, would have said to his +distinguished-looking temptress, “Get thee behind me, Miss +Ramsbotham. My journalistic instinct whispers to me that +your scheme, judged by the mammon of unrighteousness, is +good. It is a new departure. Ten years hence half the +London journals will have adopted it. There is money in +it. But what of that? Shall I for mere dross sell my +editorial soul, turn the temple of the Mighty Pen into a den +of—of milliners! Good morning, Miss Ramsbotham. +I grieve for you. I grieve for you as for a fellow-worker +once inspired by devotion to a noble calling, who has fallen from +her high estate. Good morning, madam.”</p> +<p>So Peter thought as he sat tattooing with his finger-tips upon +the desk; but only said—</p> +<p>“It would have to be well done.”</p> +<p>“Everything would depend upon how it was done,” +agreed Miss Ramsbotham. “Badly done, the idea would +be wasted. You would be merely giving it away to some other +paper.”</p> +<p>“Do you know of anyone?” queried Peter.</p> +<p>“I was thinking of myself,” answered Miss +Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” said Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“Why?” demanded Miss Ramsbotham. +“Don’t you think I could do it?”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Peter, “no one could do it +better. I am sorry you should wish to do it—that is +all.”</p> +<p>“I want to do it,” replied Miss Ramsbotham, a note +of doggedness in her voice.</p> +<p>“How much do you propose to charge me?” Peter +smiled.</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“My dear lady—”</p> +<p>“I could not in conscience,” explained Miss +Ramsbotham, “take payment from both sides. I am going +to make a good deal out of it. I am going to make out of it +at least three hundred a year, and they will be glad to pay +it.”</p> +<p>“Who will?”</p> +<p>“The dressmakers. I shall be one of the most +stylish women in London,” laughed Miss Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>“You used to be a sensible woman,” Peter reminded +her.</p> +<p>“I want to live.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you manage to do it without—without +being a fool, my dear.”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Miss Ramsbotham, “a woman +can’t. I’ve tried it.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” agreed Peter, “be it +so.”</p> +<p>Peter had risen. He laid his shapely, white old hand +upon the woman’s shoulder. “Tell me when you +want to give it up. I shall be glad.”</p> +<p>Thus it was arranged. <i>Good Humour</i> gained +circulation and—of more importance +yet—advertisements; and Miss Ramsbotham, as she had +predicted, the reputation of being one of the best-dressed women +in London. Her reason for desiring such reputation Peter +Hope had shrewdly guessed. Two months later his suspicions +were confirmed. Mr. Reginald Peters, his uncle being dead, +was on his way back to England.</p> +<p>His return was awaited with impatience only by the occupants +of the little flat in the Marylebone Road; and between these two +the difference of symptom was marked. Mistress Peggy, too +stupid to comprehend the change that had been taking place in +her, looked forward to her lover’s arrival with +delight. Mr. Reginald Peters, independently of his +profession, was in consequence of his uncle’s death a man +of means. Miss Ramsbotham’s tutelage, which had +always been distasteful to her, would now be at an end. She +would be a “lady” in the true sense of the +word—according to Miss Peggy’s definition, a woman +with nothing to do but eat and drink, and nothing to think of but +dress. Miss Ramsbotham, on the other hand, who might have +anticipated the home-coming of her quondam admirer with hope, +exhibited a strange condition of alarmed misery, which increased +from day to day as the date drew nearer.</p> +<p>The meeting—whether by design or accident was never +known—took place at an evening party given by the +proprietors of a new journal. The circumstance was +certainly unfortunate for poor Peggy, whom Bohemia began to +pity. Mr. Peters, knowing both women would be there and so +on the look-out, saw in the distance among the crowd of +notabilities a superbly millinered, tall, graceful woman, whose +face recalled sensations he could not for the moment place. +Chiefly noticeable about her were her exquisite neck and arms, +and the air of perfect breeding with which she moved, talking and +laughing, through the distinguished, fashionable throng. +Beside her strutted, nervously aggressive, a vulgar, fat, pimply, +shapeless young woman, attracting universal attention by the +incongruity of her presence in the room. On being greeted +by the graceful lady of the neck and arms, the conviction forced +itself upon him that this could be no other than the once Miss +Ramsbotham, plain of face and indifferent of dress, whose very +appearance he had almost forgotten. On being greeted +gushingly as “Reggie” by the sallow-complexioned, +over-dressed young woman he bowed with evident astonishment, and +apologised for a memory that, so he assured the lady, had always +been to him a source of despair.</p> +<p>Of course, he thanked his stars—and Miss +Ramsbotham—that the engagement had never been formal. +So far as Mr. Peters was concerned, there was an end to Mistress +Peggy’s dream of an existence of everlasting breakfasts in +bed. Leaving the Ramsbotham flat, she returned to the +maternal roof, and there a course of hard work and plain living +tended greatly to improve her figure and complexion; so that in +course of time, the gods smiling again upon her, she married a +foreman printer, and passes out of this story.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Mr. Reginald Peters—older, and the possessor, +perhaps, of more sense—looked at Miss Ramsbotham with new +eyes, and now not tolerated but desired her. Bohemia waited +to assist at the happy termination of a pretty and somewhat novel +romance. Miss Ramsbotham had shown no sign of being +attracted elsewhere. Flattery, compliment, she continued to +welcome; but merely, so it seemed, as favourable criticism. +Suitors more fit and proper were now not lacking, for Miss +Ramsbotham, though a woman less desirable when won, came readily +to the thought of wooing. But to all such she turned a +laughing face.</p> +<p>“I like her for it,” declared Susan Fossett; +“and he has improved—there was room for +it—though I wish it could have been some other. There +was Jack Herring—it would have been so much more +suitable. Or even Joe, in spite of his size. But +it’s her wedding, not ours; and she will never care for +anyone else.”</p> +<p>And Bohemia bought its presents, and had them ready, but never +gave them. A few months later Mr. Reginald Peters returned +to Canada, a bachelor. Miss Ramsbotham expressed her desire +for another private interview with Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“I may as well keep on the Letter to Clorinda,” +thought Miss Ramsbotham. “I have got into the knack +of it. But I will get you to pay me for it in the ordinary +way.”</p> +<p>“I would rather have done so from the beginning,” +explained Peter.</p> +<p>“I know. I could not in conscience, as I told you, +take from both sides. For the future—well, they have +said nothing; but I expect they are beginning to get tired of +it.”</p> +<p>“And you!” questioned Peter.</p> +<p>“Yes. I am tired of it myself,” laughed Miss +Ramsbotham. “Life isn’t long enough to be a +well-dressed woman.”</p> +<p>“You have done with all that?”</p> +<p>“I hope so,” answered Miss Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>“And don’t want to talk any more about it?” +suggested Peter.</p> +<p>“Not just at present. I should find it so +difficult to explain.”</p> +<p>By others, less sympathetic than old Peter, vigorous attempts +were made to solve the mystery. Miss Ramsbotham took +enjoyment in cleverly evading these tormentors. Thwarted at +every point, the gossips turned to other themes. Miss +Ramsbotham found interest once again in the higher branches of +her calling; became again, by slow degrees, the sensible, frank, +‘good sort’ that Bohemia had known, liked, +respected—everything but loved.</p> +<p>Years later, to Susan Fossett, the case was made clear; and +through Susan Fossett, a nice enough woman but talkative, those +few still interested learned the explanation.</p> +<p>“Love,” said Miss Ramsbotham to the bosom friend, +“is not regulated by reason. As you say, there were +many men I might have married with much more hope of +happiness. But I never cared for any other man. He +was not intellectual, was egotistical, possibly enough +selfish. The man should always be older than the woman; he +was younger, and he was a weak character. Yet I loved +him.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you didn’t marry him,” said the +bosom friend.</p> +<p>“So am I,” agreed Miss Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>“If you can’t trust me,” had said the bosom +friend at this point, “don’t.”</p> +<p>“I meant to do right,” said Miss Ramsbotham, +“upon my word of honour I did, in the beginning.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand,” said the bosom +friend.</p> +<p>“If she had been my own child,” continued Miss +Ramsbotham, “I could not have done more—in the +beginning. I tried to teach her, to put some sense into +her. Lord! the hours I wasted on that little idiot! I +marvel at my own patience. She was nothing but an +animal. An animal! she had only an animal’s +vices. To eat and drink and sleep was her idea of +happiness; her one ambition male admiration, and she hadn’t +character enough to put sufficient curb upon her stomach to +retain it. I reasoned with her, I pleaded with her, I +bullied her. Had I persisted I might have succeeded by +sheer physical and mental strength in restraining her from +ruining herself. I was winning. I had made her +frightened of me. Had I gone on, I might have won. By +dragging her out of bed in the morning, by insisting upon her +taking exercise, by regulating every particle of food and drink +she put into her mouth, I kept the little beast in good condition +for nearly three months. Then, I had to go away into the +country for a few days; she swore she would obey my +instructions. When I came back I found she had been in bed +most of the time, and had been living chiefly on chocolate and +cakes. She was curled up asleep in an easy-chair, snoring +with her mouth wide open, when I opened the door. And at +sight of that picture the devil came to me and tempted me. +Why should I waste my time, wear myself out in mind and body, +that the man I loved should marry a pig because it looked like an +angel? ‘Six months’ wallowing according to its +own desires would reveal it in its true shape. So from that +day I left it to itself. No, worse than that—I +don’t want to spare myself—I encouraged her. I +let her have a fire in her bedroom, and half her meals in +bed. I let her have chocolate with tablespoonfuls of cream +floating on the top: she loved it. She was never really +happy except when eating. I let her order her own +meals. I took a fiendish delight watching the dainty limbs +turning to shapeless fat, the pink-and-white complexion growing +blotchy. It is flesh that man loves; brain and mind and +heart and soul! he never thinks of them. This little +pink-and-white sow could have cut me out with Solomon +himself. Why should such creatures have the world arranged +for them, and we not be allowed to use our brains in our own +defence? But for my looking-glass I might have resisted the +temptation, but I always had something of the man in me: the +sport of the thing appealed to me. I suppose it was the +nervous excitement under which I was living that was changing +me. All my sap was going into my body. Given +sufficient time, I might meet her with her own weapons, animal +against animal. Well, you know the result: I won. +There was no doubt about his being in love with me. His +eyes would follow me round the room, feasting on me. I had +become a fine animal. Men desired me, Do you know why I +refused him? He was in every way a better man than the +silly boy I had fallen in love with; but he came back with a +couple of false teeth: I saw the gold setting one day when he +opened his mouth to laugh. I don’t say for a moment, +my dear, there is no such thing as love—love pure, +ennobling, worthy of men and women, its roots in the heart and +nowhere else. But that love I had missed; and the +other! I saw it in its true light. I had fallen in +love with him because he was a pretty, curly-headed boy. He +had fallen in love with Peggy when she was pink-and-white and +slim. I shall always see the look that came into his eyes +when she spoke to him at the hotel, the look of disgust and +loathing. The girl was the same; it was only her body that +had grown older. I could see his eyes fixed upon my arms +and neck. I had got to grow old in time, brown skinned, and +wrinkled. I thought of him, growing bald, +fat—”</p> +<p>“If you had fallen in love with the right man,” +had said Susan Fossett, “those ideas would not have come to +you.”</p> +<p>“I know,” said Miss Ramsbotham. “He +will have to like me thin and in these clothes, just because I am +nice, and good company, and helpful. That is the man I am +waiting for.”</p> +<p>He never came along. A charming, bright-eyed, +white-haired lady occupies alone a little flat in the Marylebone +Road, looks in occasionally at the Writers’ Club. She +is still Miss Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>Bald-headed gentlemen feel young again talking to her: she is +so sympathetic, so big-minded, so understanding. Then, +hearing the clock strike, tear themselves from her with a sigh, +and return home—some of them—to stupid shrewish +wives.</p> +<h2>STORY THE FIFTH—Joey Loveredge agrees—on certain +terms—to join the Company</h2> +<p>The most popular member of the Autolycus Club was undoubtedly +Joseph Loveredge. Small, chubby, clean-shaven, his somewhat +longish, soft, brown hair parted in the middle, strangers fell +into the error of assuming him to be younger than he really +was. It is on record that a leading lady +novelist—accepting her at her own estimate—irritated +by his polite but firm refusal to allow her entrance into his own +editorial office without appointment, had once boxed his ears, +under the impression that he was his own office-boy. Guests +to the Autolycus Club, on being introduced to him, would give to +him kind messages to take home to his father, with whom they +remembered having been at school together. This sort of +thing might have annoyed anyone with less sense of humour. +Joseph Loveredge would tell such stories himself, keenly enjoying +the jest—was even suspected of inventing some of the more +improbable. Another fact tending to the popularity of +Joseph Loveredge among all classes, over and above his +amiability, his wit, his genuine kindliness, and his +never-failing fund of good stories, was that by care and +inclination he had succeeded in remaining a bachelor. Many +had been the attempts to capture him; nor with the passing of the +years had interest in the sport shown any sign of +diminution. Well over the frailties and distempers so +dangerous to youth, of staid and sober habits, with an +ever-increasing capital invested in sound securities, together +with an ever-increasing income from his pen, with a tastefully +furnished house overlooking Regent’s Park, an excellent and +devoted cook and house-keeper, and relatives mostly settled in +the Colonies, Joseph Loveredge, though inexperienced girls might +pass him by with a contemptuous sniff, was recognised by ladies +of maturer judgment as a prize not too often dangled before the +eyes of spinsterhood. Old foxes—so we are assured by +kind-hearted country gentlemen—rather enjoy than otherwise +a day with the hounds. However that may be, certain it is +that Joseph Loveredge, confident of himself, one presumes, showed +no particular disinclination to the chase. Perhaps on the +whole he preferred the society of his own sex, with whom he could +laugh and jest with more freedom, to whom he could tell his +stories as they came to him without the trouble of having to turn +them over first in his own mind; but, on the other hand, Joey +made no attempt to avoid female company whenever it came his way; +and then no cavalier could render himself more agreeable, more +unobtrusively attentive. Younger men stood by, in envious +admiration of the ease with which in five minutes he would +establish himself on terms of cosy friendship with the brilliant +beauty before whose gracious coldness they had stood shivering +for months; the daring with which he would tuck under his arm, so +to speak, the prettiest girl in the room, smooth down as if by +magic her hundred prickles, and tease her out of her overwhelming +sense of her own self-importance. The secret of his success +was, probably, that he was not afraid of them. Desiring +nothing from them beyond companionableness, a reasonable amount +of appreciation for his jokes—which without being +exceptionally stupid they would have found it difficult to +withhold—with just sufficient information and intelligence +to make conversation interesting, there was nothing about him by +which they could lay hold of him. Of course, that rendered +them particularly anxious to lay hold of him. +Joseph’s lady friends might, roughly speaking, be divided +into two groups: the unmarried, who wanted to marry him to +themselves; and the married, who wanted to marry him to somebody +else. It would be a social disaster, the latter had agreed +among themselves, if Joseph Loveredge should never wed.</p> +<p>“He would make such an excellent husband for poor +Bridget.”</p> +<p>“Or Gladys. I wonder how old Gladys really +is?”</p> +<p>“Such a nice, kind little man.”</p> +<p>“And when one thinks of the sort of men that <i>are</i> +married, it does seem such a pity!”</p> +<p>“I wonder why he never has married, because he’s +just the sort of man you’d think <i>would</i> have +married.”</p> +<p>“I wonder if he ever was in love.”</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear, you don’t mean to tell me that a man +has reached the age of forty without ever being in +love!”</p> +<p>The ladies would sigh.</p> +<p>“I do hope if ever he does marry, it will be somebody +nice. Men are so easily deceived.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t be surprised myself a bit if +something came of it with Bridget. She’s a dear girl, +Bridget—so genuine.”</p> +<p>“Well, I think myself, dear, if it’s anyone, +it’s Gladys. I should be so glad to see poor dear +Gladys settled.”</p> +<p>The unmarried kept their thoughts more to themselves. +Each one, upon reflection, saw ground for thinking that Joseph +Loveredge had given proof of feeling preference for +herself. The irritating thing was that, on further +reflection, it was equally clear that Joseph Loveredge had shown +signs of preferring most of the others.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Joseph Loveredge went undisturbed upon his +way. At eight o’clock in the morning Joseph’s +housekeeper entered the room with a cup of tea and a dry +biscuit. At eight-fifteen Joseph Loveredge arose and +performed complicated exercises on an indiarubber pulley, +warranted, if persevered in, to bestow grace upon the figure and +elasticity upon the limbs. Joseph Loveredge persevered +steadily, and had done so for years, and was himself contented +with the result, which, seeing it concerned nobody else, was all +that could be desired. At half-past eight on Mondays, +Wednesdays, and Fridays, Joseph Loveredge breakfasted on one cup +of tea, brewed by himself; one egg, boiled by himself; and two +pieces of toast, the first one spread with marmalade, the second +with butter. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Joseph +Loveredge discarded eggs and ate a rasher of bacon. On +Sundays Joseph Loveredge had both eggs and bacon, but then +allowed himself half an hour longer for reading the paper. +At nine-thirty Joseph Loveredge left the house for the office of +the old-established journal of which he was the incorruptible and +honoured City editor. At one-forty-five, having left his +office at one-thirty, Joseph Loveredge entered the Autolycus Club +and sat down to lunch. Everything else in Joseph’s +life was arranged with similar preciseness, so far as was +possible with the duties of a City editor. Monday evening +Joseph spent with musical friends at Brixton. Friday was +Joseph’s theatre night. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he +was open to receive invitations out to dinner; on Wednesdays and +Saturdays he invited four friends to dine with him at +Regent’s Park. On Sundays, whatever the season, +Joseph Loveredge took an excursion into the country. He had +his regular hours for reading, his regular hours for +thinking. Whether in Fleet Street, or the Tyrol, on the +Thames, or in the Vatican, you might recognise him from afar by +his grey frock-coat, his patent-leather boots, his brown felt +hat, his lavender tie. The man was a born bachelor. +When the news of his engagement crept through the smoky portals +of the Autolycus Club nobody believed it.</p> +<p>“Impossible!” asserted Jack Herring. +“I’ve known Joey’s life for fifteen +years. Every five minutes is arranged for. He could +never have found the time to do it.”</p> +<p>“He doesn’t like women, not in that way; +I’ve heard him say so,” explained Alexander the +Poet. “His opinion is that women are the artists of +Society—delightful as entertainers, but troublesome to live +with.”</p> +<p>“I call to mind,” said the Wee Laddie, “a +story he told me in this verra room, barely three months agone: +Some half a dozen of them were gong home together from the +Devonshire. They had had a joyous evening, and one of +them—Joey did not notice which—suggested their +dropping in at his place just for a final whisky. They were +laughing and talking in the dining-room, when their hostess +suddenly appeared upon the scene in a costume—so Joey +described it—the charm of which was its variety. She +was a nice-looking woman, Joey said, but talked too much; and +when the first lull occurred, Joey turned to the man sitting +nighest to him, and who looked bored, and suggested in a whisper +that it was about time they went.</p> +<p>“‘Perhaps you had better go,’ assented the +bored-looking man. ‘Wish I could come with you; but, +you see, I live here.’”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe it,” said Somerville the +Briefless. “He’s been cracking his jokes, and +some silly woman has taken him seriously.”</p> +<p>But the rumour grew into report, developed detail, lost all +charm, expanded into plain recital of fact. Joey had not +been seen within the Club for more than a week—in itself a +deadly confirmation. The question became: Who was +she—what was she like?</p> +<p>“It’s none of our set, or we should have heard +something from her side before now,” argued acutely +Somerville the Briefless.</p> +<p>“Some beastly kid who will invite us to dances and +forget the supper,” feared Johnny Bulstrode, commonly +called the Babe. “Old men always fall in love with +young girls.”</p> +<p>“Forty,” explained severely Peter Hope, editor and +part proprietor of <i>Good Humour</i>, “is not +old.”</p> +<p>“Well, it isn’t young,” persisted +Johnny.</p> +<p>“Good thing for you, Johnny, if it is a girl,” +thought Jack Herring. “Somebody for you to play +with. I often feel sorry for you, having nobody but +grown-up people to talk to.”</p> +<p>“They do get a bit stodgy after a certain age,” +agreed the Babe.</p> +<p>“I am hoping,” said Peter, “it will be some +sensible, pleasant woman, a little over thirty. He is a +dear fellow, Loveredge; and forty is a very good age for a man to +marry.”</p> +<p>“Well, if I’m not married before I’m +forty—” said the Babe.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t you fret,” Jack Herring +interrupted him—“a pretty boy like you! We will +give a ball next season, and bring you out, if you’re +good—get you off our hands in no time.”</p> +<p>It was August. Joey went away for his holiday without +again entering the Club. The lady’s name was +Henrietta Elizabeth Doone. It was said by the <i>Morning +Post</i> that she was connected with the Doones of +Gloucestershire.</p> +<p>Doones of Gloucestershire—Doones of Gloucestershire +mused Miss Ramsbotham, Society journalist, who wrote the weekly +Letter to Clorinda, discussing the matter with Peter Hope in the +editorial office of <i>Good Humour</i>. “Knew a Doon +who kept a big second-hand store in Euston Road and called +himself an auctioneer. He bought a small place in +Gloucestershire and added an ‘e’ to his name. +Wonder if it’s the same?”</p> +<p>“I had a cat called Elizabeth once,” said Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“I don’t see what that’s got to do with +it.”</p> +<p>“No, of course not,” agreed Peter. +“But I was rather fond of it. It was a quaint sort of +animal, considered as a cat—would never speak to another +cat, and hated being out after ten o’clock at +night.”</p> +<p>“What happened to it?” demanded Miss +Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>“Fell off a roof,” sighed Peter Hope. +“Wasn’t used to them.”</p> +<p>The marriage took place abroad, at the English Church at +Montreux. Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge returned at the end of +September. The Autolycus Club subscribed to send a present +of a punch-bowl, left cards, and waited with curiosity to see the +bride. But no invitation arrived. Nor for a month was +Joey himself seen within the Club. Then, one foggy +afternoon, waking after a doze, with a cold cigar in his mouth, +Jack Herring noticed he was not the only occupant of the +smoking-room. In a far corner, near a window, sat Joseph +Loveredge reading a magazine. Jack Herring rubbed his eyes, +then rose and crossed the room.</p> +<p>“I thought at first,” explained Jack Herring, +recounting the incident later in the evening, “that I must +be dreaming. There he sat, drinking his five o’clock +whisky-and-soda, the same Joey Loveredge I had known for fifteen +years; yet not the same. Not a feature altered, not a hair +on his head changed, yet the whole face was different; the same +body, the same clothes, but another man. We talked for half +an hour; he remembered everything that Joey Loveredge had +known. I couldn’t understand it. Then, as the +clock struck, and he rose, saying he must be home at half-past +five, the explanation suddenly occurred to me: <i>Joey Loveredge +was dead</i>; <i>this was a married man</i>.”</p> +<p>“We don’t want your feeble efforts at +psychological romance,” told him Somerville the +Briefless. “We want to know what you talked +about. Dead or married, the man who can drink +whisky-and-soda must be held responsible for his actions. +What’s the little beggar mean by cutting us all in this +way? Did he ask after any of us? Did he leave any +message for any of us? Did he invite any of us to come an +see him?”</p> +<p>“Yes, he did ask after nearly everybody; I was coming to +that. But he didn’t leave any message. I +didn’t gather that he was pining for old relationships with +any of us.”</p> +<p>“Well, I shall go round to the office to-morrow +morning,” said Somerville the Briefless, “and force +my way in if necessary. This is getting +mysterious.”</p> +<p>But Somerville returned only to puzzle the Autolycus Club +still further. Joey had talked about the weather, the state +of political parties, had received with unfeigned interest all +gossip concerning his old friends; but about himself, his wife, +nothing had been gleaned. Mrs. Loveredge was well; Mrs. +Loveredge’s relations were also well. But at present +Mrs. Loveredge was not receiving.</p> +<p>Members of the Autolycus Club with time upon their hands took +up the business of private detectives. Mrs. Loveredge +turned out to be a handsome, well-dressed lady of about thirty, +as Peter Hope had desired. At eleven in the morning, Mrs. +Loveredge shopped in the neighbourhood of the Hampstead +Road. In the afternoon, Mrs. Loveredge, in a hired +carriage, would slowly promenade the Park, looking, it was +noticed, with intense interest at the occupants of other +carriages as they passed, but evidently having no acquaintances +among them. The carriage, as a general rule, would call at +Joey’s office at five, and Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge would +drive home. Jack Herring, as the oldest friend, urged by +the other members, took the bull by the horns and called +boldly. On neither occasion was Mrs. Loveredge at home.</p> +<p>“I’m damned if I go again!” said Jack. +“She was in the second time, I know. I watched her +into the house. Confound the stuck-up pair of +them!”</p> +<p>Bewilderment gave place to indignation. Now and again +Joey would creep, a mental shadow of his former self, into the +Club where once every member would have risen with a smile to +greet him. They gave him curt answers and turned away from +him. Peter Hope one afternoon found him there alone, +standing with his hands in his pockets looking out of +window. Peter was fifty, so he said, maybe a little older; +men of forty were to him mere boys. So Peter, who hated +mysteries, stepped forward with a determined air and clapped Joey +on the shoulder.</p> +<p>“I want to know, Joey,” said Peter, “I want +to know whether I am to go on liking you, or whether I’ve +got to think poorly of you. Out with it.”</p> +<p>Joey turned to him a face so full of misery that Peter’s +heart was touched. “You can’t tell how wretched +it makes me,” said Joey. “I didn’t know +it was possible to feel so uncomfortable as I have felt during +these last three months.”</p> +<p>“It’s the wife, I suppose?” suggested +Peter.</p> +<p>“She’s a dear girl. She only has one +fault.”</p> +<p>“It’s a pretty big one,” returned +Peter. “I should try and break her of it if I were +you.”</p> +<p>“Break her of it!” cried the little man. +“You might as well advise me to break a brick wall with my +head. I had no idea what they were like. I never +dreamt it.”</p> +<p>“But what is her objection to us? We are clean, we +are fairly intelligent—”</p> +<p>“My dear Peter, do you think I haven’t said all +that, and a hundred things more? A woman! she gets an idea +into her head, and every argument against it hammers it in +further. She has gained her notion of what she calls +Bohemia from the comic journals. It’s our own fault, +we have done it ourselves. There’s no persuading her +that it’s a libel.”</p> +<p>“Won’t she see a few of us—judge for +herself? There’s Porson—why Porson might have +been a bishop. Or Somerville—Somerville’s +Oxford accent is wasted here. It has no chance.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t only that,” explained Joey; +“she has ambitions, social ambitions. She thinks that +if we begin with the wrong set, we’ll never get into the +right. We have three friends at present, and, so far as I +can see, are never likely to have any more. My dear boy, +you’d never believe there could exist such bores. +There’s a man and his wife named Holyoake. They dine +with us on Thursdays, and we dine with them on Tuesdays. +Their only title to existence consists in their having a cousin +in the House of Lords; they claim no other right +themselves. He is a widower, getting on for eighty. +Apparently he’s the only relative they have, and when he +dies, they talk of retiring into the country. There’s +a fellow named Cutler, who visited once at Marlborough House in +connection with a charity. You’d think to listen to +him that he had designs upon the throne. The most tiresome +of them all is a noisy woman who, as far as I can make out, +hasn’t any name at all. ‘Miss Montgomery’ +is on her cards, but that is only what she calls herself. +Who she really is! It would shake the foundations of +European society if known. We sit and talk about the +aristocracy; we don’t seem to know anybody else. I +tried on one occasion a little sarcasm as a +corrective—recounted conversations between myself and the +Prince of Wales, in which I invariably addressed him as +‘Teddy.’ It sounds tall, I know, but those +people took it in. I was too astonished to undeceive them +at the time, the consequence is I am a sort of little god to +them. They come round me and ask for more. What am I +to do? I am helpless among them. I’ve never had +anything to do before with the really first-prize idiot; the +usual type, of course, one knows, but these, if you haven’t +met them, are inconceivable. I try insulting them; they +don’t even know I am insulting them. Short of +dragging them out of their chairs and kicking them round the +room, I don’t see how to make them understand +it.”</p> +<p>“And Mrs. Loveredge?” asked the sympathetic Peter, +“is she—”</p> +<p>“Between ourselves,” said Joey, sinking his voice +to a needless whisper, seeing he and Peter were the sole +occupants of the smoking-room—“I couldn’t, of +course, say it to a younger man—but between ourselves, my +wife is a charming woman. You don’t know +her.”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t seem much chance of my ever doing +so,” laughed Peter.</p> +<p>“So graceful, so dignified, so—so queenly,” +continued the little man, with rising enthusiasm. +“She has only one fault—she has no sense of +humour.”</p> +<p>To Peter, as it has been said, men of forty were mere +boys.</p> +<p>“My dear fellow, whatever could have induced +you—”</p> +<p>“I know—I know all that,” interrupted the +mere boy. “Nature arranges it on purpose. Tall +and solemn prigs marry little women with turned-up noses. +Cheerful little fellows like myself—we marry serious, +stately women. If it were otherwise, the human race would +be split up into species.”</p> +<p>“Of course, if you were actuated by a sense of public +duty—”</p> +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Peter Hope,” returned the +little man. “I’m in love with my wife just as +she is, and always shall be. I know the woman with a sense +of humour, and of the two I prefer the one without. The +Juno type is my ideal. I must take the rough with the +smooth. One can’t have a jolly, chirpy Juno, and +wouldn’t care for her if one could.”</p> +<p>“Then are you going to give up all your old +friends?”</p> +<p>“Don’t suggest it,” pleaded the little +man. “You don’t know how miserable it makes +me—the mere idea. Tell them to be patient. The +secret of dealing with women, I have found, is to do nothing +rashly.” The clock struck five. “I must +go now,” said Joey. “Don’t misjudge her, +Peter, and don’t let the others. She’s a dear +girl. You’ll like her, all of you, when you know +her. A dear girl! She only has that one +fault.”</p> +<p>Joey went out.</p> +<p>Peter did his best that evening to explain the true position +of affairs without imputing snobbery to Mrs. Loveredge. It +was a difficult task, and Peter cannot be said to have +accomplished it successfully. Anger and indignation against +Joey gave place to pity. The members of the Autolycus Club +also experienced a little irritation on their own account.</p> +<p>“What does the woman take us for?” demanded +Somerville the Briefless. “Doesn’t she know +that we lunch with real actors and actresses, that once a year we +are invited to dine at the Mansion House?”</p> +<p>“Has she never heard of the aristocracy of +genius?” demanded Alexander the Poet.</p> +<p>“The explanation may be that possibly she has seen +it,” feared the Wee Laddie.</p> +<p>“One of us ought to waylay the woman,” argued the +Babe—“insist upon her talking to him for ten +minutes. I’ve half a mind to do it myself.”</p> +<p>Jack Herring said nothing—seemed thoughtful.</p> +<p>The next morning Jack Herring, still thoughtful, called at the +editorial offices of <i>Good Humour</i>, in Crane Court, and +borrowed Miss Ramsbotham’s Debrett. Three days later +Jack Herring informed the Club casually that he had dined the +night before with Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge. The Club gave +Jack Herring politely to understand that they regarded him as a +liar, and proceeded to demand particulars.</p> +<p>“If I wasn’t there,” explained Jack Herring, +with unanswerable logic, “how can I tell you anything about +it?”</p> +<p>This annoyed the Club, whose curiosity had been whetted. +Three members, acting in the interests of the whole, solemnly +undertook to believe whatever he might tell them. But Jack +Herring’s feelings had been wounded.</p> +<p>“When gentlemen cast a doubt upon another +gentleman’s veracity—”</p> +<p>“We didn’t cast a doubt,” explained +Somerville the Briefless. “We merely said that we +personally did not believe you. We didn’t say we +couldn’t believe you; it is a case for individual +effort. If you give us particulars bearing the impress of +reality, supported by details that do not unduly contradict each +other, we are prepared to put aside our natural suspicions and +face the possibility of your statement being correct.”</p> +<p>“It was foolish of me,” said Jack Herring. +“I thought perhaps it would amuse you to hear what sort of +a woman Mrs. Loveredge was like—some description of Mrs. +Loveredge’s uncle. Miss Montgomery, friend of Mrs. +Loveredge, is certainly one of the most remarkable women I have +ever met. Of course, that isn’t her real name. +But, as I have said, it was foolish of me. These +people—you will never meet them, you will never see them; +of what interest can they be to you?”</p> +<p>“They had forgotten to draw down the blinds, and he +climbed up a lamp-post and looked through the window,” was +the solution of the problem put forward by the Wee Laddie.</p> +<p>“I’m dining there again on Saturday,” +volunteered Jack Herring. “If any of you will promise +not to make a disturbance, you can hang about on the Park side, +underneath the shadow of the fence, and watch me go in. My +hansom will draw up at the door within a few minutes of +eight.”</p> +<p>The Babe and the Poet agreed to undertake the test.</p> +<p>“You won’t mind our hanging round a little while, +in case you’re thrown out again?” asked the Babe.</p> +<p>“Not in the least, so far as I am concerned,” +replied Jack Herring. “Don’t leave it too late +and make your mother anxious.”</p> +<p>“It’s true enough,” the Babe recounted +afterwards. “The door was opened by a manservant and +he went straight in. We walked up and down for half an +hour, and unless they put him out the back way, he’s +telling the truth.”</p> +<p>“Did you hear him give his name?” asked +Somerville, who was stroking his moustache.</p> +<p>“No, we were too far off,” explained the +Babe. “But—I’ll swear it was +Jack—there couldn’t be any mistake about +that.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps not,” agreed Somerville the +Briefless.</p> +<p>Somerville the Briefless called at the offices of <i>Good +Humour</i>, in Crane Court, the following morning, and he also +borrowed Miss Ramsbotham’s Debrett.</p> +<p>“What’s the meaning of it?” demanded the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>“Meaning of what?”</p> +<p>“This sudden interest of all you fellows in the British +Peerage.”</p> +<p>“All of us?”</p> +<p>“Well, Herring was here last week, poring over that book +for half an hour, with the <i>Morning Post</i> spread out before +him. Now you’re doing the same thing.”</p> +<p>“Ah! Jack Herring, was he? I thought as +much. Don’t talk about it, Tommy. I’ll +tell you later on.”</p> +<p>On the following Monday, the Briefless one announced to the +Club that he had received an invitation to dine at the +Loveredges’ on the following Wednesday. On Tuesday, +the Briefless one entered the Club with a slow and stately +step. Halting opposite old Goslin the porter, who had +emerged from his box with the idea of discussing the Oxford and +Cambridge boat race, Somerville, removing his hat with a sweep of +the arm, held it out in silence. Old Goslin, much +astonished, took it mechanically, whereupon the Briefless one, +shaking himself free from his Inverness cape, flung it lightly +after the hat, and strolled on, not noticing that old Goslin, +unaccustomed to coats lightly and elegantly thrown at him, +dropping the hat, had caught it on his head, and had been, in the +language of the prompt-book, “left struggling.” +The Briefless one, entering the smoking-room, lifted a chair and +let it fall again with a crash, and sitting down upon it, crossed +his legs and rang the bell.</p> +<p>“Ye’re doing it verra weel,” remarked +approvingly the Wee Laddie. “Ye’re just fitted +for it by nature.”</p> +<p>“Fitted for what?” demanded the Briefless one, +waking up apparently from a dream.</p> +<p>“For an Adelphi guest at eighteenpence the night,” +assured him the Wee Laddie. “Ye’re just +splendid at it.”</p> +<p>The Briefless one, muttering that the worst of mixing with +journalists was that if you did not watch yourself, you fell into +their ways, drank his whisky in silence. Later, the Babe +swore on a copy of <i>Sell’s Advertising Guide</i> that, +crossing the Park, he had seen the Briefless one leaning over the +railings of Rotten Row, clad in a pair of new kid gloves, +swinging a silver-headed cane.</p> +<p>One morning towards the end of the week, Joseph Loveredge, +looking twenty years younger than when Peter had last seen him, +dropped in at the editorial office of <i>Good Humour</i> and +demanded of Peter Hope how he felt and what he thought of the +present price of Emma Mines.</p> +<p>Peter Hope’s fear was that the gambling fever was +spreading to all classes of society.</p> +<p>“I want you to dine with us on Sunday,” said +Joseph Loveredge. “Jack Herring will be there. +You might bring Tommy with you.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope gulped down his astonishment and said he should be +delighted; he thought that Tommy also was disengaged. +“Mrs. Loveredge out of town, I presume?” questioned +Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“On the contrary,” replied Joseph Loveredge, +“I want you to meet her.”</p> +<p>Joseph Loveredge removed a pile of books from one chair and +placed them carefully upon another, after which he went and stood +before the fire.</p> +<p>“Don’t if you don’t like,” said Joseph +Loveredge; “but if you don’t mind, you might call +yourself, just for the evening—say, the Duke of +Warrington.”</p> +<p>“Say the what?” demanded Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“The Duke of Warrington,” repeated Joey. +“We are rather short of dukes. Tommy can be the Lady +Adelaide, your daughter.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be an ass!” said Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“I’m not an ass,” assured him Joseph +Loveredge. “He is wintering in Egypt. You have +run back for a week to attend to business. There is no Lady +Adelaide, so that’s quite simple.”</p> +<p>“But what in the name of—” began Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“Don’t you see what I’m driving at?” +persisted Joey. “It was Jack’s idea at the +beginning. I was frightened myself at first, but it is +working to perfection. She sees you, and sees that you are +a gentleman. When the truth comes out—as, of course, +it must later on—the laugh will be against her.”</p> +<p>“You think—you think that’ll comfort +her?” suggested Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“It’s the only way, and it is really wonderfully +simple. We never mention the aristocracy now—it would +be like talking shop. We just enjoy ourselves. You, +by the way, I met in connection with the movement for rational +dress. You are a bit of a crank, fond of frequenting +Bohemian circles.”</p> +<p>“I am risking something, I know,” continued Joey; +“but it’s worth it. I couldn’t have +existed much longer. We go slowly, and are very +careful. Jack is Lord Mount-Primrose, who has taken up with +anti-vaccination and who never goes out into Society. +Somerville is Sir Francis Baldwin, the great authority on +centipedes. The Wee Laddie is coming next week as Lord +Garrick, who married that dancing-girl, Prissy Something, and +started a furniture shop in Bond Street. I had some +difficulty at first. She wanted to send out paragraphs, but +I explained that was only done by vulgar persons—that when +the nobility came to you as friends, it was considered bad +taste. She is a dear girl, as I have always told you, with +only one fault. A woman easier to deceive one could not +wish for. I don’t myself see why the truth ever need +come out—provided we keep our heads.”</p> +<p>“Seems to me you’ve lost them already,” +commented Peter; “you’re overdoing it.”</p> +<p>“The more of us the better,” explained Joey; +“we help each other. Besides, I particularly want you +in it. There’s a sort of superior Pickwickian +atmosphere surrounding you that disarms suspicion.”</p> +<p>“You leave me out of it,” growled Peter.</p> +<p>“See here,” laughed Joey; “you come as the +Duke of Warrington, and bring Tommy with you, and I’ll +write your City article.”</p> +<p>“For how long?” snapped Peter. Incorruptible +City editors are not easily picked up.</p> +<p>“Oh, well, for as long as you like.”</p> +<p>“On that understanding,” agreed Peter, +“I’m willing to make a fool of myself in your +company.”</p> +<p>“You’ll soon get used to it,” Joey told him; +“eight o’clock, then, on Sunday; plain evening +dress. If you like to wear a bit of red ribbon in your +buttonhole, why, do so. You can get it at Evans’, in +Covent Garden.”</p> +<p>“And Tommy is the Lady—”</p> +<p>“Adelaide. Let her have a taste for literature, +then she needn’t wear gloves. I know she hates +them.” Joey turned to go.</p> +<p>“Am I married?” asked Peter.</p> +<p>Joey paused. “I should avoid all reference to your +matrimonial affairs if I were you,” was Joey’s +advice. “You didn’t come out of that business +too well.”</p> +<p>“Oh! as bad as that, was I? You don’t think +Mrs. Loveredge will object to me?”</p> +<p>“I have asked her that. She’s a dear, +broad-minded girl. I’ve promised not to leave you +alone with Miss Montgomery, and Willis has had instructions not +to let you mix your drinks.”</p> +<p>“I’d have liked to have been someone a trifle more +respectable,” grumbled Peter.</p> +<p>“We rather wanted a duke,” explained Joey, +“and he was the only one that fitted in all +round.”</p> +<p>The dinner a was a complete success. Tommy, entering +into the spirit of the thing, bought a new pair of open-work +stockings and assumed a languid drawl. Peter, who was +growing forgetful, introduced her as the Lady Alexandra; it did +not seem to matter, both beginning with an A. She greeted +Lord Mount-Primrose as “Billy,” and asked +affectionately after his mother. Joey told his raciest +stories. The Duke of Warrington called everybody by their +Christian names, and seemed well acquainted with Bohemian +society—a more amiable nobleman it would have been +impossible to discover. The lady whose real name was not +Miss Montgomery sat in speechless admiration. The hostess +was the personification of gracious devotion.</p> +<p>Other little dinners, equally successful, followed. +Joey’s acquaintanceship appeared to be confined exclusively +to the higher circles of the British aristocracy—with one +exception: that of a German baron, a short, stout gentleman, who +talked English well, but with an accent, and who, when he desired +to be impressive, laid his right forefinger on the right side of +his nose and thrust his whole face forward. Mrs. Loveredge +wondered why her husband had not introduced them sooner, but was +too blissful to be suspicious. The Autolycus Club was +gradually changing its tone. Friends could no longer +recognise one another by the voice. Every corner had its +solitary student practising high-class intonation. Members +dropped into the habit of addressing one another as “dear +chappie,” and, discarding pipes, took to cheap +cigars. Many of the older <i>habitués</i> +resigned.</p> +<p>All might have gone well to the end of time if only Mrs. +Loveredge had left all social arrangements in the hands of her +husband—had not sought to aid his efforts. To a +certain political garden-party, one day in the height of the +season, were invited Joseph Loveredge and Mrs. Joseph Loveredge, +his wife. Mr. Joseph Loveredge at the last moment found +himself unable to attend. Mrs. Joseph Loveredge went alone, +met there various members of the British aristocracy. Mrs. +Joseph Loveredge, accustomed to friendship with the aristocracy, +felt at her ease and was natural and agreeable. The wife of +an eminent peer talked to her and liked her. It occurred to +Mrs. Joseph Loveredge that this lady might be induced to visit +her house in Regent’s Park, there to mingle with those of +her own class.</p> +<p>“Lord Mount-Primrose, the Duke of Warrington, and a few +others will be dining with us on Sunday next,” suggested +Mrs. Loveredge. “Will not you do us the honour of +coming? We are, of course, only simple folk ourselves, but +somehow people seem to like us.”</p> +<p>The wife of the eminent peer looked at Mrs. Loveredge, looked +round the grounds, looked at Mrs. Loveredge again, and said she +would like to come. Mrs. Joseph Loveredge intended at first +to tell her husband of her success, but a little devil entering +into her head and whispering to her that it would be amusing, she +resolved to keep it as a surprise, to be sprung upon him at eight +o’clock on Sunday. The surprise proved all she could +have hoped for.</p> +<p>The Duke of Warrington, having journalistic matters to discuss +with Joseph Loveredge, arrived at half-past seven, wearing on his +shirt-front a silver star, purchased in Eagle Street the day +before for eight-and-six. There accompanied him the Lady +Alexandra, wearing the identical ruby necklace that every night +for the past six months, and twice on Saturdays, “John +Strongheart” had been falsely accused of stealing. +Lord Garrick, having picked up his wife (Miss Ramsbotham) outside +the Mother Redcap, arrived with her on foot at a quarter to +eight. Lord Mount-Primrose, together with Sir Francis +Baldwin, dashed up in a hansom at seven-fifty. His +Lordship, having lost the toss, paid the fare. The Hon. +Harry Sykes (commonly called “the Babe”) was ushered +in five minutes later. The noble company assembled in the +drawing-room chatted blithely while waiting for dinner to be +announced. The Duke of Warrington was telling an anecdote +about a cat, which nobody appeared to believe. Lord +Mount-Primrose desired to know whether by any chance it might be +the same animal that every night at half-past nine had been in +the habit of climbing up his Grace’s railings and knocking +at his Grace’s door. The Honourable Harry was saying +that, speaking of cats, he once had a sort of terrier—when +the door was thrown open and Willis announced the Lady Mary +Sutton.</p> +<p>Mr. Joseph Loveredge, who was sitting near the fire, rose +up. Lord Mount-Primrose, who was standing near the piano, +sat down. The Lady Mary Sutton paused in the doorway. +Mrs. Loveredge crossed the room to greet her.</p> +<p>“Let me introduce you to my husband,” said Mrs. +Loveredge. “Joey, my dear, the Lady Mary +Sutton. I met the Lady Mary at the O’Meyers’ +the other day, and she was good enough to accept my +invitation. I forgot to tell you.”</p> +<p>Mr. Loveredge said he was delighted; after which, although as +a rule a chatty man, he seemed to have nothing else to say. +And a silence fell.</p> +<p>Somerville the Briefless—till then. That evening +has always been reckoned the starting-point of his career. +Up till then nobody thought he had much in him—walked up +and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“You don’t remember me, Lady Mary,” said the +Briefless one. “I met you some years ago; we had a +most interesting conversation—Sir Francis +Baldwin.”</p> +<p>The Lady Mary stood for a moment trying apparently to +recollect. She was a handsome, fresh-complexioned woman of +about forty, with frank, agreeable eyes. The Lady Mary +glanced at Lord Garrick, who was talking rapidly to Lord +Mount-Primrose, who was not listening, and who could not have +understood even if he had been, Lord Garrick, without being aware +of it, having dropped into broad Scotch. From him the Lady +Mary glanced at her hostess, and from her hostess to her +host.</p> +<p>The Lady Mary took the hand held out to her. “Of +course,” said the Lady Mary; “how stupid of me! +It was the day of my own wedding, too. You really must +forgive me. We talked of quite a lot of things. I +remember now.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Loveredge, who prided herself upon maintaining +old-fashioned courtesies, proceeded to introduce the Lady Mary to +her fellow-guests, a little surprised that her ladyship appeared +to know so few of them. Her ladyship’s greeting of +the Duke of Warrington was accompanied, it was remarked, by a +somewhat curious smile. To the Duke of Warrington’s +daughter alone did the Lady Mary address remark.</p> +<p>“My dear,” said the Lady Mary, “how you have +grown since last we met!”</p> +<p>The announcement of dinner, as everybody felt, came none too +soon.</p> +<p>It was not a merry feast. Joey told but one story; he +told it three times, and twice left out the point. Lord +Mount-Primrose took sifted sugar with <i>pâtè de +foie gras</i> and ate it with a spoon. Lord Garrick, +talking a mixture of Scotch and English, urged his wife to give +up housekeeping and take a flat in Gower Street, which, as he +pointed out, was central. She could have her meals sent in +to her and so avoid all trouble. The Lady Alexandra’s +behaviour appeared to Mrs. Loveredge not altogether +well-bred. An eccentric young noblewoman Mrs. Loveredge had +always found her, but wished on this occasion that she had been a +little less eccentric. Every few minutes the Lady Alexandra +buried her face in her serviette, and shook and rocked, emitting +stifled sounds, apparently those of acute physical pain. +Mrs. Loveredge hoped she was not feeling ill, but the Lady +Alexandra appeared incapable of coherent reply. Twice +during the meal the Duke of Warrington rose from the table and +began wandering round the room; on each occasion, asked what he +wanted, had replied meekly that he was merely looking for his +snuff-box, and had sat down again. The only person who +seemed to enjoy the dinner was the Lady Mary Sutton.</p> +<p>The ladies retired upstairs into the drawing-room. Mrs. +Loveredge, breaking a long silence, remarked it as unusual that +no sound of merriment reached them from the dining-room. +The explanation was that the entire male portion of the party, on +being left to themselves, had immediately and in a body crept on +tiptoe into Joey’s study, which, fortunately, happened to +be on the ground floor. Joey, unlocking the bookcase, had +taken out his Debrett, but appeared incapable of understanding +it. Sir Francis Baldwin had taken it from his unresisting +hands; the remaining aristocracy huddled themselves into a corner +and waited in silence.</p> +<p>“I think I’ve got it all clearly,” announced +Sir Francis Baldwin, after five minutes, which to the others had +been an hour. “Yes, I don’t think I’m +making any mistake. She’s the daughter of the Duke of +Truro, married in ’53 the Duke of Warrington, at St. +Peter’s, Eaton Square; gave birth in ’55 to a +daughter, the Lady Grace Alexandra Warberton Sutton, which makes +the child just thirteen. In ’63 divorced the Duke of +Warrington. Lord Mount-Primrose, so far as I can make out, +must be her second cousin. I appear to have married her in +’66 at Hastings. It doesn’t seem to me that we +could have got together a homelier little party to meet her even +if we had wanted to.”</p> +<p>Nobody spoke; nobody had anything particularly worth +saying. The door opened, and the Lady Alexandra (otherwise +Tommy) entered the room.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it time,” suggested the Lady +Alexandra, “that some of you came upstairs?”</p> +<p>“I was thinking myself,” explained Joey, the host, +with a grim smile, “it was about time that I went out and +drowned myself. The canal is handy.”</p> +<p>“Put it off till to-morrow,” Tommy advised +him. “I have asked her ladyship to give me a lift +home, and she has promised to do so. She is evidently a +woman with a sense of humour. Wait till after I have had a +talk with her.”</p> +<p>Six men, whispering at the same time, were prepared with +advice; but Tommy was not taking advice.</p> +<p>“Come upstairs, all of you,” insisted Tommy, +“and make yourselves agreeable. She’s going in +a quarter of an hour.”</p> +<p>Six silent men, the host leading, the two husbands bringing up +the rear, ascended the stairs, each with the sensation of being +twice his usual weight. Six silent men entered the +drawing-room and sat down on chairs. Six silent men tried +to think of something interesting to say.</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham—it was that or hysterics, as she +afterwards explained—stifling a sob, opened the +piano. But the only thing she could remember was +“Champagne Charlie is my Name,” a song then popular +in the halls. Five men, when she had finished, begged her +to go on. Miss Ramsbotham, speaking in a shrill falsetto, +explained it was the only tune she knew. Four of them +begged her to play it again. Miss Ramsbotham played it a +second time with involuntary variations.</p> +<p>The Lady Mary’s carriage was announced by the +imperturbable Willis. The party, with the exception of the +Lady Mary and the hostess, suppressed with difficulty an +inclination to burst into a cheer. The Lady Mary thanked +Mrs. Loveredge for a most interesting evening, and beckoned Tommy +to accompany her. With her disappearance, a wild hilarity, +uncanny in its suddenness, took possession of the remaining +guests.</p> +<p>A few days later, the Lady Mary’s carriage again drew up +before the little house in Regent’s Park. Mrs. +Loveredge, fortunately, was at home. The carriage remained +waiting for quite a long time. Mrs. Loveredge, after it was +gone, locked herself in her own room. The under-housemaid +reported to the kitchen that, passing the door, she had detected +sounds indicative of strong emotion.</p> +<p>Through what ordeal Joseph Loveredge passed was never +known. For a few weeks the Autolycus Club missed him. +Then gradually, as aided by Time they have a habit of doing, +things righted themselves. Joseph Loveredge received his +old friends; his friends received Joseph Loveredge. Mrs. +Loveredge, as a hostess, came to have only one failing—a +marked coldness of demeanour towards all people with titles, +whenever introduced to her.</p> +<h2>STORY THE SIXTH—“The Babe” applies for +Shares</h2> +<p>People said of the new journal, <i>Good +Humour</i>—people of taste and judgment, that it was the +brightest, the cleverest, the most literary penny weekly that +ever had been offered to the public. This made Peter Hope, +editor and part-proprietor, very happy. William Clodd, +business manager, and also part-proprietor, it left less +elated.</p> +<p>“Must be careful,” said William Clodd, “that +we don’t make it too clever. Happy medium, +that’s the ideal.”</p> +<p>People said—people of taste and judgment, that <i>Good +Humour</i> was more worthy of support than all the other penny +weeklies put together. People of taste and judgment even +went so far, some of them, as to buy it. Peter Hope, +looking forward, saw fame and fortune coming to him.</p> +<p>William Clodd, looking round about him, said—</p> +<p>“Doesn’t it occur to you, Guv’nor, that +we’re getting this thing just a trifle too high +class?”</p> +<p>“What makes you think that?” demanded Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“Our circulation, for one thing,” explained +Clodd. “The returns for last month—”</p> +<p>“I’d rather you didn’t mention them, if you +don’t mind,” interrupted Peter Hope; “somehow, +hearing the actual figures always depresses me.”</p> +<p>“Can’t say I feel inspired by them myself,” +admitted Clodd.</p> +<p>“It will come,” said Peter Hope, “it will +come in time. We must educate the public up to our +level.”</p> +<p>“If there is one thing, so far as I have noticed,” +said William Clodd, “that the public are inclined to pay +less for than another, it is for being educated.”</p> +<p>“What are we to do?” asked Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“What you want,” answered William Clodd, “is +an office-boy.”</p> +<p>“How will our having an office-boy increase our +circulation?” demanded Peter Hope. “Besides, it +was agreed that we could do without one for the first year. +Why suggest more expense?”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean an ordinary office-boy,” +explained Clodd. “I mean the sort of boy that I rode +with in the train going down to Stratford yesterday.”</p> +<p>“What was there remarkable about him?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. He was reading the current number of the +<i>Penny Novelist</i>. Over two hundred thousand people buy +it. He is one of them. He told me so. When he +had done with it, he drew from his pocket a copy of the +<i>Halfpenny Joker</i>—they guarantee a circulation of +seventy thousand. He sat and chuckled over it until we got +to Bow.”</p> +<p>“But—”</p> +<p>“You wait a minute. I’m coming to the +explanation. That boy represents the reading public. +I talked to him. The papers he likes best are the papers +that have the largest sales. He never made a single +mistake. The others—those of them he had +seen—he dismissed as ‘rot.’ What he likes +is what the great mass of the journal-buying public likes. +Please him—I took his name and address, and he is willing +to come to us for eight shillings a week—and you please the +people that buy. Not the people that glance through a paper +when it is lying on the smoking-room table, and tell you it is +damned good, but the people that plank down their penny. +That’s the sort we want.”</p> +<p>Peter Hope, able editor, with ideals, was +shocked—indignant. William Clodd, business man, +without ideals, talked figures.</p> +<p>“There’s the advertiser to be thought of,” +persisted Clodd. “I don’t pretend to be a +George Washington, but what’s the use of telling lies that +sound like lies, even to one’s self while one’s +telling them? Give me a genuine sale of twenty thousand, +and I’ll undertake, without committing myself, to convey an +impression of forty. But when the actual figures are under +eight thousand—well, it hampers you, if you happen to have +a conscience.</p> +<p>“Give them every week a dozen columns of good, sound +literature,” continued Clodd insinuatingly, “but wrap +it up in twenty-four columns of jam. It’s the only +way they’ll take it, and you will be doing them +good—educating them without their knowing it. All +powder and no jam! Well, they don’t open their +mouths, that’s all.”</p> +<p>Clodd was a man who knew how to get his way. +Flipp—spelled Philip—Tweetel arrived in due course of +time at 23, Crane Court, ostensibly to take up the position of +<i>Good Humour’s</i> office-boy; in reality, and without +his being aware of it, to act as its literary taster. +Stories in which Flipp became absorbed were accepted. Peter +groaned, but contented himself with correcting only their grosser +grammatical blunders; the experiment should be tried in all good +faith. Humour at which Flipp laughed was printed. +Peter tried to ease his conscience by increasing his subscription +to the fund for destitute compositors, but only partially +succeeded. Poetry that brought a tear to the eye of Flipp +was given leaded type. People of taste and judgment said +<i>Good Humour</i> had disappointed them. Its circulation, +slowly but steadily, increased.</p> +<p>“See!” cried the delighted Clodd; “told you +so!”</p> +<p>“It’s sad to think—” began Peter.</p> +<p>“Always is,” interrupted Clodd cheerfully. +“Moral—don’t think too much.”</p> +<p>“Tell you what we’ll do,” added Clodd. +“We’ll make a fortune out of this paper. Then +when we can afford to lose a little money, we’ll launch a +paper that shall appeal only to the intellectual portion of the +public. Meanwhile—”</p> +<p>A squat black bottle with a label attached, standing on the +desk, arrested Clodd’s attention.</p> +<p>“When did this come?” asked Clodd.</p> +<p>“About an hour ago,” Peter told him.</p> +<p>“Any order with it?”</p> +<p>“I think so.” Peter searched for and found a +letter addressed to “William Clodd, Esq., Advertising +Manager, <i>Good Humour</i>.” Clodd tore it open, +hastily devoured it.</p> +<p>“Not closed up yet, are you?”</p> +<p>“No, not till eight o’clock.”</p> +<p>“Good! I want you to write me a par. Do it +now, then you won’t forget it. For the ‘Walnuts +and Wine’ column.”</p> +<p>Peter sat down, headed a sheet of paper: ‘For W. and W. +Col.’</p> +<p>“What is it?” questioned +Peter—“something to drink?”</p> +<p>“It’s a sort of port,” explained Clodd, +“that doesn’t get into your head.”</p> +<p>“You consider that an advantage?” queried +Peter.</p> +<p>“Of course. You can drink more of it.”</p> +<p>Peter continued to write: ‘Possesses all the qualities +of an old vintage port, without those deleterious +properties—’ “I haven’t tasted it, +Clodd,” hinted Peter.</p> +<p>“That’s all right—I have.”</p> +<p>“And was it good?”</p> +<p>“Splendid stuff. Say it’s ‘delicious +and invigorating.’ They’ll be sure to quote +that.”</p> +<p>Peter wrote on: ‘Personally I have found it delicious +and—’ Peter left off writing. “I really +think, Clodd, I ought to taste it. You see, I am personally +recommending it.”</p> +<p>“Finish that par. Let me have it to take round to +the printers. Then put the bottle in your pocket. +Take it home and make a night of it.”</p> +<p>Clodd appeared to be in a mighty hurry. Now, this made +Peter only the more suspicious. The bottle was close to his +hand. Clodd tried to intercept him, but was not quick +enough.</p> +<p>“You’re not used to temperance drinks,” +urged Clodd. “Your palate is not accustomed to +them.”</p> +<p>“I can tell whether it’s ‘delicious’ +or not, surely?” pleaded Peter, who had pulled out the +cork.</p> +<p>“It’s a quarter-page advertisement for thirteen +weeks. Put it down and don’t be a fool!” urged +Clodd.</p> +<p>“I’m going to put it down,” laughed Peter, +who was fond of his joke. Peter poured out half a +tumblerful, and drank—some of it.</p> +<p>“Like it?” demanded Clodd, with a savage grin.</p> +<p>“You are sure—you are sure it was the right +bottle?” gasped Peter.</p> +<p>“Bottle’s all right,” Clodd assured +him. “Try some more. Judge it +fairly.”</p> +<p>Peter ventured on another sip. “You don’t +think they would be satisfied if I recommended it as a +medicine?” insinuated Peter—“something to have +about the house in case of accidental poisoning?”</p> +<p>“Better go round and suggest the idea to them +yourself. I’ve done with it.” Clodd took +up his hat.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry—I’m very sorry,” +sighed Peter. “But I couldn’t +conscientiously—”</p> +<p>Clodd put down his hat again with a bang. “Oh! +confound that conscience of yours! Don’t it ever +think of your creditors? What’s the use of my working +out my lungs for you, when all you do is to hamper me at every +step?”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t it be better policy,” urged Peter, +“to go for the better class of advertiser, who +doesn’t ask you for this sort of thing?”</p> +<p>“Go for him!” snorted Clodd. “Do you +think I don’t go for him? They are just sheep. +Get one, you get the lot. Until you’ve got the one, +the others won’t listen to you.”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” mused Peter. “I +spoke to Wilkinson, of Kingsley’s, myself. He advised +me to try and get Landor’s. He thought that if I +could get an advertisement out of Landor, he might persuade his +people to give us theirs.”</p> +<p>“And if you had gone to Landor, he would have promised +you theirs provided you got Kingsley’s.”</p> +<p>“They will come,” thought hopeful Peter. +“We are going up steadily. They will come with a +rush.”</p> +<p>“They had better come soon,” thought Clodd. +“The only things coming with a rush just now are +bills.”</p> +<p>“Those articles of young McTear’s attracted a good +deal of attention,” expounded Peter. “He has +promised to write me another series.”</p> +<p>“Jowett is the one to get hold of,” mused +Clodd. “Jowett, all the others follow like a flock of +geese waddling after the old gander. If only we could get +hold of Jowett, the rest would be easy.”</p> +<p>Jowett was the proprietor of the famous Marble Soap. +Jowett spent on advertising every year a quarter of a million, it +was said. Jowett was the stay and prop of periodical +literature. New papers that secured the Marble Soap +advertisement lived and prospered; the new paper to which it was +denied languished and died. Jowett, and how to get hold of +him; Jowett, and how to get round him, formed the chief topic of +discussion at the council-board of most new papers, <i>Good +Humour</i> amongst the number.</p> +<p>“I have heard,” said Miss Ramsbotham, who wrote +the Letter to Clorinda that filled each week the last two pages +of <i>Good Humour</i>, and that told Clorinda, who lived secluded +in the country, the daily history of the highest class society, +among whom Miss Ramsbotham appeared to live and have her being; +who they were, and what they wore, the wise and otherwise things +they did—“I have heard,” said Miss Ramsbotham +one morning, Jowett being as usual the subject under debate, +“that the old man is susceptible to female +influence.”</p> +<p>“What I have always thought,” said Clodd. +“A lady advertising-agent might do well. At all +events, they couldn’t kick her out.”</p> +<p>“They might in the end,” thought Peter. +“Female door-porters would become a profession for muscular +ladies if ever the idea took root.”</p> +<p>“The first one would get a good start, anyhow,” +thought Clodd.</p> +<p>The sub-editor had pricked up her ears. Once upon a +time, long ago, the sub-editor had succeeded, when all other +London journalists had failed, in securing an interview with a +certain great statesman. The sub-editor had never forgotten +this—nor allowed anyone else to forget it.</p> +<p>“I believe I could get it for you,” said the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>The editor and the business-manager both spoke together. +They spoke with decision and with emphasis.</p> +<p>“Why not?” said the sub-editor. “When +nobody else could get at him, it was I who interviewed +Prince—”</p> +<p>“We’ve heard all about that,” interrupted +the business-manager. “If I had been your father at +the time, you would never have done it.”</p> +<p>“How could I have stopped her?” retorted Peter +Hope. “She never said a word to me.”</p> +<p>“You could have kept an eye on her.”</p> +<p>“Kept an eye on her! When you’ve got a girl +of your own, you’ll know more about them.”</p> +<p>“When I have,” asserted Clodd, “I’ll +manage her.”</p> +<p>“We know all about bachelor’s children,” +sneered Peter Hope, the editor.</p> +<p>“You leave it to me. I’ll have it for you +before the end of the week,” crowed the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“If you do get it,” returned Clodd, “I shall +throw it out, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“You said yourself a lady advertising-agent would be a +good idea,” the sub-editor reminded him.</p> +<p>“So she might be,” returned Clodd; “but she +isn’t going to be you.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because she isn’t, that’s why.”</p> +<p>“But if—”</p> +<p>“See you at the printer’s at twelve,” said +Clodd to Peter, and went out suddenly.</p> +<p>“Well, I think he’s an idiot,” said the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>“I do not often,” said the editor, “but on +this point I agree with him. Cadging for advertisements +isn’t a woman’s work.”</p> +<p>“But what is the difference between—”</p> +<p>“All the difference in the world,” thought the +editor.</p> +<p>“You don’t know what I was going to say,” +returned his sub.</p> +<p>“I know the drift of it,” asserted the editor.</p> +<p>“But you let me—”</p> +<p>“I know I do—a good deal too much. I’m +going to turn over a new leaf.”</p> +<p>“All I propose to do—”</p> +<p>“Whatever it is, you’re not going to do it,” +declared the chief. “Shall be back at half-past +twelve, if anybody comes.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me—” But Peter was +gone.</p> +<p>“Just like them all,” wailed the sub-editor. +“They can’t argue; when you explain things to them, +they go out. It does make me so mad!”</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham laughed. “You are a downtrodden +little girl, Tommy.”</p> +<p>“As if I couldn’t take care of +myself!” Tommy’s chin was high up in the +air.</p> +<p>“Cheer up,” suggested Miss Ramsbotham. +“Nobody ever tells me not to do anything. I would +change with you if I could.”</p> +<p>“I’d have walked into that office and have had +that advertisement out of old Jowett in five minutes, I know I +would,” bragged Tommy. “I can always get on +with old men.”</p> +<p>“Only with the old ones?” queried Miss +Ramsbotham.</p> +<p>The door opened. “Anybody in?” asked the +face of Johnny Bulstrode, appearing in the jar.</p> +<p>“Can’t you see they are?” snapped Tommy.</p> +<p>“Figure of speech,” explained Johnny Bulstrode, +commonly called “the Babe,” entering and closing the +door behind him.</p> +<p>“What do you want?” demanded the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“Nothing in particular,” replied the Babe.</p> +<p>“Wrong time of the day to come for it, half-past eleven +in the morning,” explained the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” asked the +Babe.</p> +<p>“Feeling very cross,” confessed the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>The childlike face of the Babe expressed sympathetic +inquiry.</p> +<p>“We are very indignant,” explained Miss +Ramsbotham, “because we are not allowed to rush off to +Cannon Street and coax an advertisement out of old Jowett, the +soap man. We feel sure that if we only put on our best hat, +he couldn’t possibly refuse us.”</p> +<p>“No coaxing required,” thought the +sub-editor. “Once get in to see the old fellow and +put the actual figures before him, he would clamour to come +in.”</p> +<p>“Won’t he see Clodd?” asked the Babe.</p> +<p>“Won’t see anybody on behalf of anything new just +at present, apparently,” answered Miss Ramsbotham. +“It was my fault. I was foolish enough to repeat that +I had heard he was susceptible to female charm. They say it +was Mrs. Sarkitt that got the advertisement for <i>The Lamp</i> +out of him. But, of course, it may not be true.”</p> +<p>“Wish I was a soap man and had got advertisements to +give away,” sighed the Babe.</p> +<p>“Wish you were,” agreed the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“You should have them all, Tommy.”</p> +<p>“My name,” corrected him the sub-editor, “is +Miss Hope.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said the Babe. “I +don’t know how it is, but one gets into the way of calling +you Tommy.”</p> +<p>“I will thank you,” said the sub-editor, “to +get out of it.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” said the Babe.</p> +<p>“Don’t let it occur again,” said the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>The Babe stood first on one leg and then on the other, but +nothing seemed to come of it. “Well,” said the +Babe, “I just looked in, that’s all. Nothing I +can do for you?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” thanked him the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“Good morning,” said the Babe.</p> +<p>“Good morning,” said the sub-editor.</p> +<p>The childlike face of the Babe wore a chastened expression as +it slowly descended the stairs. Most of the members of the +Autolycus Club looked in about once a day to see if they could do +anything for Tommy. Some of them had luck. Only the +day before, Porson—a heavy, most uninteresting +man—had been sent down all the way to Plaistow to inquire +after the wounded hand of a machine-boy. Young Alexander, +whose poetry some people could not even understand, had been +commissioned to search London for a second-hand edition of +Maitland’s <i>Architecture</i>. Since a fortnight +nearly now, when he had been sent out to drive away an organ that +would not go, Johnny had been given nothing.</p> +<p>Johnny turned the corner into Fleet Street feeling bitter with +his lot. A boy carrying a parcel stumbled against him.</p> +<p>“Beg yer pardon—” the small boy looked up +into Johnny’s face, “miss,” added the small +boy, dodging the blow and disappearing into the crowd.</p> +<p>The Babe, by reason of his childlike face, was accustomed to +insults of this character, but to-day it especially irritated +him. Why at twenty-two could he not grow even a +moustache? Why was he only five feet five and a half? +Why had Fate cursed him with a pink-and-white complexion, so that +the members of his own club had nicknamed him “the +Babe,” while street-boys as they passed pleaded with him +for a kiss? Why was his very voice, a flute-like alto, more +suitable—Suddenly an idea sprang to life within his +brain. The idea grew. Passing a barber’s shop, +Johnny went in.</p> +<p>“’Air cut, sir?” remarked the barber, +fitting a sheet round Johnny’s neck.</p> +<p>“No, shave,” corrected Johnny.</p> +<p>“Beg pardon,” said the barber, substituting a +towel for the sheet. “Do you shave up, sir?” +later demanded the barber.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Johnny.</p> +<p>“Pleasant weather we are having,” said the +barber.</p> +<p>“Very,” assented Johnny.</p> +<p>From the barber’s, Johnny went to Stinchcombe’s, +the costumier’s, in Drury Lane.</p> +<p>“I am playing in a burlesque,” explained the +Babe. “I want you to rig me out completely as a +modern girl.”</p> +<p>“Peeth o’ luck!” said the shopman. +“Goth the very bundle for you. Juth come +in.”</p> +<p>“I shall want everything,” explained the Babe, +“from the boots to the hat; stays, petticoats—the +whole bag of tricks.”</p> +<p>“Regular troutheau there,” said the shopman, +emptying out the canvas bag upon the counter. “Thry +’em on.”</p> +<p>The Babe contented himself with trying on the costume and the +boots.</p> +<p>“Juth made for you!” said the shopman.</p> +<p>A little loose about the chest, suggested the Babe.</p> +<p>“Thath’s all right,” said the shopman. +“Couple o’ thmall towelths, all thath’s +wanted.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think it too showy?” queried the +Babe.</p> +<p>“Thowy? Sthylish, thath’s all.”</p> +<p>“You are sure everything’s here?”</p> +<p>“Everythinkth there. ‘Thept the bit o’ +meat inthide,” assured him the shopman.</p> +<p>The Babe left a deposit, and gave his name and address. +The shopman promised the things should be sent round within an +hour. The Babe, who had entered into the spirit of the +thing, bought a pair of gloves and a small reticule, and made his +way to Bow Street.</p> +<p>“I want a woman’s light brown wig,” said the +Babe to Mr. Cox, the perruquier.</p> +<p>Mr. Cox tried on two. The deceptive appearance of the +second Mr. Cox pronounced as perfect.</p> +<p>“Looks more natural on you than your own hair, blessed +if it doesn’t!” said Mr. Cox.</p> +<p>The wig also was promised within the hour. The spirit of +completeness descended upon the Babe. On his way back to +his lodgings in Great Queen Street, he purchased a ladylike +umbrella and a veil.</p> +<p>Now, a quarter of an hour after Johnny Bulstrode had made his +exit by the door of Mr. Stinchcombe’s shop, one, Harry +Bennett, actor and member of the Autolycus Club, pushed it open +and entered. The shop was empty. Harry Bennett +hammered with his stick and waited. A piled-up bundle of +clothes lay upon the counter; a sheet of paper, with a name and +address scrawled across it, rested on the bundle. Harry +Bennett, given to idle curiosity, approached and read the +same. Harry Bennett, with his stick, poked the bundle, +scattering its items over the counter.</p> +<p>“Donth do thath!” said the shopman, coming +up. “Juth been putting ’em together.”</p> +<p>“What the devil,” said Harry Bennett, “is +Johnny Bulstrode going to do with that rig-out?”</p> +<p>“How thoud I know?” answered the shopman. +“Private theathricals, I suppoth. Friend o’ +yourth?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Harry Bennett. “By +Jove! he ought to make a good girl. Should like to see +it!”</p> +<p>“Well arthk him for a ticket. Donth make ’em +dirty,” suggested the shopman.</p> +<p>“I must,” said Harry Bennett, and talked about his +own affairs.</p> +<p>The rig-out and the wig did not arrive at Johnny’s +lodgings within the hour as promised, but arrived there within +three hours, which was as much as Johnny had expected. It +took Johnny nearly an hour to dress, but at last he stood before +the plate-glass panel of the wardrobe transformed. Johnny +had reason to be pleased with the result. A tall, handsome +girl looked back at him out of the glass—a little showily +dressed, perhaps, but decidedly <i>chic</i>.</p> +<p>“Wonder if I ought to have a cloak,” mused Johnny, +as a ray of sunshine, streaming through the window, fell upon the +image in the glass. “Well, anyhow, I +haven’t,” thought Johnny, as the sunlight died away +again, “so it’s no good thinking about it.”</p> +<p>Johnny seized his reticule and his umbrella and opened +cautiously the door. Outside all was silent. Johnny +stealthily descended; in the passage paused again. Voices +sounded from the basement. Feeling like an escaped burglar, +Johnny slipped the latch of the big door and peeped out. A +policeman, pasting, turned and looked at him. Johnny +hastily drew back and closed the door again. Somebody was +ascending from the kitchen. Johnny, caught between two +terrors, nearer to the front door than to the stairs, having no +time, chose the street. It seemed to Johnny that the street +was making for him. A woman came hurriedly towards +him. What was she going to say to him? What should he +answer her? To his surprise she passed him, hardly noticing +him. Wondering what miracle had saved him, he took a few +steps forward. A couple of young clerks coming up from +behind turned to look at him, but on encountering his answering +stare of angry alarm, appeared confused and went their way. +It began to dawn upon him that mankind was less discerning than +he had feared. Gaining courage as he proceeded, he reached +Holborn. Here the larger crowd swept around him +indifferent.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said Johnny, coming into +collision with a stout gentleman.</p> +<p>“My fault,” replied the stout gentleman, as, +smiling, he picked up his damaged hat.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” repeated Johnny again two +minutes later, colliding with a tall young lady.</p> +<p>“Should advise you to take something for that squint of +yours,” remarked the tall young lady with severity.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with me?” thought +Johnny. “Seems to be a sort of +mist—” The explanation flashed across +him. “Of course,” said Johnny to himself, +“it’s this confounded veil!”</p> +<p>Johnny decided to walk to the Marble Soap offices. +“I’ll be more used to the hang of things by the time +I get there if I walk,” thought Johnny. “Hope +the old beggar’s in.”</p> +<p>In Newgate Street, Johnny paused and pressed his hands against +his chest. “Funny sort of pain I’ve got,” +thought Johnny. “Wonder if I should shock them if I +went in somewhere for a drop of brandy?”</p> +<p>“It don’t get any better,” reflected Johnny, +with some alarm, on reaching the corner of Cheapside. +“Hope I’m not going to be ill. +Whatever—” The explanation came to him. +“Of course, it’s these damned stays! No wonder +girls are short-tempered, at times.”</p> +<p>At the offices of the Marble Soap, Johnny was treated with +marked courtesy. Mr. Jowett was out, was not expected back +till five o’clock. Would the lady wait, or would she +call again? The lady decided, now she was there, to +wait. Would the lady take the easy-chair? Would the +lady have the window open or would she have it shut? Had +the lady seen <i>The Times</i>?</p> +<p>“Or the <i>Ha’penny Joker</i>?” suggested a +junior clerk, who thereupon was promptly sent back to his +work.</p> +<p>Many of the senior clerks had occasion to pass through the +waiting-room. Two of the senior clerks held views about the +weather which they appeared wishful to express at length. +Johnny began to enjoy himself. This thing was going to be +good fun. By the time the slamming of doors and the +hurrying of feet announced the advent of the chief, Johnny was +looking forward to his interview.</p> +<p>It was briefer and less satisfactory than he had +anticipated. Mr. Jowett was very busy—did not as a +rule see anybody in the afternoon; but of course, a +lady—“Would Miss—”</p> +<p>“Montgomery.”</p> +<p>“Would Miss Montgomery inform Mr. Jowett what it was he +might have the pleasure of doing for her?”</p> +<p>Miss Montgomery explained.</p> +<p>Mr. Jowett seemed half angry, half amused.</p> +<p>“Really,” said Mr. Jowett, “this is hardly +playing the game. Against our fellow-men we can protect +ourselves, but if the ladies are going to attack us—really +it isn’t fair.”</p> +<p>Miss Montgomery pleaded.</p> +<p>“I’ll think it over,” was all that Mr. +Jowett could be made to promise. “Look me up +again.”</p> +<p>“When?” asked Miss Montgomery.</p> +<p>“What’s to-day?—Thursday. Say +Monday.” Mr. Jowett rang the bell. “Take +my advice,” said the old gentleman, laying a fatherly hand +on Johnny’s shoulder, “leave business to us +men. You are a handsome girl. You can do better for +yourself than this.”</p> +<p>A clerk entered, Johnny rose.</p> +<p>“On Monday next, then,” Johnny reminded him.</p> +<p>“At four o’clock,” agreed Mr. Jowett. +“Good afternoon.”</p> +<p>Johnny went out feeling disappointed, and yet, as he told +himself, he hadn’t done so badly. Anyhow, there was +nothing for it but to wait till Monday. Now he would go +home, change his clothes, and get some dinner. He hailed a +hansom.</p> +<p>“Number twenty-eight—no. Stop at the +Queen’s Street corner of Lincoln’s Inn Fields,” +Johnny directed the man.</p> +<p>“Quite right, miss,” commented the cabman +pleasantly. “Corner’s best—saves all +talk.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” demanded Johnny.</p> +<p>“No offence, miss,” answered the man. +“We was all young once.”</p> +<p>Johnny climbed in. At the corner of Queen Street and +Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Johnny got out. Johnny, who had +been pondering other matters, put his hand instinctively to +where, speaking generally, his pocket should have been; then +recollected himself.</p> +<p>“Let me see, did I think to bring any money out with me, +or did I not?” mused Johnny, as he stood upon the kerb.</p> +<p>“Look in the ridicule, miss,” suggested the +cabman.</p> +<p>Johnny looked. It was empty.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I put it in my pocket,” thought +Johnny.</p> +<p>The cabman hitched his reins to the whip-socket and leant +back.</p> +<p>“It’s somewhere about here, I know, I saw +it,” Johnny told himself. “Sorry to keep you +waiting,” Johnny added aloud to the cabman.</p> +<p>“Don’t you worry about that, miss,” replied +the cabman civilly; “we are used to it. A shilling a +quarter of an hour is what we charge.”</p> +<p>“Of all the damned silly tricks!” muttered Johnny +to himself.</p> +<p>Two small boys and a girl carrying a baby paused, +interested.</p> +<p>“Go away,” told them the cabman. +“You’ll have troubles of your own one day.”</p> +<p>The urchins moved a few steps further, then halted again and +were joined by a slatternly woman and another boy.</p> +<p>“Got it!” cried Johnny, unable to suppress his +delight as his hand slipped through a fold. The lady with +the baby, without precisely knowing why, set up a shrill +cheer. Johnny’s delight died away; it wasn’t +the pocket-hole. Short of taking the skirt off and turning +it inside out, it didn’t seem to Johnny that he ever would +find that pocket.</p> +<p>Then in that moment of despair he came across it +accidentally. It was as empty as the reticule!</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” said Johnny to the cabman, +“but I appear to have come out without my purse.”</p> +<p>The cabman said he had heard that tale before, and was making +preparations to descend. The crowd, now numbering eleven, +looked hopeful. It occurred to Johnny later that he might +have offered his umbrella to the cabman; at least it would have +fetched the eighteenpence. One thinks of these things +afterwards. The only idea that occurred to him at the +moment was that of getting home.</p> +<p>“’Ere, ’old my ’orse a minute, one of +yer,” shouted the cabman.</p> +<p>Half a dozen willing hands seized the dozing steed and roused +it into madness.</p> +<p>“Hi! stop ’er!” roared the cabman.</p> +<p>“She’s down!” shouted the excited crowd.</p> +<p>“Tripped over ’er skirt,” explained the +slatternly woman. “They do ’amper +you.”</p> +<p>“No, she’s not. She’s up again!” +vociferated a delighted plumber, with a sounding slap on his own +leg. “Gor blimy, if she ain’t a good +’un!”</p> +<p>Fortunately the Square was tolerably clear and Johnny a good +runner. Holding now his skirt and petticoat high in his +left hand, Johnny moved across the Square at the rate of fifteen +miles an hour. A butcher’s boy sprang in front of him +with arms held out to stop him. The thing that for the next +three months annoyed that butcher boy most was hearing shouted +out after him “Yah! who was knocked down and run over by a +lidy?” By the time Johnny reached the Strand, +<i>viâ</i> Clement’s Inn, the hue and cry was far +behind. Johnny dropped his skirts and assumed a more +girlish pace. Through Bow Street and Long Acre he reached +Great Queen Street in safety. Upon his own doorstep he +began to laugh. His afternoon’s experience had been +amusing; still, on the whole, he wasn’t sorry it was +over. One can have too much even of the best of +jokes. Johnny rang the bell.</p> +<p>The door opened. Johnny would have walked in had not a +big, raw-boned woman barred his progress.</p> +<p>“What do you want?” demanded the raw-boned +woman.</p> +<p>“Want to come in,” explained Johnny.</p> +<p>“What do you want to come in for?”</p> +<p>This appeared to Johnny a foolish question. On +reflection he saw the sense of it. This raw-boned woman was +not Mrs. Pegg, his landlady. Some friend of hers, he +supposed.</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” said Johnny, “I live +here. Left my latchkey at home, that’s +all.”</p> +<p>“There’s no females lodging here,” declared +the raw-boned lady. “And what’s more, +there’s going to be none.”</p> +<p>All this was very vexing. Johnny, in his joy at reaching +his own doorstep, had not foreseen these complications. Now +it would be necessary to explain things. He only hoped the +story would not get round to the fellows at the club.</p> +<p>“Ask Mrs. Pegg to step up for a minute,” requested +Johnny.</p> +<p>“Not at ’ome,” explained the raw-boned +lady.</p> +<p>“Not—not at home?”</p> +<p>“Gone to Romford, if you wish to know, to see her +mother.”</p> +<p>“Gone to Romford?”</p> +<p>“I said Romford, didn’t I?” retorted the +raw-boned lady, tartly.</p> +<p>“What—what time do you expect her in?”</p> +<p>“Sunday evening, six o’clock,” replied the +raw-boned lady.</p> +<p>Johnny looked at the raw-boned lady, imagined himself telling +the raw-boned lady the simple, unvarnished truth, and the +raw-boned lady’s utter disbelief of every word of it. +An inspiration came to his aid.</p> +<p>“I am Mr. Bulstrode’s sister,” said Johnny +meekly; “he’s expecting me.”</p> +<p>“Thought you said you lived here?” reminded him +the raw-boned lady.</p> +<p>“I meant that he lived here,” replied poor Johnny +still more meekly. “He has the second floor, you +know.”</p> +<p>“I know,” replied the raw-boned lady. +“Not in just at present.”</p> +<p>“Not in?”</p> +<p>“Went out at three o’clock.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go up to his room and wait for him,” +said Johnny.</p> +<p>“No, you won’t,” said the raw-boned +lady.</p> +<p>For an instant it occurred to Johnny to make a dash for it, +but the raw-boned lady looked both formidable and +determined. There would be a big disturbance—perhaps +the police called in. Johnny had often wanted to see his +name in print: in connection with this affair he somehow felt he +didn’t.</p> +<p>“Do let me in,” Johnny pleaded; “I have +nowhere else to go.”</p> +<p>“You have a walk and cool yourself,” suggested the +raw-boned lady. “Don’t expect he will be +long.”</p> +<p>“But, you see—”</p> +<p>The raw-boned lady slammed the door.</p> +<p>Outside a restaurant in Wellington Street, from which +proceeded savoury odours, Johnny paused and tried to think.</p> +<p>“What the devil did I do with that umbrella? I had +it—no, I didn’t. Must have dropped it, I +suppose, when that silly ass tried to stop me. By Jove! I +am having luck!”</p> +<p>Outside another restaurant in the Strand Johnny paused +again. “How am I to live till Sunday night? +Where am I to sleep? If I telegraph home—damn it! how +can I telegraph? I haven’t got a penny. This is +funny,” said Johnny, unconsciously speaking aloud; +“upon my word, this is funny! Oh! you go +to—.”</p> +<p>Johnny hurled this last at the head of an overgrown errand-boy +whose intention had been to offer sympathy.</p> +<p>“Well, I never!” commented a passing +flower-girl. “Calls ’erself a lidy, I +suppose.”</p> +<p>“Nowadays,” observed the stud and button merchant +at the corner of Exeter Street, “they make ’em out of +anything.”</p> +<p>Drawn by a notion that was forming in his mind, Johnny turned +his steps up Bedford Street. “Why not?” mused +Johnny. “Nobody else seems to have a suspicion. +Why should they? I’ll never hear the last of it if +they find me out. But why should they find me out? +Well, something’s got to be done.”</p> +<p>Johnny walked on quickly. At the door of the Autolycus +Club he was undecided for a moment, then took his courage in both +hands and plunged through the swing doors.</p> +<p>“Is Mr. Herring—Mr. Jack +Herring—here?”</p> +<p>“Find him in the smoking-room, Mr. Bulstrode,” +answered old Goslin, who was reading the evening paper.</p> +<p>“Oh, would you mind asking him to step out a +moment?”</p> +<p>Old Goslin looked up, took off his spectacles, rubbed them, +put them on again.</p> +<p>“Please say Miss Bulstrode—Mr. Bulstrode’s +sister.”</p> +<p>Old Goslin found Jack Herring the centre of an earnest +argument on Hamlet—was he really mad?</p> +<p>“A lady to see you, Mr. Herring,” announced old +Goslin.</p> +<p>“A what?”</p> +<p>“Miss Bulstrode—Mr. Bulstrode’s +sister. She’s waiting in the hall.”</p> +<p>“Never knew he had a sister,” said Jack Herring, +rising.</p> +<p>“Wait a minute,” said Harry Bennett. +“Shut that door. Don’t go.” This to +old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. “Lady +in a heliotrope dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the +skirt?”</p> +<p>“That’s right, Mr. Bennett,” agreed old +Goslin.</p> +<p>“It’s the Babe himself!” asserted Harry +Bennett.</p> +<p>The question of Hamlet’s madness was forgotten.</p> +<p>“Was in at Stinchcombe’s this morning,” +explained Harry Bennett; “saw the clothes on the counter +addressed to him. That’s the identical frock. +This is just a ‘try on’—thinks he’s going +to have a lark with us.”</p> +<p>The Autolycus Club looked round at itself.</p> +<p>“I can see verra promising possibilities in this, +provided the thing is properly managed,” said the Wee +Laddie, after a pause.</p> +<p>“So can I,” agreed Jack Herring. “Keep +where you are, all of you. ’Twould be a pity to fool +it.”</p> +<p>The Autolycus Club waited. Jack Herring re-entered the +room.</p> +<p>“One of the saddest stories I have ever heard in all my +life,” explained Jack Herring in a whisper. +“Poor girl left Derbyshire this morning to come and see her +brother; found him out—hasn’t been seen at his +lodgings since three o’clock; fears something may have +happened to him. Landlady gone to Romford to see her +mother; strange woman in charge, won’t let her in to wait +for him.”</p> +<p>“How sad it is when trouble overtakes the innocent and +helpless!” murmured Somerville the Briefless.</p> +<p>“That’s not the worst of it,” continued +Jack. “The dear girl has been robbed of everything +she possesses, even of her umbrella, and hasn’t got a +<i>sou</i>; hasn’t had any dinner, and doesn’t know +where to sleep.”</p> +<p>“Sounds a bit elaborate,” thought Porson.</p> +<p>“I think I can understand it,” said the Briefless +one. “What has happened is this. He’s +dressed up thinking to have a bit of fun with us, and has come +out, forgetting to put any money or his latchkey in his +pocket. His landlady may have gone to Romford or may +not. In any case, he would have to knock at the door and +enter into explanations. What does he suggest—the +loan of a sovereign?”</p> +<p>“The loan of two,” replied Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“To buy himself a suit of clothes. Don’t you +do it, Jack. Providence has imposed this upon us. Our +duty is to show him the folly of indulging in senseless +escapades.”</p> +<p>“I think we might give him a dinner,” thought the +stout and sympathetic Porson.</p> +<p>“What I propose to do,” grinned Jack, “is to +take him round to Mrs. Postwhistle’s. She’s +under a sort of obligation to me. It was I who got her the +post office. We’ll leave him there for a night, with +instructions to Mrs. P. to keep a motherly eye on him. +To-morrow he shall have his ‘bit of fun,’ and I guess +he’ll be the first to get tired of the joke.”</p> +<p>It looked a promising plot. Seven members of the +Autolycus Club gallantly undertook to accompany “Miss +Bulstrode” to her lodgings. Jack Herring excited +jealousy by securing the privilege of carrying her +reticule. “Miss Bulstrode” was given to +understand that anything any of the seven could do for her, each +and every would be delighted to do, if only for the sake of her +brother, one of the dearest boys that ever breathed—a bit +of an ass, though that, of course, he could not help. +“Miss Bulstrode” was not as grateful as perhaps she +should have been. Her idea still was that if one of them +would lend her a couple of sovereigns, the rest need not worry +themselves further. This, purely in her own interests, they +declined to do. She had suffered one extensive robbery that +day already, as Jack reminded her. London was a city of +danger to the young and inexperienced. Far better that they +should watch over her and provide for her simple wants. +Painful as it was to refuse a lady, a beloved companion’s +sister’s welfare was yet dearer to them. “Miss +Bulstrode’s” only desire was not to waste their +time. Jack Herring’s opinion was that there existed +no true Englishman who would grudge time spent upon succouring a +beautiful maiden in distress.</p> +<p>Arrived at the little grocer’s shop in Rolls Court, Jack +Herring drew Mrs. Postwhistle aside.</p> +<p>“She’s the sister of a very dear friend of +ours,” explained Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“A fine-looking girl,” commented Mrs. +Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“I shall be round again in the morning. +Don’t let her out of your sight, and, above all, +don’t lend her any money,” directed Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“I understand,” replied Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“Miss Bulstrode” having despatched an excellent +supper of cold mutton and bottled beer, leant back in her chair +and crossed her legs.</p> +<p>“I have often wondered,” remarked Miss Bulstrode, +her eyes fixed upon the ceiling, “what a cigarette would +taste like.”</p> +<p>“Taste nasty, I should say, the first time,” +thought Mrs. Postwhistle, who was knitting.</p> +<p>“Some girls, so I have heard,” remarked Miss +Bulstrode, “smoke cigarettes.”</p> +<p>“Not nice girls,” thought Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“One of the nicest girls I ever knew,” remarked +Miss Bulstrode, “always smoked a cigarette after +supper. Said it soothed her nerves.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t ’ave thought so if I’d +’ad charge of ’er,” said Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“I think,” said Miss Bulstrode, who seemed +restless, “I think I shall go for a little walk before +turning in.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps it would do us good,” agreed Mrs. +Postwhistle, laying down her knitting.</p> +<p>“Don’t you trouble to come,” urged the +thoughtful Miss Bulstrode. “You look +tired.”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” replied Mrs. Postwhistle. +“Feel I should like it.”</p> +<p>In some respects Mrs. Postwhistle proved an admirable +companion. She asked no questions, and only spoke when +spoken to, which, during that walk, was not often. At the +end of half an hour, Miss Bulstrode pleaded a headache and +thought she would return home and go to bed. Mrs. +Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea.</p> +<p>“Well, it’s better than tramping the +streets,” muttered Johnny, as the bedroom door was closed +behind him, “and that’s all one can say for it. +Must get hold of a smoke to-morrow, if I have to rob the +till. What’s that?” Johnny stole across +on, tiptoe. “Confound it!” said Johnny, +“if she hasn’t locked the door!”</p> +<p>Johnny sat down upon the bed and took stock of his +position. “It doesn’t seem to me,” +thought Johnny, “that I’m ever going to get out of +this mess.” Johnny, still muttering, unfastened his +stays. “Thank God, that’s off!” +ejaculated Johnny piously, as he watched his form slowly +expanding. “Suppose I’ll be used to them before +I’ve finished with them.”</p> +<p>Johnny had a night of dreams.</p> +<p>For the whole of next day, which was Friday, Johnny remained +“Miss Bulstrode,” hoping against hope to find an +opportunity to escape from his predicament without +confession. The entire Autolycus Club appeared to have +fallen in love with him.</p> +<p>“Thought I was a bit of a fool myself,” mused +Johnny, “where a petticoat was concerned. Don’t +believe these blithering idiots have ever seen a girl +before.”</p> +<p>They came in ones, they came in little parties, and tendered +him devotion. Even Mrs. Postwhistle, accustomed to regard +human phenomena without comment, remarked upon it.</p> +<p>“When you are all tired of it,” said Mrs. +Postwhistle to Jack Herring, “let me know.”</p> +<p>“The moment we find her brother,” explained Jack +Herring, “of course we shall take her to him.”</p> +<p>“Nothing like looking in the right place for a thing +when you’ve finished looking in the others,” observed +Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” demanded Jack.</p> +<p>“Just what I say,” answered Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>Jack Herring looked at Mrs. Postwhistle. But Mrs. +Postwhistle’s face was not of the expressive order.</p> +<p>“Post office still going strong?” asked Jack +Herring.</p> +<p>“The post office ’as been a great ’elp to +me,” admitted Mrs. Postwhistle; “and I’m not +forgetting that I owe it to you.”</p> +<p>“Don’t mention it,” murmured Jack +Herring.</p> +<p>They brought her presents—nothing very expensive, more +as tokens of regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple +flowers, bottles of scent. To Somerville “Miss +Bulstrode” hinted that if he really did desire to please +her, and wasn’t merely talking through his hat—Miss +Bulstrode apologised for the slang, which, she feared, she must +have picked up from her brother—he might give her a box of +Messani’s cigarettes, size No. 2. The suggestion +pained him. Somerville the Briefless was perhaps +old-fashioned. Miss Bulstrode cut him short by agreeing +that he was, and seemed disinclined for further conversation.</p> +<p>They took her to Madame Tussaud’s. They took her +up the Monument. They took her to the Tower of +London. In the evening they took her to the Polytechnic to +see Pepper’s Ghost. They made a merry party wherever +they went.</p> +<p>“Seem to be enjoying themselves!” remarked other +sightseers, surprised and envious.</p> +<p>“Girl seems to be a bit out of it,” remarked +others, more observant.</p> +<p>“Sulky-looking bit o’ goods, I call her,” +remarked some of the ladies.</p> +<p>The fortitude with which Miss Bulstrode bore the mysterious +disappearance of her brother excited admiration.</p> +<p>“Hadn’t we better telegraph to your people in +Derbyshire?” suggested Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“Don’t do it,” vehemently protested the +thoughtful Miss Bulstrode; “it might alarm them. The +best plan is for you to lend me a couple of sovereigns and let me +return home quietly.”</p> +<p>“You might be robbed again,” feared Jack +Herring. “I’ll go down with you.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he’ll turn up to-morrow,” thought +Miss Bulstrode. “Expect he’s gone on a +visit.”</p> +<p>“He ought not to have done it,” thought Jack +Herring, “knowing you were coming.”</p> +<p>“Oh! he’s like that,” explained Miss +Bulstrode.</p> +<p>“If I had a young and beautiful sister—” +said Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“Oh! let’s talk of something else,” +suggested Miss Bulstrode. “You make me +tired.”</p> +<p>With Jack Herring, in particular, Johnny was beginning to lose +patience. That “Miss Bulstrode’s” charms +had evidently struck Jack Herring all of a heap, as the saying +is, had in the beginning amused Master Johnny. +Indeed—as in the seclusion of his bedchamber over the +little grocer’s shop he told himself with bitter +self-reproach—he had undoubtedly encouraged the man. +From admiration Jack had rapidly passed to infatuation, from +infatuation to apparent imbecility. Had Johnny’s mind +been less intent upon his own troubles, he might have been +suspicious. As it was, and after all that had happened, +nothing now could astonish Johnny. “Thank +Heaven,” murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, +“this Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable +woman.”</p> +<p>Now, about the same time that Johnny’s head was falling +thus upon his pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for +their next day’s entertainment.</p> +<p>“I think,” said Jack Herring, “the Crystal +Palace in the morning when it’s nice and quiet.”</p> +<p>“To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the +afternoon,” suggested Somerville.</p> +<p>“Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the +evening,” thought Porson.</p> +<p>“Hardly the place for the young person,” feared +Jack Herring. “Some of the jokes—”</p> +<p>“Mr. Brandram gives a reading of <i>Julius +Cæsar</i> at St. George’s Hall,” the Wee Laddie +informed them for their guidance.</p> +<p>“Hallo!” said Alexander the Poet, entering at the +moment. “What are you all talking about?”</p> +<p>“We were discussing where to take Miss Bulstrode +to-morrow evening,” informed him Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“Miss Bulstrode,” repeated the Poet in a tone of +some surprise. “Do you mean Johnny Bulstrode’s +sister?”</p> +<p>“That’s the lady,” answered Jack. +“But how do you come to know about her? Thought you +were in Yorkshire.”</p> +<p>“Came up yesterday,” explained the Poet. +“Travelled up with her.”</p> +<p>“Travelled up with her?”</p> +<p>“From Matlock Bath. What’s the matter with +you all?” demanded the Poet. “You all of you +look—”</p> +<p>“Sit down,” said the Briefless one to the +Poet. “Let’s talk this matter over +quietly.”</p> +<p>Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down.</p> +<p>“You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss +Bulstrode. You are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?”</p> +<p>“Sure!” retorted the Poet. “Why, +I’ve known her ever since she was a baby.”</p> +<p>“About what time did you reach London?”</p> +<p>“Three-thirty.”</p> +<p>“And what became of her? Where did she say she was +going?”</p> +<p>“I never asked her. The last I saw of her she was +getting into a cab. I had an appointment myself, and +was—I say, what’s the matter with Herring?”</p> +<p>Herring had risen and was walking about with his head between +his hands.</p> +<p>“Never mind him. Miss Bulstrode is a lady of +about—how old?”</p> +<p>“Eighteen—no, nineteen last birthday.”</p> +<p>“A tall, handsome sort of girl?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I say, has anything happened to +her?”</p> +<p>“Nothing has happened to her,” assured him +Somerville. “<i>She’s</i> all right. Been +having rather a good time, on the whole.”</p> +<p>The Poet was relieved to hear it.</p> +<p>“I asked her an hour ago,” said Jack Herring, who +was still holding his head between his hands as if to make sure +it was there, “if she thought she could ever learn to love +me. Would you say that could be construed into an offer of +marriage?”</p> +<p>The remainder of the Club was unanimously of opinion that, +practically speaking, it was a proposal.</p> +<p>“I don’t see it,” argued Jack Herring. +“It was merely in the nature of a remark.”</p> +<p>The Club was of opinion that such quibbling was unworthy of a +gentleman.</p> +<p>It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring +sat down and then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, +care of Mrs. Postwhistle.</p> +<p>“But what I don’t understand—” said +Alexander the Poet.</p> +<p>“Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, +someone,” moaned Jack Herring. “How can I think +with all this chatter going on?”</p> +<p>“But why did Bennett—” whispered Porson.</p> +<p>“Where is Bennett?” demanded half a dozen fierce +voices.</p> +<p>Harry Bennett had not been seen all day.</p> +<p>Jack’s letter was delivered to “Miss +Bulstrode” the next morning at breakfast-time. Having +perused it, Miss Bulstrode rose and requested of Mrs. Postwhistle +the loan of half a crown.</p> +<p>“Mr. Herring’s particular instructions +were,” explained Mrs. Postwhistle, “that, above all +things, I was not to lend you any money.”</p> +<p>“When you have read that,” replied Miss Bulstrode, +handing her the letter, “perhaps you will agree with me +that Herring is—an ass.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the +half-crown.</p> +<p>“Better get a shave with part of it,” suggested +Mrs. Postwhistle. “That is, if you are going to play +the fool much longer.”</p> +<p>“Miss Bulstrode” opened his eyes. Mrs. +Postwhistle went on with her breakfast.</p> +<p>“Don’t tell them,” said Johnny; “not +just for a little while, at all events.”</p> +<p>“Nothing to do with me,” replied Mrs. +Postwhistle.</p> +<p>Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to +her aunt in Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in +an envelope, the following hastily scrawled note:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Want to speak to you at +once—<i>alone</i>. Don’t yell when you see +me. It’s all right. Can explain in two +ticks.—Your loving brother, <span +class="smcap">Johnny</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It took longer than two ticks; but at last the Babe came to an +end of it.</p> +<p>“When you have done laughing,” said the Babe.</p> +<p>“But you look so ridiculous,” said his sister.</p> +<p>“<i>They</i> didn’t think so,” retorted the +Babe. “I took them in all right. Guess +you’ve never had as much attention, all in one +day.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure you took them in?” queried his +sister.</p> +<p>“If you will come to the Club at eight o’clock +this evening,” said the Babe, “I’ll prove it to +you. Perhaps I’ll take you on to a theatre +afterwards—if you’re good.”</p> +<p>The Babe himself walked into the Autolycus Club a few minutes +before eight and encountered an atmosphere of restraint.</p> +<p>“Thought you were lost,” remarked Somerville +coldly.</p> +<p>“Called away suddenly—very important +business,” explained the Babe. “Awfully much +obliged to all you fellows for all you have been doing for my +sister. She’s just been telling me.”</p> +<p>“Don’t mention it,” said two or three.</p> +<p>“Awfully good of you, I’m sure,” persisted +the Babe. “Don’t know what she would have done +without you.”</p> +<p>A mere nothing, the Club assured him. The blushing +modesty of the Autolycus Club at hearing of their own good deeds +was touching. Left to themselves, they would have talked of +quite other things. As a matter of fact, they tried to.</p> +<p>“Never heard her speak so enthusiastically of anyone as +she does of you, Jack,” said the Babe, turning to Jack +Herring.</p> +<p>“Of course, you know, dear boy,” explained Jack +Herring, “anything I could do for a sister of +yours—”</p> +<p>“I know, dear boy,” replied the Babe; “I +always felt it.”</p> +<p>“Say no more about it,” urged Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“She couldn’t quite make out that letter of yours +this morning,” continued the Babe, ignoring Jack’s +request. “She’s afraid you think her +ungrateful.”</p> +<p>“It seemed to me, on reflection,” explained Jack +Herring, “that on one or two little matters she may have +misunderstood me. As I wrote her, there are days when I +don’t seem altogether to quite know what I’m +doing.”</p> +<p>“Rather awkward,” thought the Babe.</p> +<p>“It is,” agreed Jack Herring. +“Yesterday was one of them.”</p> +<p>“She tells me you were most kind to her,” the Babe +reassured him. “She thought at first it was a little +uncivil, your refusing to lend her any money. But as I put +it to her—”</p> +<p>“It was silly of me,” interrupted Jack. +“I see that now. I went round this morning meaning to +make it all right. But she was gone, and Mrs. Postwhistle +seemed to think I had better leave things as they were. I +blame myself exceedingly.”</p> +<p>“My dear boy, don’t blame yourself for +anything. You acted nobly,” the Babe told him. +“She’s coming here to call for me this evening on +purpose to thank you.”</p> +<p>“I’d rather not,” said Jack Herring.</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” said the Babe.</p> +<p>“You must excuse me,” insisted Jack Herring. +“I don’t mean it rudely, but really I’d rather +not see her.”</p> +<p>“But here she is,” said the Babe, taking at that +moment the card from old Goslin’s hand. “She +will think it so strange.”</p> +<p>“I’d really rather not,” repeated poor +Jack.</p> +<p>“It seems discourteous,” suggested Somerville.</p> +<p>“You go,” suggested Jack.</p> +<p>“She doesn’t want to see me,” explained +Somerville.</p> +<p>“Yes she does,” corrected him the Babe.</p> +<p>“I’d forgotten, she wants to see you +both.”</p> +<p>“If I go,” said Jack, “I shall tell her the +plain truth.”</p> +<p>“Do you know,” said Somerville, “I’m +thinking that will be the shortest way.”</p> +<p>Miss Bulstrode was seated in the hall. Jack Herring and +Somerville both thought her present quieter style of dress suited +her much better.</p> +<p>“Here he is,” announced the Babe, in +triumph. “Here’s Jack Herring and here’s +Somerville. Do you know, I could hardly persuade them to +come out and see you. Dear old Jack, he always was so +shy.”</p> +<p>Miss Bulstrode rose. She said she could never thank them +sufficiently for all their goodness to her. Miss Bulstrode +seemed quite overcome. Her voice trembled with emotion.</p> +<p>“Before we go further, Miss Bulstrode,” said Jack +Herring, “it will be best to tell you that all along we +thought you were your brother, dressed up as a girl.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said the Babe, “so that’s the +explanation, is it? If I had only known—” +Then the Babe stopped, and wished he hadn’t spoken.</p> +<p>Somerville seized him by the shoulders and, with a sudden +jerk, stood him beside his sister under the gas-jet.</p> +<p>“You little brute!” said Somerville. +“It was you all along.” And the Babe, seeing +the game was up, and glad that the joke had not been entirely on +one side, confessed.</p> +<p>Jack Herring and Somerville the Briefless went that night with +Johnny and his sister to the theatre—and on other +nights. Miss Bulstrode thought Jack Herring very nice, and +told her brother so. But she thought Somerville the +Briefless even nicer, and later, under cross-examination, when +Somerville was no longer briefless, told Somerville so +himself.</p> +<p>But that has nothing to do with this particular story, the end +of which is that Miss Bulstrode kept the appointment made for +Monday afternoon between “Miss Montgomery” and Mr. +Jowett, and secured thereby the Marble Soap advertisement for the +back page of <i>Good Humour</i> for six months, at twenty-five +pounds a week.</p> +<h2>STORY THE SEVENTH—Dick Danvers presents his +Petition</h2> +<p>William Clodd, mopping his brow, laid down the screwdriver, +and stepping back, regarded the result of his labours with +evident satisfaction.</p> +<p>“It looks like a bookcase,” said William +Clodd. “You might sit in the room for half an hour +and never know it wasn’t a bookcase.”</p> +<p>What William Clodd had accomplished was this: he had had +prepared, after his own design, what appeared to be four shelves +laden with works suggestive of thought and erudition. As a +matter of fact, it was not a bookcase, but merely a flat board, +the books merely the backs of volumes that had long since found +their way into the paper-mill. This artful deception +William Clodd had screwed upon a cottage piano standing in the +corner of the editorial office of <i>Good Humour</i>. Half +a dozen real volumes piled upon the top of the piano completed +the illusion. As William Clodd had proudly remarked, a +casual visitor might easily have been deceived.</p> +<p>“If you had to sit in the room while she was practising +mixed scales, you’d be quickly undeceived,” said the +editor of <i>Good Humour</i>, one Peter Hope. He spoke +bitterly.</p> +<p>“You are not always in,” explained Clodd. +“There must be hours when she is here alone, with nothing +else to do. Besides, you will get used to it after a +while.”</p> +<p>“You, I notice, don’t try to get used to +it,” snarled Peter Hope. “You always go out the +moment she commences.”</p> +<p>“A friend of mine,” continued William Clodd, +“worked in an office over a piano-shop for seven years, and +when the shop closed, it nearly ruined his business; +couldn’t settle down to work for want of it.”</p> +<p>“Why doesn’t he come here?” asked Peter +Hope. “The floor above is vacant.”</p> +<p>“Can’t,” explained William Clodd. +“He’s dead.”</p> +<p>“I can quite believe it,” commented Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“It was a shop where people came and practised, paying +sixpence an hour, and he had got to like it—said it made a +cheerful background to his thoughts. Wonderful what you can +get accustomed to.”</p> +<p>“What’s the good of it?” demanded Peter +Hope.</p> +<p>“What’s the good of it!” retorted William +Clodd indignantly. “Every girl ought to know how to +play the piano. A nice thing if when her lover asks her to +play something to him—”</p> +<p>“I wonder you don’t start a matrimonial +agency,” sneered Peter Hope. “Love and +marriage—you think of nothing else.”</p> +<p>“When you are bringing up a young girl—” +argued Clodd.</p> +<p>“But you’re not,” interrupted Peter; +“that’s just what I’m trying to get out of your +head. It is I who am bringing her up. And between +ourselves, I wish you wouldn’t interfere so +much.”</p> +<p>“You are not fit to bring up a girl.”</p> +<p>“I’ve brought her up for seven years without your +help. She’s my adopted daughter, not yours. I +do wish people would learn to mind their own business.”</p> +<p>“You’ve done very well—”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Peter Hope sarcastically. +“It’s very kind of you. Perhaps when +you’ve time, you’ll write me out a +testimonial.”</p> +<p>“—up till now,” concluded the imperturbable +Clodd. “A girl of eighteen wants to know something +else besides mathematics and the classics. You don’t +understand them.”</p> +<p>“I do understand them,” asserted Peter Hope. +“What do you know about them? You’re not a +father.”</p> +<p>“You’ve done your best,” admitted William +Clodd in a tone of patronage that irritated Peter greatly; +“but you’re a dreamer; you don’t know the +world. The time is coming when the girl will have to think +of a husband.”</p> +<p>“There’s no need for her to think of a husband, +not for years,” retorted Peter Hope. “And even +when she does, is strumming on the piano going to help +her?”</p> +<p>“I tink—I tink,” said Dr. Smith, who had +hitherto remained a silent listener, “our young frent Clodd +is right. You haf never quite got over your idea dat she +was going to be a boy. You haf taught her de tings a boy +should know.”</p> +<p>“You cut her hair,” added Clodd.</p> +<p>“I don’t,” snapped Peter.</p> +<p>“You let her have it cut—it’s the same +thing. At eighteen she knows more about the ancient Greeks +and Romans than she does about her own frocks.”</p> +<p>“De young girl,” argued the doctor, “what is +she? De flower dat makes bright for us de garden of life, +de gurgling brook dat murmurs by de dusty highway, de cheerful +fire—”</p> +<p>“She can’t be all of them,” snapped Peter, +who was a stickler for style. “Do keep to one simile +at a time.”</p> +<p>“Now you listen to plain sense,” said William +Clodd. “You want—we all want—the girl to +be a success all round.”</p> +<p>“I want her—” Peter Hope was rummaging +among the litter on the desk. It certainly was not +there. Peter pulled out a drawer-two drawers. +“I wish,” said Peter Hope, “I wish sometimes +she wasn’t quite so clever.”</p> +<p>The old doctor rummaged among dusty files of papers in a +corner. Clodd found it on the mantelpiece concealed beneath +the hollow foot of a big brass candlestick, and handed it to +Peter.</p> +<p>Peter had one vice—the taking in increasing quantities +of snuff, which was harmful for him, as he himself +admitted. Tommy, sympathetic to most masculine frailties, +was severe, however, upon this one.</p> +<p>“You spill it upon your shirt and on your coat,” +had argued Tommy. “I like to see you always +neat. Besides, it isn’t a nice habit. I do +wish, dad, you’d give it up.”</p> +<p>“I must,” Peter had agreed. +“I’ll break myself of it. But not all at +once—it would be a wrench; by degrees, Tommy, by +degrees.”</p> +<p>So a compromise had been compounded. Tommy was to hide +the snuff-box. It was to be somewhere in the room and to be +accessible, but that was all. Peter, when self-control had +reached the breaking-point, might try and find it. +Occasionally, luck helping Peter, he would find it early in the +day, when he would earn his own bitter self-reproaches by +indulging in quite an orgie. But more often Tommy’s +artfulness was such that he would be compelled, by want of time, +to abandon the search. Tommy always knew when he had failed +by the air of indignant resignation with which he would greet her +on her return. Then perhaps towards evening, Peter, looking +up, would see the box open before his nose, above it, a pair of +reproving black eyes, their severity counterbalanced by a pair of +full red lips trying not to smile. And Peter, knowing that +only one pinch would be permitted, would dip deeply.</p> +<p>“I want her,” said Peter Hope, feeling with his +snuff-box in his hand more confidence in his own judgment, +“to be a sensible, clever woman, capable of earning her own +living and of being independent; not a mere helpless doll, crying +for some man to come and take care of her.”</p> +<p>“A woman’s business,” asserted Clodd, +“is to be taken care of.”</p> +<p>“Some women, perhaps,” admitted Peter; “but +Tommy, you know very well, is not going to be the ordinary type +of woman. She has brains; she will make her way in the +world.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t depend upon brains,” said +Clodd. “She hasn’t got the elbows.”</p> +<p>“The elbows?”</p> +<p>“They are not sharp enough. The last ’bus +home on a wet night tells you whether a woman is capable of +pushing her own way in the world. Tommy’s the sort to +get left on the kerb.”</p> +<p>“She’s the sort,” retorted Peter, “to +make a name for herself and to be able to afford a cab. +Don’t you bully me!” Peter sniffed +self-assertiveness from between his thumb and finger.</p> +<p>“Yes, I shall,” Clodd told him, “on this +particular point. The poor girl’s got no +mother.”</p> +<p>Fortunately for the general harmony the door opened at the +moment to admit the subject of discussion.</p> +<p>“Got that <i>Daisy Blossom</i> advertisement out of old +Blatchley,” announced Tommy, waving triumphantly a piece of +paper over her head.</p> +<p>“No!” exclaimed Peter. “How did you +manage it?”</p> +<p>“Asked him for it,” was Tommy’s +explanation.</p> +<p>“Very odd,” mused Peter; “asked the old +idiot for it myself only last week. He refused it +point-blank.”</p> +<p>Clodd snorted reproof. “You know I don’t +like your doing that sort of thing. It isn’t proper +for a young girl—”</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” assured him Tommy; +“he’s bald!”</p> +<p>“That makes no difference,” was Clodd’s +opinion.</p> +<p>“Yes it does,” was Tommy’s. “I +like them bald.”</p> +<p>Tommy took Peter’s head between her hands and kissed it, +and in doing so noticed the tell-tale specks of snuff.</p> +<p>“Just a pinch, my dear,” explained Peter, +“the merest pinch.”</p> +<p>Tommy took up the snuff-box from the desk. +“I’ll show you where I’m going to put it this +time.” She put it in her pocket. Peter’s +face fell.</p> +<p>“What do you think of it?” said Clodd. He +led her to the corner. “Good idea, ain’t +it?”</p> +<p>“Why, where’s the piano?” demanded +Tommy.</p> +<p>Clodd turned in delighted triumph to the others.</p> +<p>“Humbug!” growled Peter.</p> +<p>“It isn’t humbug,” cried Clodd +indignantly. “She thought it was a +bookcase—anybody would. You’ll be able to sit +there and practise by the hour,” explained Clodd to +Tommy. “When you hear anybody coming up the stairs, +you can leave off.”</p> +<p>“How can she hear anything when she—” +A bright idea occurred to Peter. “Don’t you +think, Clodd, as a practical man,” suggested Peter +insinuatingly, adopting the Socratic method, “that if we +got her one of those dummy pianos—you know what I mean; +it’s just like an ordinary piano, only you don’t hear +it?”</p> +<p>Clodd shook his head. “No good at all. +Can’t tell the effect she is producing.”</p> +<p>“Quite so. Then, on the other hand, Clodd, +don’t you think that hearing the effect they are producing +may sometimes discourage the beginner?”</p> +<p>Clodd’s opinion was that such discouragement was a thing +to be battled with.</p> +<p>Tommy, who had seated herself, commenced a scale in contrary +motion.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m going across to the printer’s +now,” explained Clodd, taking up his hat. “Got +an appointment with young Grindley at three. You stick to +it. A spare half-hour now and then that you never miss does +wonders. You’ve got it in you.” With +these encouraging remarks to Tommy, Clodd disappeared.</p> +<p>“Easy for him,” muttered Peter bitterly. +“Always does have an appointment outside the moment she +begins.”</p> +<p>Tommy appeared to be throwing her very soul into the +performance. Passers-by in Crane Court paused, regarded the +first-floor windows of the publishing and editorial offices of +<i>Good Humour</i> with troubled looks, then hurried on.</p> +<p>“She has—remarkably firm douch!” shouted the +doctor into Peter’s ear. “Will see +you—evening. Someting—say to you.”</p> +<p>The fat little doctor took his hat and departed. Tommy, +ceasing suddenly, came over and seated herself on the arm of +Peter’s chair.</p> +<p>“Feeling grumpy?” asked Tommy.</p> +<p>“It isn’t,” explained Peter, “that I +mind the noise. I’d put up with that if I could see +the good of it.”</p> +<p>“It’s going to help me to get a husband, +dad. Seems to me an odd way of doing it; but Billy says so, +and Billy knows all about everything.”</p> +<p>“I can’t understand you, a sensible girl, +listening to such nonsense,” said Peter. +“It’s that that troubles me.”</p> +<p>“Dad, where are your wits?” demanded Tommy. +“Isn’t Billy acting like a brick? Why, he could +go into Fleet Street to half a dozen other papers and make five +hundred a year as advertising-agent—you know he +could. But he doesn’t. He sticks to us. +If my making myself ridiculous with that tin pot they persuaded +him was a piano is going to please him, isn’t it common +sense and sound business, to say nothing of good nature and +gratitude, for me to do it? Dad, I’ve got a surprise +for him. Listen.” And Tommy, springing from the +arm of Peter’s chair, returned to the piano.</p> +<p>“What was it?” questioned Tommy, having +finished. “Could you recognise it?”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Peter, “it sounded +like—It wasn’t ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ was +it?”</p> +<p>Tommy clapped her hands. “Yes, it was. +You’ll end by liking it yourself, dad. We’ll +have musical ‘At Homes.’”</p> +<p>“Tommy, have I brought you up properly, do you +think?”</p> +<p>“No dad, you haven’t. You have let me have +my own way too much. You know the proverb: ‘Good +mothers make bad daughters.’ Clodd’s right; +you’ve spoilt me, dad. Do you remember, dad, when I +first came to you, seven years ago, a ragged little brat out of +the streets, that didn’t know itself whether ’twas a +boy or a girl? Do you know what I thought to myself the +moment I set eyes on you? ‘Here’s a soft old +juggins; I’ll be all right if I can get in +here!’ It makes you smart, knocking about in the +gutters and being knocked about; you read faces +quickly.”</p> +<p>“Do you remember your cooking, Tommy? You +‘had an aptitude for it,’ according to your own +idea.”</p> +<p>Tommy laughed. “I wonder how you stood +it.”</p> +<p>“You were so obstinate. You came to me as +‘cook and housekeeper,’ and as cook and housekeeper, +and as nothing else, would you remain. If I suggested any +change, up would go your chin into the air. I dared not +even dine out too often, you were such a little tyrant. The +only thing you were always ready to do, if I wasn’t +satisfied, was to march out of the house and leave me. +Wherever did you get that savage independence of +yours?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I think it must have been +from a woman—perhaps she was my mother; I don’t +know—who used to sit up in the bed and cough, all night it +seemed to me. People would come to see us—ladies in +fine clothes, and gentlemen with oily hair. I think they +wanted to help us. Many of them had kind voices. But +always a hard look would come into her face, and she would tell +them what even then I knew to be untrue—it was one of the +first things I can recollect—that we had everything we +wanted, that we needed no help from anyone. They would go +away, shrugging their shoulders. I grew up with the feeling +that seemed to have been burnt into my brain, that to take from +anybody anything you had not earned was shameful. I +don’t think I could do it even now, not even from +you. I am useful to you, dad—I do help +you?”</p> +<p>There had crept a terror into Tommy’s voice. Peter +felt the little hands upon his arm trembling.</p> +<p>“Help me? Why, you work like a nigger—like a +nigger is supposed to work, but doesn’t. No +one—whatever we paid him—would do half as much. +I don’t want to make your head more swollen than it is, +young woman, but you have talent; I am not sure it is not +genius.” Peter felt the little hands tighten upon his +arm.</p> +<p>“I do want this paper to be a success; that is why I +strum upon the piano to please Clodd. Is it +humbug?”</p> +<p>“I am afraid it is; but humbug is the sweet oil that +helps this whirling world of ours to spin round smoothly. +Too much of it cloys: we drop it very gently.”</p> +<p>“But you are sure it is only humbug, Tommy?” +It was Peter’s voice into which fear had entered now. +“It is not that you think he understands you better than I +do—would do more for you?”</p> +<p>“You want me to tell you all I think of you, and that +isn’t good for you, dad—not too often. It would +be you who would have swelled head then.”</p> +<p>“I am jealous, Tommy, jealous of everyone that comes +near you. Life is a tragedy for us old folks. We know +there must come a day when you will leave the nest, leave us +voiceless, ridiculous, flitting among bare branches. You +will understand later, when you have children of your own. +This foolish talk about a husband! It is worse for a man +than it is for the woman. The mother lives again in her +child: the man is robbed of all.”</p> +<p>“Dad, do you know how old I am?—that you are +talking terrible nonsense?”</p> +<p>“He will come, little girl.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Tommy, “I suppose he will; +but not for a long while—oh, not for a very long +while. Don’t. It frightens me.”</p> +<p>“You? Why should it frighten you?”</p> +<p>“The pain. It makes me feel a coward. I want +it to come; I want to taste life, to drain the whole cup, to +understand, to feel. But that is the boy in me. I am +more than half a boy, I always have been. But the woman in +me: it shrinks from the ordeal.”</p> +<p>“You talk, Tommy, as if love were something +terrible.”</p> +<p>“There are all things in it; I feel it, dad. It is +life in a single draught. It frightens me.”</p> +<p>The child was standing with her face hidden behind her +hands. Old Peter, always very bad at lying, stood silent, +not knowing what consolation to concoct. The shadow passed, +and Tommy’s laughing eyes looked out again.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you anything to do, dad—outside, I +mean?”</p> +<p>“You want to get rid of me?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve nothing else to occupy me till the +proofs come in. I’m going to practise, +hard.”</p> +<p>“I think I’ll turn over my article on the +Embankment,” said Peter.</p> +<p>“There’s one thing you all of you ought to be +grateful to me for,” laughed Tommy, as she seated herself +at the piano. “I do induce you all to take more fresh +air than otherwise you would.”</p> +<p>Tommy, left alone, set herself to her task with the energy and +thoroughness that were characteristic of her. Struggling +with complicated scales, Tommy bent her eyes closer and closer +over the pages of <i>Czerny’s Exercises</i>. Glancing +up to turn a page, Tommy, to her surprise, met the eyes of a +stranger. They were brown eyes, their expression +sympathetic. Below them, looking golden with the sunlight +falling on it, was a moustache and beard cut short in Vandyke +fashion, not altogether hiding a pleasant mouth, about the +corners of which lurked a smile.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said the stranger. +“I knocked three times. Perhaps you did not hear +me?”</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t,” confessed Tommy, closing the +book of <i>Czerny’s Exercises</i>, and rising with chin at +an angle that, to anyone acquainted with the chart of +Tommy’s temperament, might have suggested the advisability +of seeking shelter.</p> +<p>“This is the editorial office of <i>Good Humour</i>, is +it not?” inquired the stranger.</p> +<p>“It is.”</p> +<p>“Is the editor in?”</p> +<p>“The editor is out.”</p> +<p>“The sub-editor?” suggested the stranger.</p> +<p>“I am the sub-editor.”</p> +<p>The stranger raised his eyebrows. Tommy, on the +contrary, lowered hers.</p> +<p>“Would you mind glancing through that?” The +stranger drew from his pocket a folded manuscript. +“It will not take you a moment. I ought, of course, +to have sent it through the post; but I am so tired of sending +things through the post.”</p> +<p>The stranger’s manner was compounded of dignified +impudence combined with pathetic humility. His eyes both +challenged and pleaded. Tommy held out her hand for the +paper and retired with it behind the protection of the big +editorial desk that, flanked on one side by a screen and on the +other by a formidable revolving bookcase, stretched fortress-like +across the narrow room. The stranger remained standing.</p> +<p>“Yes. It’s pretty,” criticised the +sub-editor. “Worth printing, perhaps, not worth +paying for.”</p> +<p>“Not merely a—a nominal sum, sufficient to +distinguish it from the work of the amateur?”</p> +<p>Tommy pursed her lips. “Poetry is quite a drug in +the market. We can get as much as we want of it for +nothing.”</p> +<p>“Say half a crown,” suggested the stranger.</p> +<p>Tommy shot a swift glance across the desk, and for the first +time saw the whole of him. He was clad in a threadbare, +long, brown ulster—long, that is, it would have been upon +an ordinary man, but the stranger happening to be remarkably +tall, it appeared on him ridiculously short, reaching only to his +knees. Round his neck and tucked into his waistcoat, thus +completely hiding the shirt and collar he may have been wearing +or may not, was carefully arranged a blue silk muffler. His +hands, which were bare, looked blue and cold. Yet the black +frock-coat and waistcoat and French grey trousers bore the +unmistakable cut of a first-class tailor and fitted him to +perfection. His hat, which he had rested on the desk, shone +resplendent, and the handle of his silk umbrella was an +eagle’s head in gold, with two small rubies for the +eyes.</p> +<p>“You can leave it if you like,” consented +Tommy. “I’ll speak to the editor about it when +he returns.”</p> +<p>“You won’t forget it?” urged the +stranger.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Tommy. “I shall not +forget it.”</p> +<p>Her black eyes were fixed upon the stranger without her being +aware of it. She had dropped unconsciously into her +“stocktaking” attitude.</p> +<p>“Thank you very much,” said the stranger. +“I will call again to-morrow.”</p> +<p>The stranger, moving backward to the door, went out.</p> +<p>Tommy sat with her face between her hands. +<i>Czerny’s Exercises</i> lay neglected.</p> +<p>“Anybody called?” asked Peter Hope.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Tommy. “Oh, just a +man. Left this—not bad.”</p> +<p>“The old story,” mused Peter, as he unfolded the +manuscript. “We all of us begin with poetry. +Then we take to prose romances; poetry doesn’t pay. +Finally, we write articles: ‘How to be Happy though +Married,’ ‘What shall we do with our +Daughters?’ It is life summarised. What is it +all about?”</p> +<p>“Oh, the usual sort of thing,” explained +Tommy. “He wants half a crown for it.”</p> +<p>“Poor devil! Let him have it.”</p> +<p>“That’s not business,” growled Tommy.</p> +<p>“Nobody will ever know,” said Peter. +“We’ll enter it as +‘telegrams.’”</p> +<p>The stranger called early the next day, pocketed his +half-crown, and left another manuscript—an essay. +Also he left behind him his gold-handled umbrella, taking away +with him instead an old alpaca thing Clodd kept in reserve for +exceptionally dirty weather. Peter pronounced the essay +usable.</p> +<p>“He has a style,” said Peter; “he writes +with distinction. Make an appointment for me with +him.”</p> +<p>Clodd, on missing his umbrella, was indignant.</p> +<p>“What’s the good of this thing to me?” +commented Clodd. “Sort of thing for a dude in a +pantomime! The fellow must be a blithering ass!”</p> +<p>Tommy gave to the stranger messages from both when next he +called. He appeared more grieved than surprised concerning +the umbrellas.</p> +<p>“You don’t think Mr. Clodd would like to keep this +umbrella in exchange for his own?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Hardly his style,” explained Tommy.</p> +<p>“It’s very peculiar,” said the stranger, +with a smile. “I have been trying to get rid of this +umbrella for the last three weeks. Once upon a time, when I +preferred to keep my own umbrella, people used to take it by +mistake, leaving all kinds of shabby things behind them in +exchange. Now, when I’d really like to get quit of +it, nobody will have it.”</p> +<p>“Why do you want to get rid of it?” asked +Tommy. “It looks a very good umbrella.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know how it hampers me,” said the +stranger. “I have to live up to it. It requires +a certain amount of resolution to enter a cheap restaurant +accompanied by that umbrella. When I do, the waiters draw +my attention to the most expensive dishes and recommend me +special brands of their so-called champagne. They seem +quite surprised if I only want a chop and a glass of beer. +I haven’t always got the courage to disappoint them. +It is really becoming quite a curse to me. If I use it to +stop a ’bus, three or four hansoms dash up and quarrel over +me. I can’t do anything I want to do. I want to +live simply and inexpensively: it will not let me.”</p> +<p>Tommy laughed. “Can’t you lose +it?”</p> +<p>The stranger laughed also. “Lose it! You +have no idea how honest people are. I hadn’t +myself. The whole world has gone up in my estimation within +the last few weeks. People run after me for quite long +distances and force it into my hand—people on rainy days +who haven’t got umbrellas of their own. It is the +same with this hat.” The stranger sighed as he took +it up. “I am always trying to get <i>off</i> with +something reasonably shabby in exchange for it. I am always +found out and stopped.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you pawn them?” suggested the +practicable Tommy.</p> +<p>The stranger regarded her with admiration.</p> +<p>“Do you know, I never thought of that,” said the +stranger. “Of course. What a good idea! +Thank you so much.”</p> +<p>The stranger departed, evidently much relieved.</p> +<p>“Silly fellow,” mused Tommy. “They +won’t give him a quarter of the value, and he will say: +‘Thank you so much,’ and be quite +contented.” It worried Tommy a good deal that day, +the thought of that stranger’s helplessness.</p> +<p>The stranger’s name was Richard Danvers. He lived +the other side of Holborn, in Featherstone Buildings, but much of +his time came to be spent in the offices of <i>Good +Humour</i>.</p> +<p>Peter liked him. “Full of promise,” was +Peter’s opinion. “His criticism of that article +of mine on ‘The Education of Woman’ showed both sense +and feeling. A scholar and a thinker.”</p> +<p>Flipp, the office-boy (spelt Philip), liked him; and +Flipp’s attitude, in general, was censorial. +“He’s all right,” pronounced Flipp; +“nothing stuck-up about him. He’s got plenty of +sense, lying hidden away.”</p> +<p>Miss Ramsbotham liked him. “The men—the men +we think about at all,” explained Miss +Ramsbotham—“may be divided into two classes: the men +we ought to like, but don’t; and the men there is no +particular reason for our liking, but that we do. +Personally I could get very fond of your friend Dick. There +is nothing whatever attractive about him except +himself.”</p> +<p>Even Tommy liked him in her way, though at times she was +severe with him.</p> +<p>“If you mean a big street,” grumbled Tommy, who +was going over proofs, “why not say a big street? Why +must you always call it a ‘main artery’?”</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” apologised Danvers. “It +is not my own idea. You told me to study the higher-class +journals.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t tell you to select and follow all their +faults. Here it is again. Your crowd is always a +‘hydra-headed monster’; your tea ‘the cup that +cheers but not inebriates.’”</p> +<p>“I am afraid I am a deal of trouble to you,” +suggested the staff.</p> +<p>“I am afraid you are,” agreed the sub-editor.</p> +<p>“Don’t give me up,” pleaded the staff. +“I misunderstood you, that is all. I will write +English for the future.”</p> +<p>“Shall be glad if you will,” growled the +sub-editor.</p> +<p>Dick Danvers rose. “I am so anxious not to get +what you call ‘the sack’ from here.”</p> +<p>The sub-editor, mollified, thought the staff need be under no +apprehension, provided it showed itself teachable.</p> +<p>“I have been rather a worthless fellow, Miss +Hope,” confessed Dick Danvers. “I was beginning +to despair of myself till I came across you and your +father. The atmosphere here—I don’t mean the +material atmosphere of Crane Court—is so invigorating: its +simplicity, its sincerity. I used to have ideals. I +tried to stifle them. There is a set that sneers at all +that sort of thing. Now I see that they are good. You +will help me?”</p> +<p>Every woman is a mother. Tommy felt for the moment that +she wanted to take this big boy on her knee and talk to him for +his good. He was only an overgrown lad. But so +exceedingly overgrown! Tommy had to content herself with +holding out her hand. Dick Danvers grasped it tightly.</p> +<p>Clodd was the only one who did not approve of him.</p> +<p>“How did you get hold of him?” asked Clodd one +afternoon, he and Peter alone in the office.</p> +<p>“He came. He came in the usual way,” +explained Peter.</p> +<p>“What do you know about him?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. What is there to know? One +doesn’t ask for a character with a journalist.”</p> +<p>“No, I suppose that wouldn’t work. Found out +anything about him since?”</p> +<p>“Nothing against him. Why so suspicious of +everybody?”</p> +<p>“Because you are just a woolly lamb and want a dog to +look after you. Who is he? On a first night he gives +away his stall and sneaks into the pit. When you send him +to a picture-gallery, he dodges the private view and goes on the +first shilling day. If an invitation comes to a public +dinner, he asks me to go and eat it for him and tell him what +it’s all about. That doesn’t suggest the frank +and honest journalist, does it?”</p> +<p>“It is unusual, it certainly is unusual,” Peter +was bound to admit.</p> +<p>“I distrust the man,” said Clodd. +“He’s not our class. What is he doing +here?”</p> +<p>“I will ask him, Clodd; I will ask him straight +out.”</p> +<p>“And believe whatever he tells you.”</p> +<p>“No, I shan’t.”</p> +<p>“Then what’s the good of asking him?”</p> +<p>“Well, what am I to do?” demanded the bewildered +Peter.</p> +<p>“Get rid of him,” suggested Clodd.</p> +<p>“Get rid of him?”</p> +<p>“Get him away! Don’t have him in and out of +the office all day long-looking at her with those collie-dog eyes +of his, arguing art and poetry with her in that cushat-dove voice +of his. Get him clean away—if it isn’t too late +already.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” said Peter, who had turned white, +however. “She’s not that sort of +girl.”</p> +<p>“Not that sort of girl!” Clodd had no +patience with Peter Hope, and told him so. “Why are +there never inkstains on her fingers now? There used to +be. Why does she always keep a lemon in her drawer? +When did she last have her hair cut? I’ll tell you if +you care to know—the week before he came, five months +ago. She used to have it cut once a fortnight: said it +tickled her neck. Why does she jump on people when they +call her Tommy and tell them that her name is Jane? It +never used to be Jane. Maybe when you’re a bit older +you’ll begin to notice things for yourself.”</p> +<p>Clodd jammed his hat on his head and flung himself down the +stairs.</p> +<p>Peter, slipping out a minute later, bought himself an ounce of +snuff.</p> +<p>“Fiddle-de-dee!” said Peter as he helped himself +to his thirteenth pinch. “Don’t believe +it. I’ll sound her. I shan’t say a +word—I’ll just sound her.”</p> +<p>Peter stood with his back to the fire. Tommy sat at her +desk, correcting proofs of a fanciful story: <i>The Man Without a +Past</i>.</p> +<p>“I shall miss him,” said Peter; “I know I +shall.”</p> +<p>“Miss whom?” demanded Tommy.</p> +<p>“Danvers,” sighed Peter. “It always +happens so. You get friendly with a man; then he goes +away—abroad, back to America, Lord knows where. You +never see him again.”</p> +<p>Tommy looked up. There was trouble in her face.</p> +<p>“How do you spell ‘harassed’?” +questioned Tommy! “two r’s or one.”</p> +<p>“One r,” Peter informed her, “two +s’s.”</p> +<p>“I thought so.” The trouble passed from +Tommy’s face.</p> +<p>“You don’t ask when he’s going, you +don’t ask where he’s going,” complained +Peter. “You don’t seem to be interested in the +least.”</p> +<p>“I was going to ask, so soon as I had finished +correcting this sheet,” explained Tommy. “What +reason does he give?”</p> +<p>Peter had crossed over and was standing where he could see her +face illumined by the lamplight.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t upset you—the thought of his +going away, of your never seeing him again?”</p> +<p>“Why should it?” Tommy answered his +searching gaze with a slightly puzzled look. “Of +course, I’m sorry. He was becoming useful. But +we couldn’t expect him to stop with us always, could +we?”</p> +<p>Peter, rubbing his hands, broke into a chuckle. “I +told him ’twas all fiddlesticks. Clodd, he would have +it you were growing to care for the fellow.”</p> +<p>“For Dick Danvers?” Tommy laughed. +“Whatever put that into his head?”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, there were one or two little things that we +had noticed.”</p> +<p>“We?”</p> +<p>“I mean that Clodd had noticed.”</p> +<p>I’m glad it was Clodd that noticed them, not you, dad, +thought Tommy to herself. They’d have been pretty +obvious if you had noticed them.</p> +<p>“It naturally made me anxious,” confessed +Peter. “You see, we know absolutely nothing of the +fellow.”</p> +<p>“Absolutely nothing,” agreed Tommy.</p> +<p>“He may be a man of the highest integrity. +Personally, I think he is. I like him. On the other +hand, he may be a thorough-paced scoundrel. I don’t +believe for a moment that he is, but he may be. Impossible +to say.”</p> +<p>“Quite impossible,” agreed Tommy.</p> +<p>“Considered merely as a journalist, it doesn’t +matter. He writes well. He has brains. +There’s an end of it.”</p> +<p>“He is very painstaking,” agreed Tommy.</p> +<p>“Personally,” added Peter, “I like the +fellow.” Tommy had returned to her work.</p> +<p>Of what use was Peter in a crisis of this kind? Peter +couldn’t scold. Peter couldn’t bully. The +only person to talk to Tommy as Tommy knew she needed to be +talked to was one Jane, a young woman of dignity with sense of +the proprieties.</p> +<p>“I do hope that at least you are feeling ashamed of +yourself,” remarked Jane to Tommy that same night, as the +twain sat together in their little bedroom.</p> +<p>“Done nothing to be ashamed of,” growled +Tommy.</p> +<p>“Making a fool of yourself openly, for everybody to +notice.”</p> +<p>“Clodd ain’t everybody. He’s got eyes +at the back of his head. Sees things before they +happen.”</p> +<p>“Where’s your woman’s pride: falling in love +with a man who has never spoken to you, except in terms of the +most ordinary courtesy.”</p> +<p>“I’m not in love with him.”</p> +<p>“A man about whom you know absolutely +nothing.”</p> +<p>“Not in love with him.”</p> +<p>“Where does he come from? Who is he?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, don’t care; nothing to do +with me.”</p> +<p>“Just because of his soft eyes, and his wheedling voice, +and that half-caressing, half-devotional manner of his. Do +you imagine he keeps it specially for you? I gave you +credit for more sense.”</p> +<p>“I’m not in love with him, I tell you. +He’s down on his luck, and I’m sorry for him, +that’s all.”</p> +<p>“And if he is, whose fault was it, do you +think?”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter. We are none of us +saints. He’s trying to pull himself together, and I +respect him for it. It’s our duty to be charitable +and kind to one another in this world!”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, I’ll tell you how you can be kind to +him: by pointing out to him that he is wasting his time. +With his talents, now that he knows his business, he could be on +the staff of some big paper, earning a good income. Put it +nicely to him, but be firm. Insist on his going. That +will be showing true kindness to him—and to yourself, too, +I’m thinking, my dear.”</p> +<p>And Tommy understood and appreciated the sound good sense +underlying Jane’s advice, and the very next day but one, +seizing the first opportunity, acted upon it; and all would have +gone as contemplated if only Dick Danvers had sat still and +listened, as it had been arranged in Tommy’s programme that +he should.</p> +<p>“But I don’t want to go,” said Dick.</p> +<p>“But you ought to want to go. Staying here with us +you are doing yourself no good.”</p> +<p>He rose and came to where she stood with one foot upon the +fender, looking down into the fire. His doing this +disconcerted her. So long as he remained seated at the +other end of the room, she was the sub-editor, counselling the +staff for its own good. Now that she could not raise her +eyes without encountering his, she felt painfully conscious of +being nothing more important than a little woman who was +trembling.</p> +<p>“It is doing me all the good in the world,” he +told her, “being near to you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, please do sit down again,” she urged +him. “I can talk to you so much better when +you’re sitting down.”</p> +<p>But he would not do anything he should have done that +day. Instead he took her hands in his, and would not let +them go; and the reason and the will went out of her, leaving her +helpless.</p> +<p>“Let me be with you always,” he pleaded. +“It means the difference between light and darkness to +me. You have done so much for me. Will you not finish +your work? Will you not trust me? It is no hot +passion that can pass away, my love for you. It springs +from all that is best in me—from the part of me that is +wholesome and joyous and strong, the part of me that belongs to +you.”</p> +<p>Releasing her, he turned away.</p> +<p>“The other part of me—the blackguard—it is +dead, dear,—dead and buried. I did not know I was a +blackguard, I thought myself a fine fellow, till one day it came +home to me. Suddenly I saw myself as I really was. +And the sight of the thing frightened me and I ran away from +it. I said to myself I would begin life afresh, in a new +country, free of every tie that could bind me to the past. +It would mean poverty—privation, maybe, in the +beginning. What of that? The struggle would brace +me. It would be good sport. Ah, well, you can guess +the result: the awakening to the cold facts, the reaction of +feeling. In what way was I worse than other men? Who +was I, to play the prig in a world where others were laughing and +dining? I had tramped your city till my boots were worn +into holes. I had but to abandon my quixotic +ideals—return to where shame lay waiting for me, to be +welcomed with the fatted calf. It would have ended so had I +not chanced to pass by your door that afternoon and hear you +strumming on the piano.”</p> +<p>So Billy was right, after all, thought Tommy to herself, the +piano does help.</p> +<p>“It was so incongruous—a piano in Crane +Court—I looked to see where the noise came from. I +read the name of the paper on the doorpost. ‘It will +be my last chance,’ I said to myself. ‘This +shall decide it.’”</p> +<p>He came back to her. She had not moved. “I +am not afraid to tell you all this. You are so big-hearted, +so human; you will understand, you can forgive. It is all +past. Loving you tells a man that he has done with +evil. Will you not trust me?”</p> +<p>She put her hands in his. “I am trusting +you,” she said, “with all my life. Don’t +make a muddle of it, dear, if you can help it.”</p> +<p>It was an odd wooing, as Tommy laughingly told herself when +she came to think it over in her room that night. But that +is how it shaped itself.</p> +<p>What troubled her most was that he had not been quite frank +with Peter, so that Peter had to defend her against herself.</p> +<p>“I attacked you so suddenly,” explained Peter, +“you had not time to think. You acted from +instinct. A woman seeks to hide her love even from +herself.”</p> +<p>“I expect, after all, I am more of a girl than a +boy,” feared Tommy: “I seem to have so many womanish +failings.”</p> +<p>Peter took himself into quite places and trained himself to +face the fact that another would be more to her than he had ever +been, and Clodd went about his work like a bear with a sore head; +but they neither of them need have troubled themselves so +much. The marriage did not take place till nearly fifteen +years had passed away, and much water had to flow beneath old +London Bridge before that day.</p> +<p>The past is not easily got rid of. A tale was once +written of a woman who killed her babe and buried it in a lonely +wood, and later stole back in the night and saw there, white in +the moonlight, a child’s hand calling through the earth, +and buried it again and yet again; but always that white baby +hand called upwards through the earth, trample it down as she +would. Tommy read the story one evening in an old +miscellany, and sat long before the dead fire, the book open on +her lap, and shivered; for now she knew the fear that had been +haunting her.</p> +<p>Tommy lived expecting her. She came one night when Tommy +was alone, working late in the office. Tommy knew her the +moment she entered the door, a handsome woman, with snake-like, +rustling skirts. She closed the door behind her, and +drawing forward a chair, seated herself the other side of the +desk, and the two looked long and anxiously at one another.</p> +<p>“They told me I should find you here alone,” said +the woman. “It is better, is it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Tommy, “it is better.”</p> +<p>“Tell me,” said the woman, “are you very +much in love with him?”</p> +<p>“Why should I tell you?”</p> +<p>“Because, if not—if you have merely accepted him +thinking him a good catch—which he isn’t, my dear; +hasn’t a penny to bless himself with, and never will if he +marries you—why, then the matter is soon settled. +They tell me you are a business-like young lady, and I am +prepared to make a business-like proposition.”</p> +<p>There was no answer. The woman shrugged her +shoulders.</p> +<p>“If, on the other hand, you are that absurd creature, a +young girl in love—why, then, I suppose we shall have to +fight for him.”</p> +<p>“It would be more sporting, would it not?” +suggested Tommy.</p> +<p>“Let me explain before you decide,” continued the +woman. “Dick Danvers left me six months ago, and has +kept from me ever since, because he loved me.”</p> +<p>“It sounds a curious reason.”</p> +<p>“I was a married woman when Dick Danvers and I first +met. Since he left me—for my sake and his own—I +have received information of my husband’s death.”</p> +<p>“And does Dick—does he know?” asked the +girl.</p> +<p>“Not yet. I have only lately learnt the news +myself.”</p> +<p>“Then if it is as you say, when he knows he will go back +to you.”</p> +<p>“There are difficulties in the way.”</p> +<p>“What difficulties?”</p> +<p>“My dear, this. To try and forget me, he has been +making love to you. Men do these things. I merely ask +you to convince yourself of the truth. Go away for six +months—disappear entirely. Leave him +free—uninfluenced. If he loves you—if it be not +merely a sense of honour that binds him—you will find him +here on your return. If not—if in the interval I have +succeeded in running off with him, well, is not the two or three +thousand pounds I am prepared to put into this paper of yours a +fair price for such a lover?”</p> +<p>Tommy rose with a laugh of genuine amusement. She could +never altogether put aside her sense of humour, let Fate come +with what terrifying face it would.</p> +<p>“You may have him for nothing—if he is that +man,” the girl told her; “he shall be free to choose +between us.”</p> +<p>“You mean you will release him from his +engagement?”</p> +<p>“That is what I mean.”</p> +<p>“Why not take my offer? You know the money is +needed. It will save your father years of anxiety and +struggle. Go away—travel, for a couple of months, if +you’re afraid of the six. Write him that you must be +alone, to think things over.”</p> +<p>The girl turned upon her.</p> +<p>“And leave you a free field to lie and trick?”</p> +<p>The woman, too, had risen. “Do you think he really +cares for you? At the moment you interest him. At +nineteen every woman is a mystery. When the mood is +past—and do you know how long a man’s mood lasts, you +poor chit? Till he has caught what he is running after, and +has tasted it—then he will think not of what he has won, +but of what he has lost: of the society from which he has cut +himself adrift; of all the old pleasures and pursuits he can no +longer enjoy; of the luxuries—necessities to a man of his +stamp—that marriage with you has deprived him of. +Then your face will be a perpetual reminder to him of what he has +paid for it, and he will curse it every time he sees +it.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know him,” the girl cried. +“You know just a part of him—the part you would +know. All the rest of him is a good man, that would rather +his self-respect than all the luxuries you mention—you +included.”</p> +<p>“It seems to resolve itself into what manner of man he +is,” laughed the woman.</p> +<p>The girl looked at her watch. “He will be here +shortly; he shall tell us himself.”</p> +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> +<p>“That here, between the two of us, he shall +decide—this very night.” She showed her white +face to the woman. “Do you think I could live through +a second day like to this?”</p> +<p>“The scene would be ridiculous.”</p> +<p>“There will be none here to enjoy the humour of +it.”</p> +<p>“He will not understand.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, he will,” the girl laughed. +“Come, you have all the advantages; you are rich, you are +clever; you belong to his class. If he elects to stop with +me, it will be because he is my man—mine. Are you +afraid?”</p> +<p>The woman shivered. She wrapped her fur cloak about her +closer and sat down again, and Tommy returned to her +proofs. It was press-night, and there was much to be +done.</p> +<p>He came a little later, though how long the time may have +seemed to the two women one cannot say. They heard his +footstep on the stair. The woman rose and went forward, so +that when he opened the door she was the first he saw. But +he made no sign. Possibly he had been schooling himself for +this moment, knowing that sooner or later it must come. The +woman held out her hand to him with a smile.</p> +<p>“I have not the honour,” he said.</p> +<p>The smile died from her face. “I do not +understand,” she said.</p> +<p>“I have not the honour,” he repeated. +“I do not know you.”</p> +<p>The girl was leaning with her back against the desk in a +somewhat mannish attitude. He stood between them. It +will always remain Life’s chief comic success: the man +between two women. The situation has amused the world for +so many years. Yet, somehow, he contrived to maintain a +certain dignity.</p> +<p>“Maybe,” he continued, “you are confounding +me with a Dick Danvers who lived in New York up to a few months +ago. I knew him well—a worthless scamp you had done +better never to have met.”</p> +<p>“You bear a wonderful resemblance to him,” laughed +the woman.</p> +<p>“The poor fool is dead,” he answered. +“And he left for you, my dear lady, this dying message: +that, from the bottom of his soul, he was sorry for the wrong he +had done you. He asked you to forgive him—and forget +him.”</p> +<p>“The year appears to be opening unfortunately for +me,” said the woman. “First my lover, then my +husband.”</p> +<p>He had nerved himself to fight the living. This was a +blow from the dead. The man had been his friend.</p> +<p>“Dead?”</p> +<p>“He was killed, it appears, in that last expedition in +July,” answered the woman. “I received the news +from the Foreign Office only a fortnight ago.”</p> +<p>An ugly look came into his eyes—the look of a cornered +creature fighting for its life. “Why have you +followed me here? Why do I find you here alone with +her? What have you told her?”</p> +<p>The woman shrugged her shoulders. “Only the +truth.”</p> +<p>“All the truth?” he +demanded—“all? Ah! be just. Tell her it +was not all my fault. Tell her all the truth.”</p> +<p>“What would you have me tell her? That I played +Potiphar’s wife to your Joseph?”</p> +<p>“Ah, no! The truth—only the truth. +That you and I were a pair of idle fools with the devil dancing +round us. That we played a fool’s game, and that it +is over.”</p> +<p>“Is it over? Dick, is it over?” She +flung her arms towards him; but he threw her from him almost +brutally. “The man is dead, I tell you. His +folly and his sin lie dead with him. I have nothing to do +with you, nor you with me.”</p> +<p>“Dick!” she whispered. “Dick, cannot +you understand? I must speak with you alone.”</p> +<p>But they did not understand, neither the man nor the +child.</p> +<p>“Dick, are you really dead?” she cried. +“Have you no pity for me? Do you think that I have +followed you here to grovel at your feet for mere whim? Am +I acting like a woman sane and sound? Don’t you see +that I am mad, and why I am mad? Must I tell you before +her? Dick—” She staggered towards him, +and the fine cloak slipped from her shoulders; and then it was +that Tommy changed from a child into a woman, and raised the +other woman from the ground with crooning words of encouragement +such as mothers use, and led her to the inner room. +“Do not go,” she said, turning to Dick; “I +shall be back in a few minutes.”</p> +<p>He crossed to one of the windows against which beat the +City’s roar, and it seemed to him as the throb of passing +footsteps beating down through the darkness to where he lay in +his grave.</p> +<p>She re-entered, closing the door softly behind her. +“It is true?” she asked.</p> +<p>“It can be. I had not thought of it.”</p> +<p>They spoke in low, matter-of-fact tones, as people do who have +grown weary of their own emotions.</p> +<p>“When did he go away—her husband?”</p> +<p>“About—it is February now, is it not? About +eighteen months ago.”</p> +<p>“And died just eight months ago. Rather +conveniently, poor fellow.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m glad he is dead—poor +Lawrence.”</p> +<p>“What is the shortest time in which a marriage can be +arranged?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” he answered listlessly. +“I do not intend to marry her.”</p> +<p>“You would leave her to bear it alone?”</p> +<p>“It is not as if she were a poor woman. You can do +anything with money.”</p> +<p>“It will not mend reputation. Her position in +society is everything to that class of woman.”</p> +<p>“My marrying her now,” he pointed out, +“would not save her.”</p> +<p>“Practically speaking it would,” the girl +pleaded. “The world does not go out of its way to +find out things it does not want to know. Marry her as +quietly as possible and travel for a year or two.”</p> +<p>“Why should I? Ah! it is easy enough to call a man +a coward for defending himself against a woman. What is he +to do when he is fighting for his life? Men do not sin with +good women.”</p> +<p>“There is the child to be considered,” she +urged—“your child. You see, dear, we all do +wrong sometimes. We must not let others suffer for our +fault more—more than we can help.”</p> +<p>He turned to her for the first time. “And +you?”</p> +<p>“I? Oh, I shall cry for a little while, but later +on I shall laugh, as often. Life is not all love. I +have my work.”</p> +<p>He knew her well by this time. And also it came to him +that it would be a finer thing to be worthy of her than even to +possess her.</p> +<p>So he did her bidding and went out with the other woman. +Tommy was glad it was press-night. She would not be able to +think for hours to come, and then, perhaps, she would be feeling +too tired. Work can be very kind.</p> +<p>Were this an artistic story, here, of course, one would write +“Finis.” But in the workaday world one never +knows the ending till it comes. Had it been otherwise, I +doubt I could have found courage to tell you this story of +Tommy. It is not all true—at least, I do not suppose +so. One drifts unconsciously a little way into dream-land +when one sits oneself down to recall the happenings of long ago; +while Fancy, with a sly wink, whispers ever and again to Memory: +“Let me tell this incident—picture that scene: I can +make it so much more interesting than you would.” But +Tommy—how can I put it without saying too much: there is +someone I think of when I speak of her? To remember only +her dear wounds, and not the healing of them, would have been a +task too painful. I love to dwell on their next +meeting. Flipp, passing him on the steps, did not know him, +the tall, sunburnt gentleman with the sweet, grave-faced little +girl.</p> +<p>“Seen that face somewhere before,” mused Flipp, as +at the corner of Bedford Street he climbed into a hansom, +“seen it somewhere on a thinner man.”</p> +<p>For Dick Danvers, that he did not recognise Flipp, there was +more excuse. A very old young man had Flipp become at +thirty. Flipp no longer enjoyed popular journalism. +He produced it.</p> +<p>The gold-bound doorkeeper feared the mighty Clodd would be +unable to see so insignificant an atom as an unappointed +stranger, but would let the card of Mr. Richard Danvers plead for +itself. To the gold-bound keeper’s surprise came down +the message that Mr. Danvers was to be at once shown up.</p> +<p>“I thought, somehow, you would come to me first,” +said the portly Clodd, advancing with out-stretched hand. +“And this is—?”</p> +<p>“My little girl, Honor. We have been travelling +for the last few months.”</p> +<p>Clodd took the grave, small face between his big, rough +hands:</p> +<p>“Yes. She is like you. But looks as if she +were going to have more sense. Forgive me, I knew your +father my dear,” laughed Clodd; “when he was +younger.”</p> +<p>They lit their cigars and talked.</p> +<p>“Well, not exactly dead; we amalgamated it,” +winked Clodd in answer to Danvers’ inquiry. “It +was just a trifle <i>too</i> high-class. Besides, the old +gentleman was not getting younger. It hurt him a little at +first. But then came Tommy’s great success, and that +has reconciled him to all things. Do they know you are in +England?”</p> +<p>“No,” explained Danvers; “we arrived only +last night.”</p> +<p>Clodd called directions down the speaking-tube.</p> +<p>“You will find hardly any change in her. One still +has to keep one’s eye upon her chin. She has not even +lost her old habit of taking stock of people. You +remember.” Clodd laughed.</p> +<p>They talked a little longer, till there came a whistle, and +Clodd put his ear to the tube.</p> +<p>“I have to see her on business,” said Clodd, +rising; “you may as well come with me. They are still +in the old place, Gough Square.”</p> +<p>Tommy was out, but Peter was expecting her every minute.</p> +<p>Peter did not know Dick, but would not admit it. +Forgetfulness was a sign of age, and Peter still felt young.</p> +<p>“I know your face quite well,” said Peter; +“can’t put a name to it, that’s all.”</p> +<p>Clodd whispered it to him, together with information bringing +history up to date. And then light fell upon the old lined +face. He came towards Dick, meaning to take him by both +hands, but, perhaps because he had become somewhat feeble, he +seemed glad when the younger man put his arms around him and held +him for a moment. It was un-English, and both of them felt +a little ashamed of themselves afterwards.</p> +<p>“What we want,” said Clodd, addressing Peter, +“we three—you, I, and Miss Danvers—is tea and +cakes, with cream in them; and I know a shop where they sell +them. We will call back for your father in half an +hour.” Clodd explained to Miss Danvers; “he has +to talk over a matter of business with Miss Hope.”</p> +<p>“I know,” answered the grave-faced little +person. She drew Dick’s face down to hers and kissed +it. And then the three went out together, leaving Dick +standing by the window.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t we hide somewhere till she comes?” +suggested Miss Danvers. “I want to see +her.”</p> +<p>So they waited in the open doorway of a near printing-house +till Tommy drove up. Both Peter and Clodd watched the +child’s face with some anxiety. She nodded gravely to +herself three times, then slipped her hand into +Peter’s.</p> +<p>Tommy opened the door with her latchkey and passed in.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMMY AND CO.***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2356-h.htm or 2356-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/5/2356 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Jerome + + + +Release Date: July 10, 2007 [eBook #2356] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMMY AND CO.*** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1904 Hutchinson and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +TOMMY AND CO. + + +BY +JEROME K. JEROME +AUTHOR OF +"PAUL KELVER," "IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW," +"THREE MEN IN A BOAT," ETC. + +LONDON +HUTCHINSON AND CO. +PATERNOSTER ROW +1904 + + + + +STORY THE FIRST--Peter Hope plans his Prospectus + + +"Come in!" said Peter Hope. + +Peter Hope was tall and thin, clean-shaven but for a pair of side +whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below the ear, with hair of +the kind referred to by sympathetic barbers as "getting a little thin on +the top, sir," but arranged with economy, that everywhere is poverty's +true helpmate. About Mr. Peter Hope's linen, which was white though +somewhat frayed, there was a self-assertiveness that invariably arrested +the attention of even the most casual observer. Decidedly there was too +much of it--its ostentation aided and abetted by the retiring nature of +the cut-away coat, whose chief aim clearly was to slip off and disappear +behind its owner's back. "I'm a poor old thing," it seemed to say. "I +don't shine--or, rather, I shine too much among these up-to-date young +modes. I only hamper you. You would be much more comfortable without +me." To persuade it to accompany him, its proprietor had to employ +force, keeping fastened the lowest of its three buttons. At every step, +it struggled for its liberty. Another characteristic of Peter's, linking +him to the past, was his black silk cravat, secured by a couple of gold +pins chained together. Watching him as he now sat writing, his long legs +encased in tightly strapped grey trousering, crossed beneath the table, +the lamplight falling on his fresh-complexioned face, upon the shapely +hand that steadied the half-written sheet, a stranger might have rubbed +his eyes, wondering by what hallucination he thus found himself in +presence seemingly of some young beau belonging to the early 'forties; +but looking closer, would have seen the many wrinkles. + +"Come in!" repeated Mr. Peter Hope, raising his voice, but not his eyes. + +The door opened, and a small, white face, out of which gleamed a pair of +bright, black eyes, was thrust sideways into the room. + +"Come in!" repeated Mr. Peter Hope for the third time. "Who is it?" + +A hand not over clean, grasping a greasy cloth cap, appeared below the +face. + +"Not ready yet," said Mr. Hope. "Sit down and wait." + +The door opened wider, and the whole of the figure slid in and, closing +the door behind it, sat itself down upon the extreme edge of the chair +nearest. + +"Which are you--_Central News_ or _Courier_?" demanded Mr. Peter Hope, +but without looking up from his work. + +The bright, black eyes, which had just commenced an examination of the +room by a careful scrutiny of the smoke-grimed ceiling, descended and +fixed themselves upon the one clearly defined bald patch upon his head +that, had he been aware of it, would have troubled Mr. Peter Hope. But +the full, red lips beneath the turned-up nose remained motionless. + +That he had received no answer to his question appeared to have escaped +the attention of Mr. Peter Hope. The thin, white hand moved steadily to +and fro across the paper. Three more sheets were added to those upon the +floor. Then Mr. Peter Hope pushed back his chair and turned his gaze for +the first time upon his visitor. + +To Peter Hope, hack journalist, long familiar with the genus Printer's +Devil, small white faces, tangled hair, dirty hands, and greasy caps were +common objects in the neighbourhood of that buried rivulet, the Fleet. +But this was a new species. Peter Hope sought his spectacles, found them +after some trouble under a heap of newspapers, adjusted them upon his +high, arched nose, leant forward, and looked long and up and down. + +"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "What is it?" + +The figure rose to its full height of five foot one and came forward +slowly. + +Over a tight-fitting garibaldi of blue silk, excessively _decollete_, it +wore what once had been a boy's pepper-and-salt jacket. A worsted +comforter wound round the neck still left a wide expanse of throat +showing above the garibaldi. Below the jacket fell a long, black skirt, +the train of which had been looped up about the waist and fastened with a +cricket-belt. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" asked Mr. Peter Hope. + +For answer, the figure, passing the greasy cap into its other hand, +stooped down and, seizing the front of the long skirt, began to haul it +up. + +"Don't do that!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "I say, you know, you--" + +But by this time the skirt had practically disappeared, leaving to view a +pair of much-patched trousers, diving into the right-hand pocket of which +the dirty hand drew forth a folded paper, which, having opened and +smoothed out, it laid upon the desk. + +Mr. Peter Hope pushed up his spectacles till they rested on his eyebrows, +and read aloud--"'Steak and Kidney Pie, 4d.; Do. (large size), _6d._; +Boiled Mutton--'" + +"That's where I've been for the last two weeks," said the +figure,--"Hammond's Eating House!" + +The listener noted with surprise that the voice--though it told him as +plainly as if he had risen and drawn aside the red rep curtains, that +outside in Gough Square the yellow fog lay like the ghost of a dead +sea--betrayed no Cockney accent, found no difficulty with its aitches. + +"You ask for Emma. She'll say a good word for me. She told me so." + +"But, my good--" Mr. Peter Hope, checking himself, sought again the +assistance of his glasses. The glasses being unable to decide the point, +their owner had to put the question bluntly: + +"Are you a boy or a girl?" + +"I dunno." + +"You don't know!" + +"What's the difference?" + +Mr. Peter Hope stood up, and taking the strange figure by the shoulders, +turned it round slowly twice, apparently under the impression that the +process might afford to him some clue. But it did not. + +"What is your name?" + +"Tommy." + +"Tommy what?" + +"Anything you like. I dunno. I've had so many of 'em." + +"What do you want? What have you come for?" + +"You're Mr. Hope, ain't you, second floor, 16, Gough Square?" + +"That is my name." + +"You want somebody to do for you?" + +"You mean a housekeeper!" + +"Didn't say anything about housekeeper. Said you wanted somebody to do +for you--cook and clean the place up. Heard 'em talking about it in the +shop this afternoon. Old lady in green bonnet was asking Mother Hammond +if she knew of anyone." + +"Mrs. Postwhistle--yes, I did ask her to look out for someone for me. +Why, do you know of anyone? Have you been sent by anybody?" + +"You don't want anything too 'laborate in the way o' cooking? You was a +simple old chap, so they said; not much trouble." + +"No--no. I don't want much--someone clean and respectable. But why +couldn't she come herself? Who is it?" + +"Well, what's wrong about me?" + +"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"Why won't I do? I can make beds and clean rooms--all that sort o' +thing. As for cooking, I've got a natural aptitude for it. You ask +Emma; she'll tell you. You don't want nothing 'laborate?" + +"Elizabeth," said Mr. Peter Hope, as he crossed and, taking up the poker, +proceeded to stir the fire, "are we awake or asleep?" + +Elizabeth thus appealed to, raised herself on her hind legs and dug her +claws into her master's thigh. Mr. Hope's trousers being thin, it was +the most practical answer she could have given him. + +"Done a lot of looking after other people for their benefit," continued +Tommy. "Don't see why I shouldn't do it for my own." + +"My dear--I do wish I knew whether you were a boy or a girl. Do you +seriously suggest that I should engage you as my housekeeper?" asked Mr. +Peter Hope, now upright with his back to the fire. + +"I'd do for you all right," persisted Tommy. "You give me my grub and a +shake-down and, say, sixpence a week, and I'll grumble less than most of +'em." + +"Don't be ridiculous," said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"You won't try me?" + +"Of course not; you must be mad." + +"All right. No harm done." The dirty hand reached out towards the desk, +and possessing itself again of Hammond's Bill of Fare, commenced the +operations necessary for bearing it away in safety. + +"Here's a shilling for you," said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"Rather not," said Tommy. "Thanks all the same." + +"Nonsense!" said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"Rather not," repeated Tommy. "Never know where that sort of thing may +lead you to." + +"All right," said Mr. Peter Hope, replacing the coin in his pocket. +"Don't!" + +The figure moved towards the door. + +"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," said Mr. Peter Hope irritably. + +The figure, with its hand upon the door, stood still. + +"Are you going back to Hammond's?" + +"No. I've finished there. Only took me on for a couple o' weeks, while +one of the gals was ill. She came back this morning." + +"Who are your people?" + +Tommy seemed puzzled. "What d'ye mean?" + +"Well, whom do you live with?" + +"Nobody." + +"You've got nobody to look after you--to take care of you?" + +"Take care of me! D'ye think I'm a bloomin' kid?" + +"Then where are you going to now?" + +"Going? Out." + +Peter Hope's irritation was growing. + +"I mean, where are you going to sleep? Got any money for a lodging?" + +"Yes, I've got some money," answered Tommy. "But I don't think much o' +lodgings. Not a particular nice class as you meet there. I shall sleep +out to-night. 'Tain't raining." + +Elizabeth uttered a piercing cry. + +"Serves you right!" growled Peter savagely. "How can anyone help +treading on you when you will get just between one's legs. Told you of +it a hundred times." + +The truth of the matter was that Peter was becoming very angry with +himself. For no reason whatever, as he told himself, his memory would +persist in wandering to Ilford Cemetery, in a certain desolate corner of +which lay a fragile little woman whose lungs had been but ill adapted to +breathing London fogs; with, on the top of her, a still smaller and still +more fragile mite of humanity that, in compliment to its only relative +worth a penny-piece, had been christened Thomas--a name common enough in +all conscience, as Peter had reminded himself more than once. In the +name of common sense, what had dead and buried Tommy Hope to do with this +affair? The whole thing was the veriest sentiment, and sentiment was Mr. +Peter Hope's abomination. Had he not penned articles innumerable +pointing out its baneful influence upon the age? Had he not always +condemned it, wherever he had come across it in play or book? Now and +then the suspicion had crossed Peter's mind that, in spite of all this, +he was somewhat of a sentimentalist himself--things had suggested this to +him. The fear had always made him savage. + +"You wait here till I come back," he growled, seizing the astonished +Tommy by the worsted comforter and spinning it into the centre of the +room. "Sit down, and don't you dare to move." And Peter went out and +slammed the door behind him. + +"Bit off his chump, ain't he?" remarked Tommy to Elizabeth, as the sound +of Peter's descending footsteps died away. People had a way of +addressing remarks to Elizabeth. Something in her manner invited this. + +"Oh, well, it's all in the day's work," commented Tommy cheerfully, and +sat down as bid. + +Five minutes passed, maybe ten. Then Peter returned, accompanied by a +large, restful lady, to whom surprise--one felt it instinctively--had +always been, and always would remain, an unknown quantity. + +Tommy rose. + +"That's the--the article," explained Peter. + +Mrs. Postwhistle compressed her lips and slightly tossed her head. It +was the attitude of not ill-natured contempt from which she regarded most +human affairs. + +"That's right," said Mrs. Postwhistle; "I remember seeing 'er +there--leastways, it was an 'er right enough then. What 'ave you done +with your clothes?" + +"They weren't mine," explained Tommy. "They were things what Mrs. +Hammond had lent me." + +"Is that your own?" asked Mrs. Postwhistle, indicating the blue silk +garibaldi. + +"Yes." + +"What went with it?" + +"Tights. They were too far gone." + +"What made you give up the tumbling business and go to Mrs. 'Ammond's?" + +"It gave me up. Hurt myself." + +"Who were you with last?" + +"Martini troupe." + +"And before that?" + +"Oh! heaps of 'em." + +"Nobody ever told you whether you was a boy or a girl?" + +"Nobody as I'd care to believe. Some of them called me the one, some of +them the other. It depended upon what was wanted." + +"How old are you?" + +"I dunno." + +Mrs. Postwhistle turned to Peter, who was jingling keys. + +"Well, there's the bed upstairs. It's for you to decide." + +"What I don't want to do," explained Peter, sinking his voice to a +confidential whisper, "is to make a fool of myself." + +"That's always a good rule," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, "for those to whom +it's possible." + +"Anyhow," said Peter, "one night can't do any harm. To-morrow we can +think what's to be done." + +"To-morrow" had always been Peter's lucky day. At the mere mention of +the magic date his spirits invariably rose. He now turned upon Tommy a +countenance from which all hesitation was banished. + +"Very well, Tommy," said Mr. Peter Hope, "you can sleep here to-night. Go +with Mrs. Postwhistle, and she'll show you your room." + +The black eyes shone. + +"You're going to give me a trial?" + +"We'll talk about all that to-morrow." The black eyes clouded. + +"Look here. I tell you straight, it ain't no good." + +"What do you mean? What isn't any good?" demanded Peter. + +"You'll want to send me to prison." + +"To prison!" + +"Oh, yes. You'll call it a school, I know. You ain't the first that's +tried that on. It won't work." The bright, black eyes were flashing +passionately. "I ain't done any harm. I'm willing to work. I can keep +myself. I always have. What's it got to do with anybody else?" + +Had the bright, black eyes retained their expression of passionate +defiance, Peter Hope might have retained his common sense. Only Fate +arranged that instead they should suddenly fill with wild tears. And at +sight of them Peter's common sense went out of the room disgusted, and +there was born the history of many things. + +"Don't be silly," said Peter. "You didn't understand. Of course I'm +going to give you a trial. You're going to 'do' for me. I merely meant +that we'd leave the details till to-morrow. Come, housekeepers don't +cry." + +The little wet face looked up. + +"You mean it? Honour bright?" + +"Honour bright. Now go and wash yourself. Then you shall get me my +supper." + +The odd figure, still heaving from its paroxysm of sobs, stood up. + +"And I have my grub, my lodging, and sixpence a week?" + +"Yes, yes; I think that's a fair arrangement," agreed Mr. Peter Hope, +considering. "Don't you, Mrs. Postwhistle?" + +"With a frock--or a suit of trousers--thrown in," suggested Mrs. +Postwhistle. "It's generally done." + +"If it's the custom, certainly," agreed Mr. Peter Hope. "Sixpence a week +and clothes." + +And this time it was Peter that, in company with Elizabeth, sat waiting +the return of Tommy. + +"I rather hope," said Peter, "it's a boy. It was the fogs, you know. If +only I could have afforded to send him away!" + +Elizabeth looked thoughtful. The door opened. + +"Ah! that's better, much better," said Mr. Peter Hope. "'Pon my word, +you look quite respectable." + +By the practical Mrs. Postwhistle a working agreement, benefiting both +parties, had been arrived at with the long-trained skirt; while an ample +shawl arranged with judgment disguised the nakedness that lay below. +Peter, a fastidious gentleman, observed with satisfaction that the hands, +now clean, had been well cared for. + +"Give me that cap," said Peter. He threw it in the glowing fire. It +burned brightly, diffusing strange odours. + +"There's a travelling cap of mine hanging up in the passage. You can +wear that for the present. Take this half-sovereign and get me some cold +meat and beer for supper. You'll find everything else you want in that +sideboard or else in the kitchen. Don't ask me a hundred questions, and +don't make a noise," and Peter went back to his work. + +"Good idea, that half-sovereign," said Peter. "Shan't be bothered with +'Master Tommy' any more, don't expect. Starting a nursery at our time of +life. Madness." Peter's pen scratched and spluttered. Elizabeth kept +an eye upon the door. + +"Quarter of an hour," said Peter, looking at his watch. "Told you so." +The article on which Peter was now engaged appeared to be of a worrying +nature. + +"Then why," said Peter, "why did he refuse that shilling? Artfulness," +concluded Peter, "pure artfulness. Elizabeth, old girl, we've got out of +this business cheaply. Good idea, that half-sovereign." Peter gave vent +to a chuckle that had the effect of alarming Elizabeth. + +But luck evidently was not with Peter that night. + +"Pingle's was sold out," explained Tommy, entering with parcels; "had to +go to Bow's in Farringdon Street." + +"Oh!" said Peter, without looking up. + +Tommy passed through into the little kitchen behind. Peter wrote on +rapidly, making up for lost time. + +"Good!" murmured Peter, smiling to himself, "that's a neat phrase. That +ought to irritate them." + +Now, as he wrote, while with noiseless footsteps Tommy, unseen behind +him, moved to and fro and in and out the little kitchen, there came to +Peter Hope this very curious experience: it felt to him as if for a long +time he had been ill--so ill as not even to have been aware of it--and +that now he was beginning to be himself again; consciousness of things +returning to him. This solidly furnished, long, oak-panelled room with +its air of old-world dignity and repose--this sober, kindly room in which +for more than half his life he had lived and worked--why had he forgotten +it? It came forward greeting him with an amused smile, as of some old +friend long parted from. The faded photos, in stiff, wooden frames upon +the chimney-piece, among them that of the fragile little woman with the +unadaptable lungs. + +"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Peter Hope, pushing back his chair. "It's +thirty years ago. How time does fly! Why, let me see, I must be--" + +"D'you like it with a head on it?" demanded Tommy, who had been waiting +patiently for signs. + +Peter shook himself awake and went to his supper. + +A bright idea occurred to Peter in the night. "Of course; why didn't I +think of it before? Settle the question at once." Peter fell into an +easy sleep. + +"Tommy," said Peter, as he sat himself down to breakfast the next +morning. "By-the-by," asked Peter with a puzzled expression, putting +down his cup, "what is this?" + +"Cauffee," informed him Tommy. "You said cauffee." + +"Oh!" replied Peter. "For the future, Tommy, if you don't mind, I will +take tea of a morning." + +"All the same to me," explained the agreeable Tommy, "it's your +breakfast." + +"What I was about to say," continued Peter, "was that you're not looking +very well, Tommy." + +"I'm all right," asserted Tommy; "never nothing the matter with me." + +"Not that you know of, perhaps; but one can be in a very bad way, Tommy, +without being aware of it. I cannot have anyone about me that I am not +sure is in thoroughly sound health." + +"If you mean you've changed your mind and want to get rid of me--" began +Tommy, with its chin in the air. + +"I don't want any of your uppishness," snapped Peter, who had wound +himself up for the occasion to a degree of assertiveness that surprised +even himself. "If you are a thoroughly strong and healthy person, as I +think you are, I shall be very glad to retain your services. But upon +that point I must be satisfied. It is the custom," explained Peter. "It +is always done in good families. Run round to this address"--Peter wrote +it upon a leaf of his notebook--"and ask Dr. Smith to come and see me +before he begins his round. You go at once, and don't let us have any +argument." + +"That is the way to talk to that young person--clearly," said Peter to +himself, listening to Tommy's footsteps dying down the stairs. + +Hearing the street-door slam, Peter stole into the kitchen and brewed +himself a cup of coffee. + +Dr. Smith, who had commenced life as Herr Schmidt, but who in consequence +of difference of opinion with his Government was now an Englishman with +strong Tory prejudices, had but one sorrow: it was that strangers would +mistake him for a foreigner. He was short and stout, with bushy eyebrows +and a grey moustache, and looked so fierce that children cried when they +saw him, until he patted them on the head and addressed them as "mein +leedle frent" in a voice so soft and tender that they had to leave off +howling just to wonder where it came from. He and Peter, who was a +vehement Radical, had been cronies for many years, and had each an +indulgent contempt for the other's understanding, tempered by a sincere +affection for one another they would have found it difficult to account +for. + +"What tink you is de matter wid de leedle wench?" demanded Dr. Smith, +Peter having opened the case. Peter glanced round the room. The kitchen +door was closed. + +"How do you know it's a wench?" + +The eyes beneath the bushy brows grew rounder. "If id is not a wench, +why dress it--" + +"Haven't dressed it," interrupted Peter. "Just what I'm waiting to do--so +soon as I know." + +And Peter recounted the events of the preceding evening. + +Tears gathered in the doctor's small, round eyes. His absurd +sentimentalism was the quality in his friend that most irritated Peter. + +"Poor leedle waif!" murmured the soft-hearted old gentleman. "Id was de +good Providence dat guided her--or him, whichever id be." + +"Providence be hanged!" snarled Peter. "What was my Providence +doing--landing me with a gutter-brat to look after?" + +"So like you Radicals," sneered the doctor, "to despise a fellow human +creature just because id may not have been born in burble and fine +linen." + +"I didn't send for you to argue politics," retorted Peter, controlling +his indignation by an effort. "I want you to tell me whether it's a boy +or a girl, so that I may know what to do with it." + +"What mean you to do wid id?" inquired the doctor. + +"I don't know," confessed Peter. "If it's a boy, as I rather think it +is, maybe I'll be able to find it a place in one of the offices--after +I've taught it a little civilisation." + +"And if id be a girl?" + +"How can it be a girl when it wears trousers?" demanded Peter. "Why +anticipate difficulties?" + +Peter, alone, paced to and fro the room, his hands behind his back, his +ear on the alert to catch the slightest sound from above. + +"I do hope it is a boy," said Peter, glancing up. + +Peter's eyes rested on the photo of the fragile little woman gazing down +at him from its stiff frame upon the chimney-piece. Thirty years ago, in +this same room, Peter had paced to and fro, his hands behind his back, +his ear alert to catch the slightest sound from above, had said to +himself the same words. + +"It's odd," mused Peter--"very odd indeed." + +The door opened. The stout doctor, preceded at a little distance by his +watch-chain, entered and closed the door behind him. + +"A very healthy child," said the doctor, "as fine a child as any one +could wish to see. A girl." + +The two old gentlemen looked at one another. Elizabeth, possibly +relieved in her mind, began to purr. + +"What am I to do with it?" demanded Peter. + +"A very awkward bosition for you," agreed the sympathetic doctor. + +"I was a fool!" declared Peter. + +"You haf no one here to look after de leedle wench when you are away," +pointed out the thoughtful doctor. + +"And from what I've seen of the imp," added Peter, "it will want some +looking after." + +"I tink--I tink," said the helpful doctor, "I see a way out!" + +"What?" + +The doctor thrust his fierce face forward and tapped knowingly with his +right forefinger the right side of his round nose. "I will take charge +of de leedle wench." + +"You?" + +"To me de case will not present de same difficulties. I haf a +housekeeper." + +"Oh, yes, Mrs. Whateley." + +"She is a goot woman when you know her," explained the doctor. "She only +wants managing." + +"Pooh!" ejaculated Peter. + +"Why do you say dat?" inquired the doctor. + +"You! bringing up a headstrong girl. The idea!" + +"I should be kind, but firm." + +"You don't know her." + +"How long haf you known her?" + +"Anyhow, I'm not a soft-hearted sentimentalist that would just ruin the +child." + +"Girls are not boys," persisted the doctor; "dey want different +treatment." + +"Well, I'm not a brute!" snarled Peter. "Besides, suppose she turns out +rubbish! What do you know about her?" + +"I take my chance," agreed the generous doctor. + +"It wouldn't be fair," retorted honest Peter. + +"Tink it over," said the doctor. "A place is never home widout de leedle +feet. We Englishmen love de home. You are different. You haf no +sentiment." + +"I cannot help feeling," explained Peter, "a sense of duty in this +matter. The child came to me. It is as if this thing had been laid upon +me." + +"If you look upon id dat way, Peter," sighed the doctor. + +"With sentiment," went on Peter, "I have nothing to do; but duty--duty is +quite another thing." Peter, feeling himself an ancient Roman, thanked +the doctor and shook hands with him. + +Tommy, summoned, appeared. + +"The doctor, Tommy," said Peter, without looking up from his writing, +"gives a very satisfactory account of you. So you can stop." + +"Told you so," returned Tommy. "Might have saved your money." + +"But we shall have to find you another name." + +"What for?" + +"If you are to be a housekeeper, you must be a girl." + +"Don't like girls." + +"Can't say I think much of them myself, Tommy. We must make the best of +it. To begin with, we must get you proper clothes." + +"Hate skirts. They hamper you." + +"Tommy," said Peter severely, "don't argue." + +"Pointing out facts ain't arguing," argued Tommy. "They do hamper you. +You try 'em." + +The clothes were quickly made, and after a while they came to fit; but +the name proved more difficult of adjustment. A sweet-faced, laughing +lady, known to fame by a title respectable and orthodox, appears an +honoured guest to-day at many a literary gathering. But the old fellows, +pressing round, still call her "Tommy." + +The week's trial came to an end. Peter, whose digestion was delicate, +had had a happy thought. + +"What I propose, Tommy--I mean Jane," said Peter, "is that we should get +in a woman to do just the mere cooking. That will give you more time +to--to attend to other things, Tommy--Jane, I mean." + +"What other things?" chin in the air. + +"The--the keeping of the rooms in order, Tommy. The--the dusting." + +"Don't want twenty-four hours a day to dust four rooms." + +"Then there are messages, Tommy. It would be a great advantage to me to +have someone I could send on a message without feeling I was interfering +with the housework." + +"What are you driving at?" demanded Tommy. "Why, I don't have half +enough to do as it is. I can do all--" + +Peter put his foot down. "When I say a thing, I mean a thing. The +sooner you understand that, the better. How dare you argue with me! +Fiddle-de-dee!" For two pins Peter would have employed an expletive even +stronger, so determined was he feeling. + +Tommy without another word left the room. Peter looked at Elizabeth and +winked. + +Poor Peter! His triumph was short-lived. Five minutes later, Tommy +returned, clad in the long, black skirt, supported by the cricket belt, +the blue garibaldi cut _decollete_, the pepper-and-salt jacket, the +worsted comforter, the red lips very tightly pressed, the long lashes +over the black eyes moving very rapidly. + +"Tommy" (severely), "what is this tomfoolery?" + +"I understand. I ain't no good to you. Thanks for giving me a trial. My +fault." + +"Tommy" (less severely), "don't be an idiot." + +"Ain't an idiot. 'Twas Emma. Told me I was good at cooking. Said I'd +got an aptitude for it. She meant well." + +"Tommy" (no trace of severity), "sit down. Emma was quite right. Your +cooking is--is promising. As Emma puts it, you have aptitude. +Your--perseverance, your hopefulness proves it." + +"Then why d'ye want to get someone else in to do it?" + +If Peter could have answered truthfully! If Peter could have replied: + +"My dear, I am a lonely old gentleman. I did not know it until--until +the other day. Now I cannot forget it again. Wife and child died many +years ago. I was poor, or I might have saved them. That made me hard. +The clock of my life stood still. I hid away the key. I did not want to +think. You crept to me out of the cruel fog, awakened old dreams. Do +not go away any more"--perhaps Tommy, in spite of her fierce +independence, would have consented to be useful; and thus Peter might +have gained his end at less cost of indigestion. But the penalty for +being an anti-sentimentalist is that you must not talk like this even to +yourself. So Peter had to cast about for other methods. + +"Why shouldn't I keep two servants if I like?" It did seem hard on the +old gentleman. + +"What's the sense of paying two to do the work of one? You would only be +keeping me on out of charity." The black eyes flashed. "I ain't a +beggar." + +"And you really think, Tommy--I should say Jane, you can manage the--the +whole of it? You won't mind being sent on a message, perhaps in the very +middle of your cooking. It was that I was thinking of, Tommy--some cooks +would." + +"You go easy," advised him Tommy, "till I complain of having too much to +do." + +Peter returned to his desk. Elizabeth looked up. It seemed to Peter +that Elizabeth winked. + +The fortnight that followed was a period of trouble to Peter, for Tommy, +her suspicions having been aroused, was sceptical of "business" demanding +that Peter should dine with this man at the club, lunch with this editor +at the Cheshire Cheese. At once the chin would go up into the air, the +black eyes cloud threateningly. Peter, an unmarried man for thirty +years, lacking experience, would under cross-examination contradict +himself, become confused, break down over essential points. + +"Really," grumbled Peter to himself one evening, sawing at a mutton chop, +"really there's no other word for it--I'm henpecked." + +Peter that day had looked forward to a little dinner at a favourite +restaurant, with his "dear old friend Blenkinsopp, a bit of a gourmet, +Tommy--that means a man who likes what you would call elaborate +cooking!"--forgetful at the moment that he had used up "Blenkinsopp" +three days before for a farewell supper, "Blenkinsopp" having to set out +the next morning for Egypt. Peter was not facile at invention. Names in +particular had always been a difficulty to him. + +"I like a spirit of independence," continued Peter to himself. "Wish she +hadn't quite so much of it. Wonder where she got it from." + +The situation was becoming more serious to Peter than he cared to admit. +For day by day, in spite of her tyrannies, Tommy was growing more and +more indispensable to Peter. Tommy was the first audience that for +thirty years had laughed at Peter's jokes; Tommy was the first public +that for thirty years had been convinced that Peter was the most +brilliant journalist in Fleet Street; Tommy was the first anxiety that +for thirty years had rendered it needful that Peter each night should +mount stealthily the creaking stairs, steal with shaded candle to a +bedside. If only Tommy wouldn't "do" for him! If only she could be +persuaded to "do" something else. + +Another happy thought occurred to Peter. + +"Tommy--I mean Jane," said Peter, "I know what I'll do with you." + +"What's the game now?" + +"I'll make a journalist of you." + +"Don't talk rot." + +"It isn't rot. Besides, I won't have you answer me like that. As a +Devil--that means, Tommy, the unseen person in the background that helps +a journalist to do his work--you would be invaluable to me. It would pay +me, Tommy--pay me very handsomely. I should make money out of you." + +This appeared to be an argument that Tommy understood. Peter, with +secret delight, noticed that the chin retained its normal level. + +"I did help a chap to sell papers, once," remembered Tommy; "he said I +was fly at it." + +"I told you so," exclaimed Peter triumphantly. "The methods are +different, but the instinct required is the same. We will get a woman in +to relieve you of the housework." + +The chin shot up into the air. + +"I could do it in my spare time." + +"You see, Tommy, I should want you to go about with me--to be always with +me." + +"Better try me first. Maybe you're making an error." + +Peter was learning the wisdom of the serpent. + +"Quite right, Tommy. We will first see what you can do. Perhaps, after +all, it may turn out that you are better as a cook." In his heart Peter +doubted this. + +But the seed had fallen upon good ground. It was Tommy herself that +manoeuvred her first essay in journalism. A great man had come to +London--was staying in apartments especially prepared for him in St. +James's Palace. Said every journalist in London to himself: "If I could +obtain an interview with this Big Man, what a big thing it would be for +me!" For a week past, Peter had carried everywhere about with him a +paper headed: "Interview of Our Special Correspondent with Prince Blank," +questions down left-hand column, very narrow; space for answers right- +hand side, very wide. But the Big Man was experienced. + +"I wonder," said Peter, spreading the neatly folded paper on the desk +before him, "I wonder if there can be any way of getting at him--any +dodge or trick, any piece of low cunning, any plausible lie that I +haven't thought of." + +"Old Man Martin--called himself Martini--was just such another," +commented Tommy. "Come pay time, Saturday afternoon, you just couldn't +get at him--simply wasn't any way. I was a bit too good for him once, +though," remembered Tommy, with a touch of pride in her voice; "got half +a quid out of him that time. It did surprise him." + +"No," communed Peter to himself aloud, "I don't honestly think there can +be any method, creditable or discreditable, that I haven't tried." Peter +flung the one-sided interview into the wastepaper-basket, and slipping +his notebook into his pocket, departed to drink tea with a lady novelist, +whose great desire, as stated in a postscript to her invitation, was to +avoid publicity, if possible. + +Tommy, as soon as Peter's back was turned, fished it out again. + +An hour later in the fog around St. James's Palace stood an Imp, clad in +patched trousers and a pepper-and-salt jacket turned up about the neck, +gazing with admiring eyes upon the sentry. + +"Now, then, young seventeen-and-sixpence the soot," said the sentry, +"what do you want?" + +"Makes you a bit anxious, don't it," suggested the Imp, "having a big pot +like him to look after?" + +"Does get a bit on yer mind, if yer thinks about it," agreed the sentry. + +"How do you find him to talk to, like?" + +"Well," said the sentry, bringing his right leg into action for the +purpose of relieving his left, "ain't 'ad much to do with 'im myself, not +person'ly, as yet. Oh, 'e ain't a bad sort when yer know 'im." + +"That's his shake-down, ain't it?" asked the Imp, "where the lights are." + +"That's it," admitted sentry. "You ain't an Anarchist? Tell me if you +are." + +"I'll let you know if I feel it coming on," the Imp assured him. + +Had the sentry been a man of swift and penetrating observation--which he +wasn't--he might have asked the question in more serious a tone. For he +would have remarked that the Imp's black eyes were resting lovingly upon +a rain-water-pipe, giving to a skilful climber easy access to the terrace +underneath the Prince's windows. + +"I would like to see him," said the Imp. + +"Friend o' yours?" asked the sentry. + +"Well, not exactly," admitted the Imp. "But there, you know, everybody's +talking about him down our street." + +"Well, yer'll 'ave to be quick about it," said the sentry. "'E's off to- +night." + +Tommy's face fell. "I thought it wasn't till Friday morning." + +"Ah!" said the sentry, "that's what the papers say, is it?" The sentry's +voice took unconsciously the accent of those from whom no secret is hid. +"I'll tell yer what yer can do," continued the sentry, enjoying an +unaccustomed sense of importance. The sentry glanced left, then right. +"'E's a slipping off all by 'imself down to Osborne by the 6.40 from +Waterloo. Nobody knows it--'cept, o' course, just a few of us. That's +'is way all over. 'E just 'ates--" + +A footstep sounded down the corridor. The sentry became statuesque. + +At Waterloo, Tommy inspected the 6.40 train. Only one compartment +indicated possibilities, an extra large one at the end of the coach next +the guard's van. It was labelled "Reserved," and in the place of the +usual fittings was furnished with a table and four easy-chairs. Having +noticed its position, Tommy took a walk up the platform and disappeared +into the fog. + +Twenty minutes later, Prince Blank stepped hurriedly across the platform, +unnoticed save by half a dozen obsequious officials, and entered the +compartment reserved for him. The obsequious officials bowed. Prince +Blank, in military fashion, raised his hand. The 6.40 steamed out +slowly. + +Prince Blank, who was a stout gentleman, though he tried to disguise the +fact, seldom found himself alone. When he did, he generally indulged +himself in a little healthy relaxation. With two hours' run to +Southampton before him, free from all possibility of intrusion, Prince +Blank let loose the buttons of his powerfully built waistcoat, rested his +bald head on the top of his chair, stretched his great legs across +another, and closed his terrible, small eyes. + +For an instant it seemed to Prince Blank that a draught had entered into +the carriage. As, however, the sensation immediately passed away, he did +not trouble to wake up. Then the Prince dreamed that somebody was in the +carriage with him--was sitting opposite to him. This being an annoying +sort of dream, the Prince opened his eyes for the purpose of dispelling +it. There was somebody sitting opposite to him--a very grimy little +person, wiping blood off its face and hands with a dingy handkerchief. +Had the Prince been a man capable of surprise, he would have been +surprised. + +"It's all right," assured him Tommy. "I ain't here to do any harm. I +ain't an Anarchist." + +The Prince, by a muscular effort, retired some four or five inches and +commenced to rebutton his waistcoat. + +"How did you get here?" asked the Prince. + +"'Twas a bigger job than I'd reckoned on," admitted Tommy, seeking a dry +inch in the smeared handkerchief, and finding none. "But that don't +matter," added Tommy cheerfully, "now I'm here." + +"If you do not wish me to hand you over to the police at Southampton, you +had better answer my questions," remarked the Prince drily. + +Tommy was not afraid of princes, but in the lexicon of her harassed youth +"Police" had always been a word of dread. + +"I wanted to get at you." + +"I gather that." + +"There didn't seem any other way. It's jolly difficult to get at you. +You're so jolly artful." + +"Tell me how you managed it." + +"There's a little bridge for signals just outside Waterloo. I could see +that the train would have to pass under it. So I climbed up and waited. +It being a foggy night, you see, nobody twigged me. I say, you are +Prince Blank, ain't you?" + +"I am Prince Blank." + +"Should have been mad if I'd landed the wrong man." + +"Go on." + +"I knew which was your carriage--leastways, I guessed it; and as it came +along, I did a drop." Tommy spread out her arms and legs to illustrate +the action. "The lamps, you know," explained Tommy, still dabbing at her +face--"one of them caught me." + +"And from the roof?" + +"Oh, well, it was easy after that. There's an iron thing at the back, +and steps. You've only got to walk downstairs and round the corner, and +there you are. Bit of luck your other door not being locked. I hadn't +thought of that. Haven't got such a thing as a handkerchief about you, +have you?" + +The Prince drew one from his sleeve and passed it to her. "You mean to +tell me, boy--" + +"Ain't a boy," explained Tommy. "I'm a girl!" + +She said it sadly. Deeming her new friends such as could be trusted, +Tommy had accepted their statement that she really was a girl. But for +many a long year to come the thought of her lost manhood tinged her voice +with bitterness. + +"A girl!" + +Tommy nodded her head. + +"Umph!" said the Prince; "I have heard a good deal about the English +girl. I was beginning to think it exaggerated. Stand up." + +Tommy obeyed. It was not altogether her way; but with those eyes beneath +their shaggy brows bent upon her, it seemed the simplest thing to do. + +"So. And now that you are here, what do you want?" + +"To interview you." + +Tommy drew forth her list of questions. + +The shaggy brows contracted. + +"Who put you up to this absurdity? Who was it? Tell me at once." + +"Nobody." + +"Don't lie to me. His name?" + +The terrible, small eyes flashed fire. But Tommy also had a pair of +eyes. Before their blaze of indignation the great man positively +quailed. This type of opponent was new to him. + +"I'm not lying." + +"I beg your pardon," said the Prince. + +And at this point it occurred to the Prince, who being really a great +man, had naturally a sense of humour, that a conference conducted on +these lines between the leading statesman of an Empire and an impertinent +hussy of, say, twelve years old at the outside, might end by becoming +ridiculous. So the Prince took up his chair and put it down again beside +Tommy's, and employing skilfully his undoubted diplomatic gifts, drew +from her bit by bit the whole story. + +"I'm inclined, Miss Jane," said the Great Man, the story ended, "to agree +with our friend Mr. Hope. I should say your _metier_ was journalism." + +"And you'll let me interview you?" asked Tommy, showing her white teeth. + +The Great Man, laying a hand heavier than he guessed on Tommy's shoulder, +rose. "I think you are entitled to it." + +"What's your views?" demanded Tommy, reading, "of the future political +and social relationships--" + +"Perhaps," suggested the Great Man, "it will be simpler if I write it +myself." + +"Well," concurred Tommy; "my spelling is a bit rocky." + +The Great Man drew a chair to the table. + +"You won't miss out anything--will you?" insisted Tommy. + +"I shall endeavour, Miss Jane, to give you no cause for complaint," +gravely he assured her, and sat down to write. + +Not till the train began to slacken speed had the Prince finished. Then, +blotting and refolding the paper, he stood up. + +"I have added some instructions on the back of the last page," explained +the Prince, "to which you will draw Mr. Hope's particular attention. I +would wish you to promise me, Miss Jane, never again to have recourse to +dangerous acrobatic tricks, not even in the sacred cause of journalism." + +"Of course, if you hadn't been so jolly difficult to get at--" + +"My fault, I know," agreed the Prince. "There is not the least doubt as +to which sex you belong to. Nevertheless, I want you to promise me. +Come," urged the Prince, "I have done a good deal for you--more than you +know." + +"All right," consented Tommy a little sulkily. Tommy hated making +promises, because she always kept them. "I promise." + +"There is your Interview." The first Southampton platform lamp shone in +upon the Prince and Tommy as they stood facing one another. The Prince, +who had acquired the reputation, not altogether unjustly, of an +ill-tempered and savage old gentleman, did a strange thing: taking the +little, blood-smeared face between his paws, he kissed it. Tommy always +remembered the smoky flavour of the bristly grey moustache. + +"One thing more," said the Prince sternly--"not a word of all this. Don't +open your mouth to speak of it till you are back in Gough Square." + +"Do you take me for a mug?" answered Tommy. + +They behaved very oddly to Tommy after the Prince had disappeared. +Everybody took a deal of trouble for her, but none of them seemed to know +why they were doing it. They looked at her and went away, and came again +and looked at her. And the more they thought about it, the more puzzled +they became. Some of them asked her questions, but what Tommy really +didn't know, added to what she didn't mean to tell, was so prodigious +that Curiosity itself paled at contemplation of it. + +They washed and brushed her up and gave her an excellent supper; and +putting her into a first-class compartment labelled "Reserved," sent her +back to Waterloo, and thence in a cab to Gough Square, where she arrived +about midnight, suffering from a sense of self-importance, traces of +which to this day are still discernible. + +Such and thus was the beginning of all things. Tommy, having talked for +half an hour at the rate of two hundred words a minute, had suddenly +dropped her head upon the table, had been aroused with difficulty and +persuaded to go to bed. Peter, in the deep easy-chair before the fire, +sat long into the night. Elizabeth, liking quiet company, purred softly. +Out of the shadows crept to Peter Hope an old forgotten dream--the dream +of a wonderful new Journal, price one penny weekly, of which the Editor +should come to be one Thomas Hope, son of Peter Hope, its honoured +Founder and Originator: a powerful Journal that should supply a long-felt +want, popular, but at the same time elevating--a pleasure to the public, +a profit to its owners. "Do you not remember me?" whispered the Dream. +"We had long talks together. The morning and the noonday pass. The +evening still is ours. The twilight also brings its promise." + +Elizabeth stopped purring and looked up surprised. Peter was laughing to +himself. + + + + +STORY THE SECOND--William Clodd appoints himself Managing Director + + +Mrs. Postwhistle sat on a Windsor-chair in the centre of Rolls Court. +Mrs. Postwhistle, who, in the days of her Hebehood, had been likened by +admiring frequenters of the old Mitre in Chancery Lane to the ladies, +somewhat emaciated, that an English artist, since become famous, was then +commencing to popularise, had developed with the passing years, yet still +retained a face of placid youthfulness. The two facts, taken in +conjunction, had resulted in an asset to her income not to be despised. +The wanderer through Rolls Court this summer's afternoon, presuming him +to be familiar with current journalism, would have retired haunted by the +sense that the restful-looking lady on the Windsor-chair was someone that +he ought to know. Glancing through almost any illustrated paper of the +period, the problem would have been solved for him. A photograph of Mrs. +Postwhistle, taken quite recently, he would have encountered with this +legend: "_Before_ use of Professor Hardtop's certain cure for +corpulency." Beside it a photograph of Mrs. Postwhistle, then Arabella +Higgins, taken twenty years ago, the legend slightly varied: "_After_ +use," etc. The face was the same, the figure--there was no denying +it--had undergone decided alteration. + +Mrs. Postwhistle had reached with her chair the centre of Rolls Court in +course of following the sun. The little shop, over the lintel of which +ran: "Timothy Postwhistle, Grocer and Provision Merchant," she had left +behind her in the shadow. Old inhabitants of St. Dunstan-in-the-West +retained recollection of a gentlemanly figure, always in a very gorgeous +waistcoat, with Dundreary whiskers, to be seen occasionally there behind +the counter. All customers it would refer, with the air of a Lord High +Chamberlain introducing _debutantes_, to Mrs. Postwhistle, evidently +regarding itself purely as ornamental. For the last ten years, however, +no one had noticed it there, and Mrs. Postwhistle had a facility +amounting almost to genius for ignoring or misunderstanding questions it +was not to her taste to answer. Most things were suspected, nothing +known. St. Dunstan-in-the-West had turned to other problems. + +"If I wasn't wanting to see 'im," remarked to herself Mrs. Postwhistle, +who was knitting with one eye upon the shop, "'e'd a been 'ere 'fore I'd +'ad time to clear the dinner things away; certain to 'ave been. It's a +strange world." + +Mrs. Postwhistle was desirous for the arrival of a gentleman not usually +awaited with impatience by the ladies of Rolls Court--to wit, one William +Clodd, rent-collector, whose day for St. Dunstan-in-the-West was Tuesday. + +"At last," said Mrs. Postwhistle, though without hope that Mr. Clodd, who +had just appeared at the other end of the court, could possibly hear her. +"Was beginning to be afraid as you'd tumbled over yerself in your 'urry +and 'urt yerself." + +Mr. Clodd, perceiving Mrs. Postwhistle, decided to abandon method and +take No. 7 first. + +Mr. Clodd was a short, thick-set, bullet-headed young man, with ways that +were bustling, and eyes that, though kind, suggested trickiness. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Clodd admiringly, as he pocketed the six half-crowns that +the lady handed up to him. "If only they were all like you, Mrs. +Postwhistle!" + +"Wouldn't be no need of chaps like you to worry 'em," pointed out Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +"It's an irony of fate, my being a rent-collector, when you come to think +of it," remarked Mr. Clodd, writing out the receipt. "If I had my way, +I'd put an end to landlordism, root and branch. Curse of the country." + +"Just the very thing I wanted to talk to you about," returned the +lady--"that lodger o' mine." + +"Ah! don't pay, don't he? You just hand him over to me. I'll soon have +it out of him." + +"It's not that," explained Mrs. Postwhistle. "If a Saturday morning +'appened to come round as 'e didn't pay up without me asking, I should +know I'd made a mistake--that it must be Friday. If I don't 'appen to be +in at 'alf-past ten, 'e puts it in an envelope and leaves it on the +table." + +"Wonder if his mother has got any more like him?" mused Mr. Clodd. "Could +do with a few about this neighbourhood. What is it you want to say about +him, then? Merely to brag about him?" + +"I wanted to ask you," continued Mrs. Postwhistle, "'ow I could get rid +of 'im. It was rather a curious agreement." + +"Why do you want to get rid of him? Too noisy?" + +"Noisy! Why, the cat makes more noise about the 'ouse than 'e does. 'E'd +make 'is fortune as a burglar." + +"Come home late?" + +"Never known 'im out after the shutters are up." + +"Gives you too much trouble then?" + +"I can't say that of 'im. Never know whether 'e's in the 'ouse or isn't, +without going upstairs and knocking at the door." + +"Here, you tell it your own way," suggested the bewildered Clodd. "If it +was anyone else but you, I should say you didn't know your own business." + +"'E gets on my nerves," said Mrs. Postwhistle. "You ain't in a 'urry for +five minutes?" + +Mr. Clodd was always in a hurry. "But I can forget it talking to you," +added the gallant Mr. Clodd. + +Mrs. Postwhistle led the way into the little parlour. + +"Just the name of it," consented Mr. Clodd. "Cheerfulness combined with +temperance; that's the ideal." + +"I'll tell you what 'appened only last night," commenced Mrs. +Postwhistle, seating herself the opposite side of the loo-table. "A +letter came for 'im by the seven o'clock post. I'd seen 'im go out two +hours before, and though I'd been sitting in the shop the whole blessed +time, I never saw or 'eard 'im pass through. E's like that. It's like +'aving a ghost for a lodger. I opened 'is door without knocking and went +in. If you'll believe me, 'e was clinging with 'is arms and legs to the +top of the bedstead--it's one of those old-fashioned, four-post +things--'is 'ead touching the ceiling. 'E 'adn't got too much clothes +on, and was cracking nuts with 'is teeth and eating 'em. 'E threw a +'andful of shells at me, and making the most awful faces at me, started +off gibbering softly to himself." + +"All play, I suppose? No real vice?" commented the interested Mr. Clodd. + +"It will go on for a week, that will," continued Mrs. Postwhistle--"'e +fancying 'imself a monkey. Last week he was a tortoise, and was crawling +about on his stomach with a tea-tray tied on to 'is back. 'E's as +sensible as most men, if that's saying much, the moment 'e's outside the +front door; but in the 'ouse--well, I suppose the fact is that 'e's a +lunatic." + +"Don't seem no hiding anything from you," Mrs. Postwhistle remarked Mr. +Clodd in tones of admiration. "Does he ever get violent?" + +"Don't know what 'e would be like if 'e 'appened to fancy 'imself +something really dangerous," answered Mrs. Postwhistle. "I am a bit +nervous of this new monkey game, I don't mind confessing to you--the +things that they do according to the picture-books. Up to now, except +for imagining 'imself a mole, and taking all his meals underneath the +carpet, it's been mostly birds and cats and 'armless sort o' things I +'aven't seemed to mind so much." + +"How did you get hold of him?" demanded Mr. Clodd. "Have much trouble in +finding him, or did somebody come and tell you about him?" + +"Old Gladman, of Chancery Lane, the law stationer, brought 'im 'ere one +evening about two months ago--said 'e was a sort of distant relative of +'is, a bit soft in the 'ead, but perfectly 'armless--wanted to put 'im +with someone who wouldn't impose on 'im. Well, what between 'aving been +empty for over five weeks, the poor old gaby 'imself looking as gentle as +a lamb, and the figure being reasonable, I rather jumped at the idea; and +old Gladman, explaining as 'ow 'e wanted the thing settled and done with, +got me to sign a letter." + +"Kept a copy of it?" asked the business-like Clodd. + +"No. But I can remember what it was. Gladman 'ad it all ready. So long +as the money was paid punctual and 'e didn't make no disturbance and +didn't fall sick, I was to go on boarding and lodging 'im for seventeen- +and-sixpence a week. It didn't strike me as anything to be objected to +at the time; but 'e payin' regular, as I've explained to you, and +be'aving, so far as disturbance is concerned, more like a Christian +martyr than a man, well, it looks to me as if I'd got to live and die +with 'im." + +"Give him rope, and possibly he'll have a week at being a howling hyaena, +or a laughing jackass, or something of that sort that will lead to a +disturbance," thought Mr. Clodd, "in which case, of course, you would +have your remedy." + +"Yes," thought Mrs. Postwhistle, "and possibly also 'e may take it into +what 'e calls is 'ead to be a tiger or a bull, and then perhaps before +'e's through with it I'll be beyond the reach of remedies." + +"Leave it to me," said Mr. Clodd, rising and searching for his hat. "I +know old Gladman; I'll have a talk with him." + +"You might get a look at that letter if you can," suggested Mrs. +Postwhistle, "and tell me what you think about it. I don't want to spend +the rest of my days in a lunatic asylum of my own if I can 'elp it." + +"You leave it to me," was Mr. Clodd's parting assurance. + +The July moon had thrown a silver veil over the grimness of Rolls Court +when, five hours later, Mr. Clodd's nailed boots echoed again upon its +uneven pavement; but Mr. Clodd had no eye for moon or stars or such-like; +always he had things more important to think of. + +"Seen the old 'umbug?" asked Mrs. Postwhistle, who was partial to the +air, leading the way into the parlour. + +"First and foremost commenced," Mr. Clodd, as he laid aside his hat, "it +is quite understood that you really do want to get rid of him? What's +that?" demanded Mr. Clodd, a heavy thud upon the floor above having +caused him to start out of his chair. + +"'E came in an hour after you'd gone," explained Mrs. Postwhistle, +"bringing with him a curtain pole as 'e'd picked up for a shilling in +Clare Market. 'E's rested one end upon the mantelpiece and tied the +other to the back of the easy-chair--'is idea is to twine 'imself round +it and go to sleep upon it. Yes, you've got it quite right without a +single blunder. I do want to get rid of 'im." + +"Then," said Mr. Clodd, reseating himself, "it can be done." + +"Thank God for that!" was Mrs. Postwhistle's pious ejaculation. + +"It is just as I thought," continued Mr. Clodd. "The old innocent--he's +Gladman's brother-in-law, by the way--has got a small annuity. I +couldn't get the actual figure, but I guess it's about sufficient to pay +for his keep and leave old Gladman, who is running him, a very decent +profit. They don't want to send him to an asylum. They can't say he's a +pauper, and to put him into a private establishment would swallow up, +most likely, the whole of his income. On the other hand, they don't want +the bother of looking after him themselves. I talked pretty straight to +the old man--let him see I understood the business; and--well, to cut a +long story short, I'm willing to take on the job, provided you really +want to have done with it, and Gladman is willing in that case to let you +off your contract." + +Mrs. Postwhistle went to the cupboard to get Mr. Clodd a drink. Another +thud upon the floor above--one suggestive of exceptional velocity--arrived +at the precise moment when Mrs. Postwhistle, the tumbler level with her +eye, was in the act of measuring. + +"I call this making a disturbance," said Mrs. Postwhistle, regarding the +broken fragments. + +"It's only for another night," comforted her Mr. Clodd. "I'll take him +away some time to-morrow. Meanwhile, if I were you, I should spread a +mattress underneath that perch of his before I went to bed. I should +like him handed over to me in reasonable repair." + +"It will deaden the sound a bit, any'ow," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"Success to temperance," drank Mr. Clodd, and rose to go. + +"I take it you've fixed things up all right for yourself," said Mrs. +Postwhistle; "and nobody can blame you if you 'ave. 'Eaven bless you, is +what I say." + +"We shall get on together," prophesied Mr. Clodd. "I'm fond of animals." + +Early the next morning a four-wheeled cab drew up at the entrance to +Rolls Court, and in it and upon it went away Clodd and Clodd's Lunatic +(as afterwards he came to be known), together with all the belongings of +Clodd's Lunatic, the curtain-pole included; and there appeared again +behind the fanlight of the little grocer's shop the intimation: "Lodgings +for a Single Man," which caught the eye a few days later of a +weird-looking, lanky, rawboned laddie, whose language Mrs. Postwhistle +found difficulty for a time in comprehending; and that is why one +sometimes meets to-day worshippers of Kail Yard literature wandering +disconsolately about St. Dunstan-in-the-West, seeking Rolls Court, +discomforted because it is no more. But that is the history of the "Wee +Laddie," and this of the beginnings of William Clodd, now Sir William +Clodd, Bart., M.P., proprietor of a quarter of a hundred newspapers, +magazines, and journals: "Truthful Billy" we called him then. + +No one can say of Clodd that he did not deserve whatever profit his +unlicensed lunatic asylum may have brought him. A kindly man was William +Clodd when indulgence in sentiment did not interfere with business. + +"There's no harm in him," asserted Mr. Clodd, talking the matter over +with one Mr. Peter Hope, journalist, of Gough Square. "He's just a bit +dotty, same as you or I might get with nothing to do and all day long to +do it in. Kid's play, that's all it is. The best plan, I find, is to +treat it as a game and take a hand in it. Last week he wanted to be a +lion. I could see that was going to be awkward, he roaring for raw meat +and thinking to prowl about the house at night. Well, I didn't nag +him--that's no good. I just got a gun and shot him. He's a duck now, +and I'm trying to keep him one: sits for an hour beside his bath on three +china eggs I've bought him. Wish some of the sane ones were as little +trouble." + +The summer came again. Clodd and his Lunatic, a mild-looking little old +gentleman of somewhat clerical cut, one often met with arm-in-arm, +bustling about the streets and courts that were the scene of Clodd's rent- +collecting labours. Their evident attachment to one another was +curiously displayed; Clodd, the young and red-haired, treating his white- +haired, withered companion with fatherly indulgence; the other glancing +up from time to time into Clodd's face with a winning expression of +infantile affection. + +"We are getting much better," explained Clodd, the pair meeting Peter +Hope one day at the corner of Newcastle Street. "The more we are out in +the open air, and the more we have to do and think about, the better for +us--eh?" + +The mild-looking little old gentleman hanging on Clodd's arm smiled and +nodded. + +"Between ourselves," added Mr. Clodd, sinking his voice, "we are not half +as foolish as folks think we are." + +Peter Hope went his way down the Strand. + +"Clodd's a good sort--a good sort," said Peter Hope, who, having in his +time lived much alone, had fallen into the habit of speaking his thoughts +aloud; "but he's not the man to waste his time. I wonder." + +With the winter Clodd's Lunatic fell ill. + +Clodd bustled round to Chancery Lane. + +"To tell you the truth," confessed Mr. Gladman, "we never thought he +would live so long as he has." + +"There's the annuity you've got to think of," said Clodd, whom his +admirers of to-day (and they are many, for he must be a millionaire by +this time) are fond of alluding to as "that frank, outspoken Englishman." +"Wouldn't it be worth your while to try what taking him away from the +fogs might do for him?" + +Old Gladman seemed inclined to consider the question, but Mrs. Gladman, a +brisk, cheerful little woman, had made up her mind. + +"We've had what there is to have," said Mrs. Gladman. "He's +seventy-three. What's the sense of risking good money? Be content." + +No one could say--no one ever did say--that Clodd, under the +circumstances, did not do his best. Perhaps, after all, nothing could +have helped. The little old gentleman, at Clodd's suggestion, played at +being a dormouse and lay very still. If he grew restless, thereby +bringing on his cough, Clodd, as a terrible black cat, was watching to +pounce upon him. Only by keeping very quiet and artfully pretending to +be asleep could he hope to escape the ruthless Clodd. + +Doctor William Smith (ne Wilhelm Schmidt) shrugged his fat shoulders. "We +can do noding. Dese fogs of ours: id is de one ting dat enables the +foreigner to crow over us. Keep him quiet. De dormouse--id is a goot +idea." + +That evening William Clodd mounted to the second floor of 16, Gough +Square, where dwelt his friend, Peter Hope, and knocked briskly at the +door. + +"Come in," said a decided voice, which was not Peter Hope's. + +Mr. William Clodd's ambition was, and always had been, to be the owner or +part-owner of a paper. To-day, as I have said, he owns a quarter of a +hundred, and is in negotiation, so rumour goes, for seven more. But +twenty years ago "Clodd and Co., Limited," was but in embryo. And Peter +Hope, journalist, had likewise and for many a long year cherished the +ambition to be, before he died, the owner or part-owner of a paper. Peter +Hope to-day owns nothing, except perhaps the knowledge, if such things be +permitted, that whenever and wherever his name is mentioned, kind +thoughts arise unbidden--that someone of the party will surely say: "Dear +old Peter! What a good fellow he was!" Which also may be in its way a +valuable possession: who knows? But twenty years ago Peter's horizon was +limited by Fleet Street. + +Peter Hope was forty-seven, so he said, a dreamer and a scholar. William +Clodd was three-and-twenty, a born hustler, very wide awake. Meeting one +day by accident upon an omnibus, when Clodd lent Peter, who had come out +without his purse, threepence to pay his fare with; drifting into +acquaintanceship, each had come to acquire a liking and respect for the +other. The dreamer thought with wonder of Clodd's shrewd practicability; +the cute young man of business was lost in admiration of what seemed to +him his old friend's marvellous learning. Both had arrived at the +conclusion that a weekly journal with Peter Hope as editor, and William +Clodd as manager, would be bound to be successful. + +"If only we could scrape together a thousand pounds!" had sighed Peter. + +"The moment we lay our hands upon the coin, we'll start that paper. +Remember, it's a bargain," had answered William Clodd. + +Mr. William Clodd turned the handle and walked in. With the door still +in his hand he paused to look round the room. It was the first time he +had seen it. His meetings hitherto with Peter Hope had been chance +_rencontres_ in street or restaurant. Always had he been curious to view +the sanctuary of so much erudition. + +A large, oak-panelled room, its three high windows, each with a low, +cushioned seat beneath it, giving on to Gough Square. Thirty-five years +before, Peter Hope, then a young dandy with side whiskers close-cropped +and terminating just below the ear; with wavy, brown hair, giving to his +fresh-complexioned face an appearance almost girlish; in cut-away blue +coat, flowered waistcoat, black silk cravat secured by two gold pins +chained together, and tightly strapped grey trouserings, had, aided and +abetted by a fragile little lady in crinoline and much-flounced skirt, +and bodice somewhat low, with corkscrew curls each movement of her head +set ringing, planned and furnished it in accordance with the sober canons +then in vogue, spending thereupon more than they should, as is to be +expected from the young to whom the future promises all things. The fine +Brussels carpet! A little too bright, had thought the shaking curls. +"The colours will tone down, miss--ma'am." The shopman knew. Only by +the help of the round island underneath the massive Empire table, by +excursions into untrodden corners, could Peter recollect the rainbow +floor his feet had pressed when he was twenty-one. The noble bookcase, +surmounted by Minerva's bust. Really it was too expensive. But the +nodding curls had been so obstinate. Peter's silly books and papers must +be put away in order; the curls did not intend to permit any excuse for +untidiness. So, too, the handsome, brass-bound desk; it must be worthy +of the beautiful thoughts Peter would pen upon it. The great sideboard, +supported by two such angry-looking mahogany lions; it must be strong to +support the weight of silver clever Peter would one day purchase to place +upon it. The few oil paintings in their heavy frames. A solidly +furnished, sober apartment; about it that subtle atmosphere of dignity +one finds but in old rooms long undisturbed, where one seems to read upon +the walls: "I, Joy and Sorrow, twain in one, have dwelt here." One item +only there was that seemed out of place among its grave surroundings--a +guitar, hanging from the wall, ornamented with a ridiculous blue bow, +somewhat faded. + +"Mr. William Clodd?" demanded the decided voice. + +Clodd started and closed the door. + +"Guessed it in once," admitted Mr. Clodd. + +"I thought so," said the decided voice. "We got your note this +afternoon. Mr. Hope will be back at eight. Will you kindly hang up your +hat and coat in the hall? You will find a box of cigars on the +mantelpiece. Excuse my being busy. I must finish this, then I'll talk +to you." + +The owner of the decided voice went on writing. Clodd, having done as he +was bid, sat himself in the easy-chair before the fire and smoked. Of +the person behind the desk Mr. Clodd could see but the head and +shoulders. It had black, curly hair, cut short. It's only garment +visible below the white collar and red tie might have been a boy's jacket +designed more like a girl's, or a girl's designed more like a boy's; +partaking of the genius of English statesmanship, it appeared to be a +compromise. Mr. Clodd remarked the long, drooping lashes over the +bright, black eyes. + +"It's a girl," said Mr. Clodd to himself; "rather a pretty girl." + +Mr. Clodd, continuing downward, arrived at the nose. + +"No," said Mr. Clodd to himself, "it's a boy--a cheeky young beggar, I +should say." + +The person at the desk, giving a grunt of satisfaction, gathered together +sheets of manuscript and arranged them; then, resting its elbows on the +desk and taking its head between its hands, regarded Mr. Clodd. + +"Don't you hurry yourself," said Mr. Clodd; "but when you really have +finished, tell me what you think of me." + +"I beg your pardon," apologised the person at the desk. "I have got into +a habit of staring at people. I know it's rude. I'm trying to break +myself of it." + +"Tell me your name," suggested Mr. Clodd, "and I'll forgive you." + +"Tommy," was the answer--"I mean Jane." + +"Make up your mind," advised Mr. Clodd; "don't let me influence you. I +only want the truth." + +"You see," explained the person at the desk, "everybody calls me Tommy, +because that used to be my name. But now it's Jane." + +"I see," said Mr. Clodd. "And which am I to call you?" + +The person at the desk pondered. "Well, if this scheme you and Mr. Hope +have been talking about really comes to anything, we shall be a good deal +thrown together, you see, and then I expect you'll call me Tommy--most +people do." + +"You've heard about the scheme? Mr. Hope has told you?" + +"Why, of course," replied Tommy. "I'm Mr. Hope's devil." + +For the moment Clodd doubted whether his old friend had not started a +rival establishment to his own. + +"I help him in his work," Tommy relieved his mind by explaining. "In +journalistic circles we call it devilling." + +"I understand," said Mr. Clodd. "And what do you think, Tommy, of the +scheme? I may as well start calling you Tommy, because, between you and +me, I think the idea will come to something." + +Tommy fixed her black eyes upon him. She seemed to be looking him right +through. + +"You are staring again, Tommy," Clodd reminded her. "You'll have trouble +breaking yourself of that habit, I can see." + +"I was trying to make up my mind about you. Everything depends upon the +business man." + +"Glad to hear you say so," replied the self-satisfied Clodd. + +"If you are very clever--Do you mind coming nearer to the lamp? I can't +quite see you over there." + +Clodd never could understand why he did it--never could understand why, +from first to last, he always did what Tommy wished him to do; his only +consolation being that other folks seemed just as helpless. He rose and, +crossing the long room, stood at attention before the large desk, +nervousness, to which he was somewhat of a stranger, taking possession of +him. + +"You don't _look_ very clever." + +Clodd experienced another new sensation--that of falling in his own +estimation. + +"And yet one can see that you _are_ clever." + +The mercury of Clodd's conceit shot upward to a point that in the case of +anyone less physically robust might have been dangerous to health. + +Clodd held out his hand. "We'll pull it through, Tommy. The Guv'nor +shall find the literature; you and I will make it go. I like you." + +And Peter Hope, entering at the moment, caught a spark from the light +that shone in the eyes of William Clodd and Tommy, whose other name was +Jane, as, gripping hands, they stood with the desk between them, laughing +they knew not why. And the years fell from old Peter, and, again a boy, +he also laughed he knew not why. He had sipped from the wine-cup of +youth. + +"It's all settled, Guv'nor!" cried Clodd. "Tommy and I have fixed things +up. We'll start with the New Year." + +"You've got the money?" + +"I'm reckoning on it. I don't see very well how I can miss it." + +"Sufficient?" + +"Just about. You get to work." + +"I've saved a little," began Peter. "It ought to have been more, but +somehow it isn't." + +"Perhaps we shall want it," Clodd replied; "perhaps we shan't. You are +supplying the brains." + +The three for a few moments remained silent. + +"I think, Tommy," said Peter, "I think a bottle of the old Madeira--" + +"Not to-night," said Clodd; "next time." + +"To drink success," urged Peter. + +"One man's success generally means some other poor devil's misfortune," +answered Clodd. + +"Can't be helped, of course, but don't want to think about it to-night. +Must be getting back to my dormouse. Good night." + +Clodd shook hands and bustled out. + +"I thought as much," mused Peter aloud. + +"What an odd mixture the man is! Kind--no one could have been kinder to +the poor old fellow. Yet all the while--We are an odd mixture, Tommy," +said Peter Hope, "an odd mixture, we men and women." Peter was a +philosopher. + +The white-whiskered old dormouse soon coughed himself to sleep for ever. + +"I shall want you and the missis to come to the funeral, Gladman," said +Mr. Clodd, as he swung into the stationer's shop; "and bring Pincer with +you. I'm writing to him." + +"Don't see what good we can do," demurred Gladman. + +"Well, you three are his only relatives; it's only decent you should be +present," urged Clodd. "Besides, there's the will to be read. You may +care to hear it." + +The dry old law stationer opened wide his watery eyes. + +"His will! Why, what had he got to leave? There was nothing but the +annuity." + +"You turn up at the funeral," Clodd told him, "and you'll learn all about +it. Bonner's clerk will be there and will bring it with him. Everything +is going to be done _comme il faut_, as the French say." + +"I ought to have known of this," began Mr. Gladman. + +"Glad to find you taking so much interest in the old chap," said Clodd. +"Pity he's dead and can't thank you." + +"I warn you," shouted old Gladman, whose voice was rising to a scream, +"he was a helpless imbecile, incapable of acting for himself! If any +undue influence--" + +"See you on Friday," broke in Clodd, who was busy. + +Friday's ceremony was not a sociable affair. Mrs. Gladman spoke +occasionally in a shrill whisper to Mr. Gladman, who replied with grunts. +Both employed the remainder of their time in scowling at Clodd. Mr. +Pincer, a stout, heavy gentleman connected with the House of Commons, +maintained a ministerial reserve. The undertaker's foreman expressed +himself as thankful when it was over. He criticised it as the humpiest +funeral he had ever known; for a time he had serious thoughts of changing +his profession. + +The solicitor's clerk was waiting for the party on its return from Kensal +Green. Clodd again offered hospitality. Mr. Pincer this time allowed +himself a glass of weak whisky-and-water, and sipped it with an air of +doing so without prejudice. The clerk had one a little stronger, Mrs. +Gladman, dispensing with consultation, declined shrilly for self and +partner. Clodd, explaining that he always followed legal precedent, +mixed himself one also and drank "To our next happy meeting." Then the +clerk read. + +It was a short and simple will, dated the previous August. It appeared +that the old gentleman, unknown to his relatives, had died possessed of +shares in a silver mine, once despaired of, now prospering. Taking them +at present value, they would produce a sum well over two thousand pounds. +The old gentleman had bequeathed five hundred pounds to his brother-in- +law, Mr. Gladman; five hundred pounds to his only other living relative, +his first cousin, Mr. Pincer; the residue to his friend, William Clodd, +as a return for the many kindnesses that gentleman had shown him. + +Mr. Gladman rose, more amused than angry. + +"And you think you are going to pocket that one thousand to twelve +hundred pounds. You really do?" he asked Mr. Clodd, who, with legs +stretched out before him, sat with his hands deep in his trousers +pockets. + +"That's the idea," admitted Mr. Clodd. + +Mr. Gladman laughed, but without much lightening the atmosphere. "Upon +my word, Clodd, you amuse me--you quite amuse me," repeated Mr. Gladman. + +"You always had a sense of humour," commented Mr. Clodd. + +"You villain! You double-dyed villain!" screamed Mr. Gladman, suddenly +changing his tone. "You think the law is going to allow you to swindle +honest men! You think we are going to sit still for you to rob us! That +will--" Mr. Gladman pointed a lank forefinger dramatically towards the +table. + +"You mean to dispute it?" inquired Mr. Clodd. + +For a moment Mr. Gladman stood aghast at the other's coolness, but soon +found his voice again. + +"Dispute it!" he shrieked. "Do you dispute that you influenced +him?--dictated it to him word for word, made the poor old helpless idiot +sign it, he utterly incapable of even understanding--" + +"Don't chatter so much," interrupted Mr. Clodd. "It's not a pretty +voice, yours. What I asked you was, do you intend to dispute it?" + +"If you will kindly excuse us," struck in Mrs. Gladman, addressing Mr. +Clodd with an air of much politeness, "we shall just have time, if we go +now, to catch our solicitor before he leaves his office." + +Mr. Gladman took up his hat from underneath his chair. + +"One moment," suggested Mr. Clodd. "I did influence him to make that +will. If you don't like it, there's an end of it." + +"Of course," commenced Mr. Gladman in a mollified tone. + +"Sit down," suggested Mr. Clodd. "Let's try another one." Mr. Clodd +turned to the clerk. "The previous one, Mr. Wright, if you please; the +one dated June the 10th." + +An equally short and simple document, it bequeathed three hundred pounds +to Mr. William Clodd in acknowledgment of kindnesses received, the +residue to the Royal Zoological Society of London, the deceased having +been always interested in and fond of animals. The relatives, "Who have +never shown me the slightest affection or given themselves the slightest +trouble concerning me, and who have already received considerable sums +out of my income," being by name excluded. + +"I may mention," observed Mr. Clodd, no one else appearing inclined to +break the silence, "that in suggesting the Royal Zoological Society to my +poor old friend as a fitting object for his benevolence, I had in mind a +very similar case that occurred five years ago. A bequest to them was +disputed on the grounds that the testator was of unsound mind. They had +to take their case to the House of Lords before they finally won it." + +"Anyhow," remarked Mr. Gladman, licking his lips, which were dry, "you +won't get anything, Mr. Clodd--no, not even your three-hundred pounds, +clever as you think yourself. My brother-in-law's money will go to the +lawyers." + +Then Mr. Pincer rose and spoke slowly and clearly. "If there must be a +lunatic connected with our family, which I don't see why there should be, +it seems to me to be you, Nathaniel Gladman." + +Mr. Gladman stared back with open mouth. Mr. Pincer went on +impressively. + +"As for my poor old cousin Joe, he had his eccentricities, but that was +all. I for one am prepared to swear that he was of sound mind in August +last and quite capable of making his own will. It seems to me that the +other thing, dated in June, is just waste paper." + +Mr. Pincer having delivered himself, sat down again. Mr. Gladman showed +signs of returning language. + +"Oh! what's the use of quarrelling?" chirped in cheery Mrs. Gladman. +"It's five hundred pounds we never expected. Live and let live is what I +always say." + +"It's the damned artfulness of the thing," said Mr. Gladman, still very +white about the gills. + +"Oh, you have a little something to thaw your face," suggested his wife. + +Mr. and Mrs. Gladman, on the strength of the five hundred pounds, went +home in a cab. Mr. Pincer stayed behind and made a night of it with Mr. +Clodd and Bonner's clerk, at Clodd's expense. + +The residue worked out at eleven hundred and sixty-nine pounds and a few +shillings. The capital of the new company, "established for the purpose +of carrying on the business of newspaper publishers and distributors, +printers, advertising agents, and any other trade and enterprise +affiliated to the same," was one thousand pounds in one pound shares, +fully paid up; of which William Clodd, Esquire, was registered proprietor +of four hundred and sixty-three; Peter Hope, M.A., of 16, Gough Square, +of also four hundred and sixty-three; Miss Jane Hope, adopted daughter of +said Peter Hope (her real name nobody, herself included, ever having +known), and generally called Tommy, of three, paid for by herself after a +battle royal with William Clodd; Mrs. Postwhistle, of Rolls Court, of +ten, presented by the promoter; Mr. Pincer, of the House of Commons, also +of ten (still owing for); Dr. Smith (ne Schmidt) of fifty; James Douglas +Alexander Calder McTear (otherwise the "Wee Laddie"), residing then in +Mrs. Postwhistle's first floor front, of one, paid for by poem published +in the first number: "The Song of the Pen." + +Choosing a title for the paper cost much thought. Driven to despair, +they called it _Good Humour_. + + + + +STORY THE THIRD--Grindley Junior drops into the Position of Publisher + + +Few are the ways of the West Central district that have changed less +within the last half-century than Nevill's Court, leading from Great New +Street into Fetter Lane. Its north side still consists of the same +quaint row of small low shops that stood there--doing perhaps a little +brisker business--when George the Fourth was King; its southern side of +the same three substantial houses each behind a strip of garden, pleasant +by contrast with surrounding grimness, built long ago--some say before +Queen Anne was dead. + +Out of the largest of these, passing through the garden, then well cared +for, came one sunny Sunday morning, some fifteen years before the +commencement proper of this story, one Solomon Appleyard, pushing in +front of him a perambulator. At the brick wall surmounted by wooden +railings that divides the garden from the court, Solomon paused, hearing +behind him the voice of Mrs. Appleyard speaking from the doorstep. + +"If I don't see you again until dinner-time, I'll try and get on without +you, understand. Don't think of nothing but your pipe and forget the +child. And be careful of the crossings." + +Mrs. Appleyard retired into the darkness. Solomon, steering the +perambulator carefully, emerged from Nevill's Court without accident. The +quiet streets drew Solomon westward. A vacant seat beneath the shade +overlooking the Long Water in Kensington Gardens invited to rest. + +"Piper?" suggested a small boy to Solomon. "_Sunday Times_, _'Server_?" + +"My boy," said Mr. Appleyard, speaking slowly, "when you've been mewed up +with newspapers eighteen hours a day for six days a week, you can do +without 'em for a morning. Take 'em away. I want to forget the smell of +'em." + +Solomon, having assured himself that the party in the perambulator was +still breathing, crossed his legs and lit his pipe. + +"Hezekiah!" + +The exclamation had been wrung from Solomon Appleyard by the approach of +a stout, short man clad in a remarkably ill-fitting broad-cloth suit. + +"What, Sol, my boy?" + +"It looked like you," said Solomon. "And then I said to myself: 'No; +surely it can't be Hezekiah; he'll be at chapel.'" + +"You run about," said Hezekiah, addressing a youth of some four summers +he had been leading by the hand. "Don't you go out of my sight; and +whatever you do, don't you do injury to those new clothes of yours, or +you'll wish you'd never been put into them. The truth is," continued +Hezekiah to his friend, his sole surviving son and heir being out of +earshot, "the morning tempted me. 'Tain't often I get a bit of fresh +air." + +"Doing well?" + +"The business," replied Hezekiah, "is going up by leaps and bounds--leaps +and bounds. But, of course, all that means harder work for me. It's +from six in the morning till twelve o'clock at night." + +"There's nothing I know of," returned Solomon, who was something of a +pessimist, "that's given away free gratis for nothing except misfortune." + +"Keeping yourself up to the mark ain't too easy," continued Hezekiah; +"and when it comes to other folks! play's all they think of. Talk +religion to them--why, they laugh at you! What the world's coming to, I +don't know. How's the printing business doing?" + +"The printing business," responded the other, removing his pipe and +speaking somewhat sadly, "the printing business looks like being a big +thing. Capital, of course, is what hampers me--or, rather, the want of +it. But Janet, she's careful; she don't waste much, Janet don't." + +"Now, with Anne," replied Hezekiah, "it's all the other way--pleasure, +gaiety, a day at Rosherville or the Crystal Palace--anything to waste +money." + +"Ah! she was always fond of her bit of fun," remembered Solomon. + +"Fun!" retorted Hezekiah. "I like a bit of fun myself. But not if +you've got to pay for it. Where's the fun in that?" + +"What I ask myself sometimes," said Solomon, looking straight in front of +him, "is what do we do it for?" + +"What do we do what for?" + +"Work like blessed slaves, depriving ourselves of all enjoyments. What's +the sense of it? What--" + +A voice from the perambulator beside him broke the thread of Solomon +Appleyard's discourse. The sole surviving son of Hezekiah Grindley, +seeking distraction and finding none, had crept back unperceived. A +perambulator! A thing his experience told him out of which excitement in +some form or another could generally be obtained. You worried it and +took your chance. Either it howled, in which case you had to run for +your life, followed--and, unfortunately, overtaken nine times out of +ten--by a whirlwind of vengeance; or it gurgled: in which case the +heavens smiled and halos descended on your head. In either event you +escaped the deadly ennui that is the result of continuous virtue. Master +Grindley, his star having pointed out to him a peacock's feather lying on +the ground, had, with one eye upon his unobservant parent, removed the +complicated coverings sheltering Miss Helvetia Appleyard from the world, +and anticipating by a quarter of a century the prime enjoyment of British +youth, had set to work to tickle that lady on the nose. Miss Helvetia +Appleyard awakened, did precisely what the tickled British maiden of to- +day may be relied upon to do under corresponding circumstances: she first +of all took swift and comprehensive survey of the male thing behind the +feather. Had he been displeasing in her eyes, she would, one may rely +upon it, have anteceded the behaviour in similar case of her descendant +of to-day--that is to say, have expressed resentment in no uncertain +terms. Master Nathaniel Grindley proving, however, to her taste, that +which might have been considered impertinence became accepted as a fit +and proper form of introduction. Miss Appleyard smiled graciously--nay, +further, intimated desire for more. + +"That your only one?" asked the paternal Grindley. + +"She's the only one," replied Solomon, speaking in tones less +pessimistic. + +Miss Appleyard had with the help of Grindley junior wriggled herself into +a sitting posture. Grindley junior continued his attentions, the lady +indicating by signs the various points at which she was most susceptible. + +"Pretty picture they make together, eh?" suggested Hezekiah in a whisper +to his friend. + +"Never saw her take to anyone like that before," returned Solomon, +likewise in a whisper. + +A neighbouring church clock chimed twelve. Solomon Appleyard, knocking +the ashes from his pipe, arose. + +"Don't know any reason myself why we shouldn't see a little more of one +another than we do," suggested Grindley senior, shaking hands. + +"Give us a look-up one Sunday afternoon," suggested Solomon. "Bring the +youngster with you." + +Solomon Appleyard and Hezekiah Grindley had started life within a few +months of one another some five-and-thirty years before. Likewise within +a few hundred yards of one another, Solomon at his father's bookselling +and printing establishment on the east side of the High Street of a small +Yorkshire town; Hezekiah at his father's grocery shop upon the west side, +opposite. Both had married farmers' daughters. Solomon's natural bent +towards gaiety Fate had corrected by directing his affections to a +partner instinct with Yorkshire shrewdness; and with shrewdness go other +qualities that make for success rather than for happiness. Hezekiah, had +circumstances been equal, might have been his friend's rival for Janet's +capable and saving hand, had not sweet-tempered, laughing Annie +Glossop--directed by Providence to her moral welfare, one must +presume--fallen in love with him. Between Jane's virtues and Annie's +three hundred golden sovereigns Hezekiah had not hesitated a moment. +Golden sovereigns were solid facts; wifely virtues, by a serious-minded +and strong-willed husband, could be instilled--at all events, +light-heartedness suppressed. The two men, Hezekiah urged by his own +ambition, Solomon by his wife's, had arrived in London within a year of +one another: Hezekiah to open a grocer's shop in Kensington, which those +who should have known assured him was a hopeless neighbourhood. But +Hezekiah had the instinct of the money-maker. Solomon, after looking +about him, had fixed upon the roomy, substantial house in Nevill's Court +as a promising foundation for a printer's business. + +That was ten years ago. The two friends, scorning delights, living +laborious days, had seen but little of one another. Light-hearted Annie +had borne to her dour partner two children who had died. Nathaniel +George, with the luck supposed to wait on number three, had lived on, +and, inheriting fortunately the temperament of his mother, had brought +sunshine into the gloomy rooms above the shop in High Street, Kensington. +Mrs. Grindley, grown weak and fretful, had rested from her labours. + +Mrs. Appleyard's guardian angel, prudent like his protege, had waited +till Solomon's business was well established before despatching the stork +to Nevill's Court, with a little girl. Later had sent a boy, who, not +finding the close air of St. Dunstan to his liking, had found his way +back again; thus passing out of this story and all others. And there +remained to carry on the legend of the Grindleys and the Appleyards only +Nathaniel George, now aged five, and Janet Helvetia, quite a beginner, +who took lift seriously. + +There are no such things as facts. Narrow-minded folk--surveyors, +auctioneers, and such like--would have insisted that the garden between +the old Georgian house and Nevill's Court was a strip of land one hundred +and eighteen feet by ninety-two, containing a laburnum tree, six laurel +bushes, and a dwarf deodora. To Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia it +was the land of Thule, "the furthest boundaries of which no man has +reached." On rainy Sunday afternoons they played in the great, gloomy +pressroom, where silent ogres, standing motionless, stretched out iron +arms to seize them as they ran. Then just when Nathaniel George was +eight, and Janet Helvetia four and a half, Hezekiah launched the +celebrated "Grindley's Sauce." It added a relish to chops and steaks, +transformed cold mutton into a luxury, and swelled the head of Hezekiah +Grindley--which was big enough in all conscience as it was--and +shrivelled up his little hard heart. The Grindleys and the Appleyards +visited no more. As a sensible fellow ought to have seen for himself, so +thought Hezekiah, the Sauce had altered all things. The possibility of a +marriage between their children, things having remained equal, might have +been a pretty fancy; but the son of the great Grindley, whose name in +three-foot letters faced the world from every hoarding, would have to +look higher than a printer's daughter. Solomon, a sudden and vehement +convert to the principles of mediaeval feudalism, would rather see his +only child, granddaughter of the author of _The History of Kettlewell_ +and other works, dead and buried than married to a grocer's son, even +though he might inherit a fortune made out of poisoning the public with a +mixture of mustard and sour beer. It was many years before Nathaniel +George and Janet Helvetia met one another again, and when they did they +had forgotten one another. + +* * * * * + +Hezekiah S. Grindley, a short, stout, and pompous gentleman, sat under a +palm in the gorgeously furnished drawing-room of his big house at Notting +Hill. Mrs. Grindley, a thin, faded woman, the despair of her dressmaker, +sat as near to the fire as its massive and imposing copper outworks would +permit, and shivered. Grindley junior, a fair-haired, well-shaped youth, +with eyes that the other sex found attractive, leant with his hands in +his pockets against a scrupulously robed statue of Diana, and appeared +uncomfortable. + +"I'm making the money--making it hand over fist. All you'll have to do +will be to spend it," Grindley senior was explaining to his son and heir. + +"I'll do that all right, dad." + +"I'm not so sure of it," was his father's opinion. "You've got to prove +yourself worthy to spend it. Don't you think I shall be content to have +slaved all these years merely to provide a brainless young idiot with the +means of self-indulgence. I leave my money to somebody worthy of me. +Understand, sir?--somebody worthy of me." + +Mrs. Grindley commenced a sentence; Mr. Grindley turned his small eyes +upon her. The sentence remained unfinished. + +"You were about to say something," her husband reminded her. + +Mrs. Grindley said it was nothing. + +"If it is anything worth hearing--if it is anything that will assist the +discussion, let's have it." Mr. Grindley waited. "If not, if you +yourself do not consider it worth finishing, why have begun it?" + +Mr. Grindley returned to his son and heir. "You haven't done too well at +school--in fact, your school career has disappointed me." + +"I know I'm not clever," Grindley junior offered as an excuse. + +"Why not? Why aren't you clever?" + +His son and heir was unable to explain. + +"You are my son--why aren't you clever? It's laziness, sir; sheer +laziness!" + +"I'll try and do better at Oxford, sir--honour bright I will!" + +"You had better," advised him his father; "because I warn you, your whole +future depends upon it. You know me. You've got to be a credit to me, +to be worthy of the name of Grindley--or the name, my boy, is all you'll +have." + +Old Grindley meant it, and his son knew that he meant it. The old +Puritan principles and instincts were strong in the old gentleman--formed, +perhaps, the better part of him. Idleness was an abomination to him; +devotion to pleasure, other than the pleasure of money-making, a grievous +sin in his eyes. Grindley junior fully intended to do well at Oxford, +and might have succeeded. In accusing himself of lack of cleverness, he +did himself an injustice. He had brains, he had energy, he had +character. Our virtues can be our stumbling-blocks as well as our vices. +Young Grindley had one admirable virtue that needs, above all others, +careful controlling: he was amiability itself. Before the charm and +sweetness of it, Oxford snobbishness went down. The Sauce, against the +earnest counsel of its own advertisement, was forgotten; the pickles +passed by. To escape the natural result of his popularity would have +needed a stronger will than young Grindley possessed. For a time the +true state of affairs was hidden from the eye of Grindley senior. To +"slack" it this term, with the full determination of "swotting" it the +next, is always easy; the difficulty beginning only with the new term. +Possibly with luck young Grindley might have retrieved his position and +covered up the traces of his folly, but for an unfortunate accident. +Returning to college with some other choice spirits at two o'clock in the +morning, it occurred to young Grindley that trouble might be saved all +round by cutting out a pane of glass with a diamond ring and entering his +rooms, which were on the ground-floor, by the window. That, in mistake +for his own, he should have selected the bedroom of the College Rector +was a misfortune that might have occurred to anyone who had commenced the +evening on champagne and finished it on whisky. Young Grindley, having +been warned already twice before, was "sent down." And then, of course, +the whole history of the three wasted years came out. Old Grindley in +his study chair having talked for half an hour at the top of his voice, +chose, partly by reason of physical necessity, partly by reason of +dormant dramatic instinct, to speak quietly and slowly. + +"I'll give you one chance more, my boy, and one only. I've tried you as +a gentleman--perhaps that was my mistake. Now I'll try you as a grocer." + +"As a what?" + +"As a grocer, sir--g-r-o-c-e-r--grocer, a man who stands behind a counter +in a white apron and his shirt-sleeves; who sells tea and sugar and +candied peel and such-like things to customers--old ladies, little girls; +who rises at six in the morning, takes down the shutters, sweeps out the +shop, cleans the windows; who has half an hour for his dinner of corned +beef and bread; who puts up the shutters at ten o'clock at night, tidies +up the shop, has his supper, and goes to bed, feeling his day has not +been wasted. I meant to spare you. I was wrong. You shall go through +the mill as I went through it. If at the end of two years you've done +well with your time, learned something--learned to be a man, at all +events--you can come to me and thank me." + +"I'm afraid, sir," suggested Grindley junior, whose handsome face during +the last few minutes had grown very white, "I might not make a very +satisfactory grocer. You see, sir, I've had no experience." + +"I am glad you have some sense," returned his father drily. "You are +quite right. Even a grocer's business requires learning. It will cost +me a little money; but it will be the last I shall ever spend upon you. +For the first year you will have to be apprenticed, and I shall allow you +something to live on. It shall be more than I had at your age--we'll say +a pound a week. After that I shall expect you to keep yourself." + +Grindley senior rose. "You need not give me your answer till the +evening. You are of age. I have no control over you unless you are +willing to agree. You can go my way, or you can go your own." + +Young Grindley, who had inherited a good deal of his father's grit, felt +very much inclined to go his own; but, hampered on the other hand by the +sweetness of disposition he had inherited from his mother, was unable to +withstand the argument of that lady's tears, so that evening accepted old +Grindley's terms, asking only as a favour that the scene of his probation +might be in some out-of-the-way neighbourhood where there would be little +chance of his being met by old friends. + +"I have thought of all that," answered his father. "My object isn't to +humiliate you more than is necessary for your good. The shop I have +already selected, on the assumption that you would submit, is as quiet +and out-of-the-way as you could wish. It is in a turning off Fetter +Lane, where you'll see few other people than printers and caretakers. +You'll lodge with a woman, a Mrs. Postwhistle, who seems a very sensible +person. She'll board you and lodge you, and every Saturday you'll +receive a post-office order for six shillings, out of which you'll find +yourself in clothes. You can take with you sufficient to last you for +the first six months, but no more. At the end of the year you can change +if you like and go to another shop, or make your own arrangements with +Mrs. Postwhistle. If all is settled, you go there to-morrow. You go out +of this house to-morrow in any event." + +Mrs. Postwhistle was a large, placid lady of philosophic temperament. +Hitherto the little grocer's shop in Rolls Court, Fetter Lane, had been +easy of management by her own unaided efforts; but the neighbourhood was +rapidly changing. Other grocers' shops were disappearing one by one, +making way for huge blocks of buildings, where hundreds of iron presses, +singing day and night, spread to the earth the song of the Mighty Pen. +There were hours when the little shop could hardly accommodate its crowd +of customers. Mrs. Postwhistle, of a bulk not to be moved quickly, had, +after mature consideration, conquering a natural disinclination to +change, decided to seek assistance. + +Young Grindley, alighting from a four-wheeled cab in Fetter Lane, marched +up the court, followed by a weak-kneed wastrel staggering under the +weight of a small box. In the doorway of the little shop, young Grindley +paused and raised his hat. + +"Mrs. Postwhistle?" + +The lady, from her chair behind the counter, rose slowly. + +"I am Mr. Nathaniel Grindley, the new assistant." + +The weak-kneed wastrel let fall the box with a thud upon the floor. Mrs. +Postwhistle looked her new assistant up and down. + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Postwhistle. "Well, I shouldn't 'ave felt instinctively +it must be you, not if I'd 'ad to pick you out of a crowd. But if you +tell me so, why, I suppose you are. Come in." + +The weak-kneed wastrel, receiving to his astonishment a shilling, +departed. + +Grindley senior had selected wisely. Mrs. Postwhistle's theory was that +although very few people in this world understood their own business, +they understood it better than anyone else could understand it for them. +If handsome, well-educated young gentlemen, who gave shillings to +wastrels, felt they wanted to become smart and capable grocers' +assistants, that was their affair. Her business was to teach them their +work, and, for her own sake, to see that they did it. A month went by. +Mrs. Postwhistle found her new assistant hard-working, willing, somewhat +clumsy, but with a smile and a laugh that transformed mistakes, for which +another would have been soundly rated, into welcome variations of the +day's monotony. + +"If you were the sort of woman that cared to make your fortune," said one +William Clodd, an old friend of Mrs. Postwhistle's, young Grindley having +descended into the cellar to grind coffee, "I'd tell you what to do. Take +a bun-shop somewhere in the neighbourhood of a girls' school, and put +that assistant of yours in the window. You'd do a roaring business." + +"There's a mystery about 'im," said Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"Know what it is?" + +"If I knew what it was, I shouldn't be calling it a mystery," replied +Mrs. Postwhistle, who was a stylist in her way. + +"How did you get him? Win him in a raffle?" + +"Jones, the agent, sent 'im to me all in a 'urry. An assistant is what I +really wanted, not an apprentice; but the premium was good, and the +references everything one could desire." + +"Grindley, Grindley," murmured Clodd. "Any relation to the Sauce, I +wonder?" + +"A bit more wholesome, I should say, from the look of him," thought Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +The question of a post office to meet its growing need had long been +under discussion by the neighbourhood. Mrs. Postwhistle was approached +upon the subject. Grindley junior, eager for anything that might bring +variety into his new, cramped existence, undertook to qualify himself. + +Within two months the arrangements were complete. Grindley junior +divided his time between dispensing groceries and despatching telegrams +and letters, and was grateful for the change. + +Grindley junior's mind was fixed upon the fashioning of a cornucopia to +receive a quarter of a pound of moist. The customer, an extremely young +lady, was seeking to hasten his operations by tapping incessantly with a +penny on the counter. It did not hurry him; it only worried him. +Grindley junior had not acquired facility in the fashioning of +cornucopias--the vertex would invariably become unrolled at the last +moment, allowing the contents to dribble out on to the floor or counter. +Grindley junior was sweet-tempered as a rule, but when engaged upon the +fashioning of a cornucopia, was irritable. + +"Hurry up, old man!" urged the extremely young lady. "I've got another +appointment in less than half an hour." + +"Oh, damn the thing!" said Grindley junior, as the paper for the fourth +time reverted to its original shape. + +An older lady, standing behind the extremely young lady and holding a +telegram-form in her hand, looked indignant. + +"Temper, temper," remarked the extremely young lady in reproving tone. + +The fifth time was more successful. The extremely young lady went out, +commenting upon the waste of time always resulting when boys were +employed to do the work of men. The older lady, a haughty person, handed +across her telegram with the request that it should be sent off at once. + +Grindley junior took his pencil from his pocket and commenced to count. + +"_Digniori_, not _digniorus_," commented Grindley junior, correcting the +word, "_datur digniori_, dative singular." Grindley junior, still +irritable from the struggle with the cornucopia, spoke sharply. + +The haughty lady withdrew her eyes from a spot some ten miles beyond the +back of the shop, where hitherto they had been resting, and fixed them +for the first time upon Grindley junior. + +"Thank you," said the haughty lady. + +Grindley junior looked up and immediately, to his annoyance, felt that he +was blushing. Grindley junior blushed easily--it annoyed him very much. + +The haughty young lady also blushed. She did not often blush; when she +did, she felt angry with herself. + +"A shilling and a penny," demanded Grindley junior. + +The haughty young lady counted out the money and departed. Grindley +junior, peeping from behind a tin of Abernethy biscuits, noticed that as +she passed the window she turned and looked back. She was a very pretty, +haughty lady. Grindley junior rather admired dark, level brows and +finely cut, tremulous lips, especially when combined with a mass of soft, +brown hair, and a rich olive complexion that flushed and paled as one +looked at it. + +"Might send that telegram off if you've nothing else to do, and there's +no particular reason for keeping it back," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"It's only just been handed in," explained Grindley junior, somewhat +hurt. + +"You've been looking at it for the last five minutes by the clock," said +Mrs. Postwhistle. + +Grindley junior sat down to the machine. The name and address of the +sender was Helvetia Appleyard, Nevill's Court. + +Three days passed--singularly empty days they appeared to Grindley +junior. On the fourth, Helvetia Appleyard had occasion to despatch +another telegram--this time entirely in English. + +"One-and-fourpence," sighed Grindley junior. + +Miss Appleyard drew forth her purse. The shop was empty. + +"How did you come to know Latin?" inquired Miss Appleyard in quite a +casual tone. + +"I picked up a little at school. It was a phrase I happened to +remember," confessed Grindley junior, wondering why he should be feeling +ashamed of himself. + +"I am always sorry," said Miss Appleyard, "when I see anyone content with +the lower life whose talents might, perhaps, fit him for the higher." +Something about the tone and manner of Miss Appleyard reminded Grindley +junior of his former Rector. Each seemed to have arrived by different +roads at the same philosophical aloofness from the world, tempered by +chastened interest in human phenomena. "Would you like to try to raise +yourself--to improve yourself--to educate yourself?" + +An unseen little rogue, who was enjoying himself immensely, whispered to +Grindley junior to say nothing but "Yes," he should. + +"Will you let me help you?" asked Miss Appleyard. And the simple and +heartfelt gratitude with which Grindley junior closed upon the offer +proved to Miss Appleyard how true it is that to do good to others is the +highest joy. + +Miss Appleyard had come prepared for possible acceptance. "You had +better begin with this," thought Miss Appleyard. "I have marked the +passages that you should learn by heart. Make a note of anything you do +not understand, and I will explain it to you when--when next I happen to +be passing." + +Grindley junior took the book--_Bell's Introduction to the Study of the +Classics_, _for Use of Beginners_--and held it between both hands. Its +price was ninepence, but Grindley junior appeared to regard it as a +volume of great value. + +"It will be hard work at first," Miss Appleyard warned him; "but you must +persevere. I have taken an interest in you; you must try not to +disappoint me." + +And Miss Appleyard, feeling all the sensations of a Hypatia, departed, +taking light with her and forgetting to pay for the telegram. Miss +Appleyard belonged to the class that young ladies who pride themselves on +being tiresomely ignorant and foolish sneer at as "blue-stockings"; that +is to say, possessing brains, she had felt the necessity of using them. +Solomon Appleyard, widower, a sensible old gentleman, prospering in the +printing business, and seeing no necessity for a woman regarding herself +as nothing but a doll, a somewhat uninteresting plaything the newness +once worn off, thankfully encouraged her. Miss Appleyard had returned +from Girton wise in many things, but not in knowledge of the world, which +knowledge, too early acquired, does not always make for good in young man +or woman. A serious little virgin, Miss Appleyard's ambition was to help +the human race. What more useful work could have come to her hand than +the raising of this poor but intelligent young grocer's assistant unto +the knowledge and the love of higher things. That Grindley junior +happened to be an exceedingly good-looking and charming young grocer's +assistant had nothing to do with the matter, so Miss Appleyard would have +informed you. In her own reasoning she was convinced that her interest +in him would have been the same had he been the least attractive of his +sex. That there could be danger in such relationship never occurred to +her. + +Miss Appleyard, a convinced Radical, could not conceive the possibility +of a grocer's assistant regarding the daughter of a well-to-do printer in +any other light than that of a graciously condescending patron. That +there could be danger to herself! you would have been sorry you had +suggested the idea. The expression of lofty scorn would have made you +feel yourself contemptible. + +Miss Appleyard's judgment of mankind was justified; no more promising +pupil could have been selected. It was really marvellous the progress +made by Grindley junior, under the tutelage of Helvetia Appleyard. His +earnestness, his enthusiasm, it quite touched the heart of Helvetia +Appleyard. There were many points, it is true, that puzzled Grindley +junior. Each time the list of them grew longer. But when Helvetia +Appleyard explained them, all became clear. She marvelled herself at her +own wisdom, that in a moment made darkness luminous to this young man; +his rapt attention while she talked, it was most encouraging. The boy +must surely be a genius. To think that but for her intuition he might +have remained wasted in a grocer's shop! To rescue such a gem from +oblivion, to polish it, was surely the duty of a conscientious Hypatia. +Two visits--three visits a week to the little shop in Rolls Court were +quite inadequate, so many passages there were requiring elucidation. +London in early morning became their classroom: the great, wide, empty, +silent streets; the mist-curtained parks, the silence broken only by the +blackbirds' amorous whistle, the thrushes' invitation to delight; the old +gardens, hidden behind narrow ways. Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia +would rest upon a seat, no living creature within sight, save perhaps a +passing policeman or some dissipated cat. Janet Helvetia would expound. +Nathaniel George, his fine eyes fixed on hers, seemed never to tire of +drinking in her wisdom. + +There were times when Janet Helvetia, to reassure herself as to the +maidenly correctness of her behaviour, had to recall quite forcibly the +fact that she was the daughter of Solomon Appleyard, owner of the big +printing establishment; and he a simple grocer. One day, raised a little +in the social scale, thanks to her, Nathaniel George would marry someone +in his own rank of life. Reflecting upon the future of Nathaniel George, +Janet Helvetia could not escape a shade of sadness. It was difficult to +imagine precisely the wife she would have chosen for Nathaniel George. +She hoped he would do nothing foolish. Rising young men so often marry +wives that hamper rather than help them. + +One Sunday morning in late autumn, they walked and talked in the shady +garden of Lincoln's Inn. Greek they thought it was they had been +talking; as a matter of fact, a much older language. A young gardener +was watering flowers, and as they passed him he grinned. It was not an +offensive grin, rather a sympathetic grin; but Miss Appleyard didn't like +being grinned at. What was there to grin at? Her personal appearance? +some _gaucherie_ in her dress? Impossible. No lady in all St. Dunstan +was ever more precise. She glanced at her companion: a clean-looking, +well-groomed, well-dressed youth. Suddenly it occurred to Miss Appleyard +that she and Grindley junior were holding each other's hand. Miss +Appleyard was justly indignant. + +"How dare you!" said Miss Appleyard. "I am exceedingly angry with you. +How dare you!" + +The olive skin was scarlet. There were tears in the hazel eyes. + +"Leave me this minute!" commanded Miss Appleyard. + +Instead of which, Grindley junior seized both her hands. + +"I love you! I adore you! I worship you!" poured forth young Grindley, +forgetful of all Miss Appleyard had ever told him concerning the folly of +tautology. + +"You had no right," said Miss Appleyard. + +"I couldn't help it," pleaded young Grindley. "And that isn't the +worst." + +Miss Appleyard paled visibly. For a grocer's assistant to dare to fall +in love with her, especially after all the trouble she had taken with +him! What could be worse? + +"I'm not a grocer," continued young Grindley, deeply conscious of crime. +"I mean, not a real grocer." + +And Grindley junior then and there made a clean breast of the whole sad, +terrible tale of shameless deceit, practised by the greatest villain the +world had ever produced, upon the noblest and most beautiful maiden that +ever turned grim London town into a fairy city of enchanted ways. + +Not at first could Miss Appleyard entirely grasp it; not till hours +later, when she sat alone in her own room, where, fortunately for +himself, Grindley junior was not, did the whole force and meaning of the +thing come home to her. It was a large room, taking up half of the top +story of the big Georgian house in Nevill's Court; but even as it was, +Miss Appleyard felt cramped. + +"For a year--for nearly a whole year," said Miss Appleyard, addressing +the bust of William Shakespeare, "have I been slaving my life out, +teaching him elementary Latin and the first five books of Euclid!" + +As it has been remarked, it was fortunate for Grindley junior he was out +of reach. The bust of William Shakespeare maintained its irritating +aspect of benign philosophy. + +"I suppose I should," mused Miss Appleyard, "if he had told me at +first--as he ought to have told me--of course I should naturally have had +nothing more to do with him. I suppose," mused Miss Appleyard, "a man in +love, if he is really in love, doesn't quite know what he's doing. I +suppose one ought to make allowances. But, oh! when I think of it--" + +And then Grindley junior's guardian angel must surely have slipped into +the room, for Miss Appleyard, irritated beyond endurance at the +philosophical indifference of the bust of William Shakespeare, turned +away from it, and as she did so, caught sight of herself in the looking- +glass. Miss Appleyard approached the glass a little nearer. A woman's +hair is never quite as it should be. Miss Appleyard, standing before the +glass, began, she knew not why, to find reasons excusing Grindley junior. +After all, was not forgiveness an excellent thing in woman? None of us +are quite perfect. The guardian angel of Grindley junior seized the +opportunity. + +That evening Solomon Appleyard sat upright in his chair, feeling +confused. So far as he could understand it, a certain young man, a +grocer's assistant, but not a grocer's assistant--but that, of course, +was not his fault, his father being an old brute--had behaved most +abominably; but not, on reflection, as badly as he might have done, and +had acted on the whole very honourably, taking into consideration the +fact that one supposed he could hardly help it. Helvetia was, of course, +very indignant with him, but on the other hand, did not quite see what +else she could have done, she being not at all sure whether she really +cared for him or whether she didn't; that everything had been quite +proper and would not have happened if she had known it; that everything +was her fault, except most things, which weren't; but that of the two she +blamed herself entirely, seeing that she could not have guessed anything +of the kind. And did he, Solomon Appleyard, think that she ought to be +very angry and never marry anybody else, or was she justified in +overlooking it and engaging herself to the only man she felt she could +ever love? + +"You mustn't think, Dad, that I meant to deceive you. I should have told +you at the beginning--you know I would--if it hadn't all happened so +suddenly." + +"Let me see," said Solomon Appleyard, "did you tell me his name, or +didn't you?" + +"Nathaniel," said Miss Appleyard. "Didn't I mention it?" + +"Don't happen to know his surname, do you," inquired her father. + +"Grindley," explained Miss Appleyard--"the son of Grindley, the Sauce +man." + +Miss Appleyard experienced one of the surprises of her life. Never +before to her recollection had her father thwarted a single wish of her +life. A widower for the last twelve years, his chief delight had been to +humour her. His voice, as he passionately swore that never with his +consent should his daughter marry the son of Hezekiah Grindley, sounded +strange to her. Pleadings, even tears, for the first time in her life +proved fruitless. + +Here was a pretty kettle of fish! That Grindley junior should defy his +own parent, risk possibly the loss of his inheritance, had seemed to both +a not improper proceeding. When Nathaniel George had said with fine +enthusiasm: "Let him keep his money if he will; I'll make my own way; +there isn't enough money in the world to pay for losing you!" Janet +Helvetia, though she had expressed disapproval of such unfilial attitude, +had in secret sympathised. But for her to disregard the wishes of her +own doting father was not to be thought of. What was to be done? + +Perhaps one Peter Hope, residing in Gough Square hard by, might help +young folks in sore dilemma with wise counsel. Peter Hope, editor and +part proprietor of _Good Humour_, one penny weekly, was much esteemed by +Solomon Appleyard, printer and publisher of aforesaid paper. + +"A good fellow, old Hope," Solomon would often impress upon his managing +clerk. "Don't worry him more than you can help; things will improve. We +can trust him." + +Peter Hope sat at his desk, facing Miss Appleyard. Grindley junior sat +on the cushioned seat beneath the middle window. _Good Humour's_ sub- +editor stood before the fire, her hands behind her back. + +The case appeared to Peter Hope to be one of exceeding difficulty. + +"Of course," explained Miss Appleyard, "I shall never marry without my +father's consent." + +Peter Hope thought the resolution most proper. + +"On the other hand," continued Miss Appleyard, "nothing shall induce me +to marry a man I do not love." Miss Appleyard thought the probabilities +were that she would end by becoming a female missionary. + +Peter Hope's experience had led him to the conclusion that young people +sometimes changed their mind. + +The opinion of the House, clearly though silently expressed, was that +Peter Hope's experience, as regarded this particular case, counted for +nothing. + +"I shall go straight to the Governor," explained Grindley junior, "and +tell him that I consider myself engaged for life to Miss Appleyard. I +know what will happen--I know the sort of idea he has got into his head. +He will disown me, and I shall go off to Africa." + +Peter Hope was unable to see how Grindley junior's disappearance into the +wilds of Africa was going to assist the matter under discussion. + +Grindley junior's view was that the wilds of Africa would afford a +fitting background to the passing away of a blighted existence. + +Peter Hope had a suspicion that Grindley junior had for the moment parted +company with that sweet reasonableness that otherwise, so Peter Hope felt +sure, was Grindley junior's guiding star. + +"I mean it, sir," reasserted Grindley junior. "I am--" Grindley junior +was about to add "well educated"; but divining that education was a topic +not pleasing at the moment to the ears of Helvetia Appleyard, had tact +enough to substitute "not a fool. I can earn my own living; and I should +like to get away." + +"It seems to me--" said the sub-editor. + +"Now, Tommy--I mean Jane," warned her Peter Hope. He always called her +Jane in company, unless he was excited. "I know what you are going to +say. I won't have it." + +"I was only going to say--" urged the sub-editor in tone of one suffering +injustice. + +"I quite know what you were going to say," retorted Peter hotly. "I can +see it by your chin. You are going to take their part--and suggest their +acting undutifully towards their parents." + +"I wasn't," returned the sub-editor. "I was only--" + +"You were," persisted Peter. "I ought not to have allowed you to be +present. I might have known you would interfere." + +"--going to say we are in want of some help in the office. You know we +are. And that if Mr. Grindley would be content with a small salary--" + +"Small salary be hanged!" snarled Peter. + +"--there would be no need for his going to Africa." + +"And how would that help us?" demanded Peter. "Even if the boy were +so--so headstrong, so unfilial as to defy his father, who has worked for +him all these years, how would that remove the obstacle of Mr. +Appleyard's refusal?" + +"Why, don't you see--" explained the sub-editor. + +"No, I don't," snapped Peter. + +"If, on his declaring to his father that nothing will ever induce him to +marry any other woman but Miss Appleyard, his father disowns him, as he +thinks it likely--" + +"A dead cert!" was Grindley junior's conviction. + +"Very well; he is no longer old Grindley's son, and what possible +objection can Mr. Appleyard have to him then?" + +Peter Hope arose and expounded at length and in suitable language the +folly and uselessness of the scheme. + +But what chance had ever the wisdom of Age against the enthusiasm of +Youth, reaching for its object. Poor Peter, expostulating, was swept +into the conspiracy. Grindley junior the next morning stood before his +father in the private office in High Holborn. + +"I am sorry, sir," said Grindley junior, "if I have proved a +disappointment to you." + +"Damn your sympathy!" said Grindley senior. "Keep it till you are asked +for it." + +"I hope we part friends, sir," said Grindley junior, holding out his +hand. + +"Why do you irate me?" asked Grindley senior. "I have thought of nothing +but you these five-and-twenty years." + +"I don't, sir," answered Grindley junior. "I can't say I love you. It +did not seem to me you--you wanted it. But I like you, sir, and I +respect you. And--and I'm sorry to have to hurt you, sir." + +"And you are determined to give up all your prospects, all the money, for +the sake of this--this girl?" + +"It doesn't seem like giving up anything, sir," replied Grindley junior, +simply. + +"It isn't so much as I thought it was going to be," said the old man, +after a pause. "Perhaps it is for the best. I might have been more +obstinate if things had been going all right. The Lord has chastened +me." + +"Isn't the business doing well, Dad?" asked the young man, with sorrow in +his voice. + +"What's it got to do with you?" snapped his father. "You've cut yourself +adrift from it. You leave me now I am going down." + +Grindley junior, not knowing what to say, put his arms round the little +old man. + +And in this way Tommy's brilliant scheme fell through and came to naught. +Instead, old Grindley visited once again the big house in Nevill's Court, +and remained long closeted with old Solomon in the office on the second +floor. It was late in the evening when Solomon opened the door and +called upstairs to Janet Helvetia to come down. + +"I used to know you long ago," said Hezekiah Grindley, rising. "You were +quite a little girl then." + +Later, the troublesome Sauce disappeared entirely, cut out by newer +flavours. Grindley junior studied the printing business. It almost +seemed as if old Appleyard had been waiting but for this. Some six +months later they found him dead in his counting-house. Grindley junior +became the printer and publisher of _Good Humour_. + + + + +STORY THE FOURTH--Miss Ramsbotham gives her Services + + +To regard Miss Ramsbotham as a marriageable quantity would have occurred +to few men. Endowed by Nature with every feminine quality calculated to +inspire liking, she had, on the other hand, been disinherited of every +attribute calculated to excite passion. An ugly woman has for some men +an attraction; the proof is ever present to our eyes. Miss Ramsbotham +was plain but pleasant looking. Large, healthy in mind and body, +capable, self-reliant, and cheerful, blessed with a happy disposition +together with a keen sense of humour, there was about her absolutely +nothing for tenderness to lay hold of. An ideal wife, she was an +impossible sweetheart. Every man was her friend. The suggestion that +any man could be her lover she herself would have greeted with a clear, +ringing laugh. + +Not that she held love in despite; for such folly she was possessed of +far too much sound sense. "To have somebody in love with you--somebody +strong and good," so she would confess to her few close intimates, a +dreamy expression clouding for an instant her broad, sunny face, "why, it +must be just lovely!" For Miss Ramsbotham was prone to American +phraseology, and had even been at some pains, during a six months' +journey through the States (whither she had been commissioned by a +conscientious trade journal seeking reliable information concerning the +condition of female textile workers) to acquire a slight but decided +American accent. It was her one affectation, but assumed, as one might +feel certain, for a practical and legitimate object. + +"You can have no conception," she would explain, laughing, "what a help I +find it. 'I'm 'Muriken' is the 'Civis Romanus sum' of the modern woman's +world. It opens every door to us. If I ring the bell and say, 'Oh, if +you please, I have come to interview Mr. So-and-So for such-and-such a +paper,' the footman looks through me at the opposite side of the street, +and tells me to wait in the hall while he inquires if Mr. So-and-So will +see me or not. But if I say, 'That's my keerd, young man. You tell your +master Miss Ramsbotham is waiting for him in the showroom, and will take +it real kind if he'll just bustle himself,' the poor fellow walks +backwards till he stumbles against the bottom stair, and my gentleman +comes down with profuse apologies for having kept me waiting three +minutes and a half. + +"'And to be in love with someone," she would continue, "someone great +that one could look up to and honour and worship--someone that would fill +one's whole life, make it beautiful, make every day worth living, I think +that would be better still. To work merely for one's self, to think +merely for one's self, it is so much less interesting." + +Then, at some such point of the argument, Miss Ramsbotham would jump up +from her chair and shake herself indignantly. + +"Why, what nonsense I'm talking," she would tell herself, and her +listeners. "I make a very fair income, have a host of friends, and enjoy +every hour of my life. I should like to have been pretty or handsome, of +course; but no one can have all the good things of this world, and I have +my brains. At one time, perhaps, yes; but now--no, honestly I would not +change myself." + +Miss Ramsbotham was sorry that no man had ever fallen in love with her, +but that she could understand. + +"It is quite clear to me." So she had once unburdened herself to her +bosom friend. "Man for the purposes of the race has been given two kinds +of love, between which, according to his opportunities and temperament, +he is free to choose: he can fall down upon his knees and adore physical +beauty (for Nature ignores entirely our mental side), or he can take +delight in circling with his protecting arm the weak and helpless. Now, +I make no appeal to either instinct. I possess neither the charm nor +beauty to attract--" + +"Beauty," reminded her the bosom friend, consolingly, "dwells in the +beholder's eye." + +"My dear," cheerfully replied Miss Ramsbotham, "it would have to be an +eye of the range and capacity Sam Weller frankly owned up to not +possessing--a patent double-million magnifying, capable of seeing through +a deal board and round the corner sort of eye--to detect any beauty in +me. And I am much too big and sensible for any man not a fool ever to +think of wanting to take care of me. + +"I believe," remembered Miss Ramsbotham, "if it does not sound like idle +boasting, I might have had a husband, of a kind, if Fate had not +compelled me to save his life. I met him one year at Huyst, a small, +quiet watering-place on the Dutch coast. He would walk always half a +step behind me, regarding me out of the corner of his eye quite +approvingly at times. He was a widower--a good little man, devoted to +his three charming children. They took an immense fancy to me, and I +really think I could have got on with him. I am very adaptable, as you +know. But it was not to be. He got out of his depth one morning, and +unfortunately there was no one within distance but myself who could swim. +I knew what the result would be. You remember Labiche's comedy, _Les +Voyage de Monsieur Perrichon_? Of course, every man hates having had his +life saved, after it is over; and you can imagine how he must hate having +it saved by a woman. But what was I to do? In either case he would be +lost to me, whether I let him drown or whether I rescued him. So, as it +really made no difference, I rescued him. He was very grateful, and left +the next morning. + +"It is my destiny. No man has ever fallen in love with me, and no man +ever will. I used to worry myself about it when I was younger. As a +child I hugged to my bosom for years an observation I had overheard an +aunt of mine whisper to my mother one afternoon as they sat knitting and +talking, not thinking I was listening. 'You never can tell,' murmured my +aunt, keeping her eyes carefully fixed upon her needles; 'children change +so. I have known the plainest girls grow up into quite beautiful women. +I should not worry about it if I were you--not yet awhile.' My mother +was not at all a bad-looking woman, and my father was decidedly handsome; +so there seemed no reason why I should not hope. I pictured myself the +ugly duckling of Andersen's fairy-tale, and every morning on waking I +would run straight to my glass and try to persuade myself that the +feathers of the swan were beginning at last to show themselves." Miss +Ramsbotham laughed, a genuine laugh of amusement, for of self-pity not a +trace was now remaining to her. + +"Later I plucked hope again," continued Miss Ramsbotham her confession, +"from the reading of a certain school of fiction more popular twenty +years ago than now. In these romances the heroine was never what you +would call beautiful, unless in common with the hero you happened to +possess exceptional powers of observation. But she was better than that, +she was good. I do not regard as time wasted the hours I spent studying +this quaint literature. It helped me, I am sure, to form habits that +have since been of service to me. I made a point, when any young man +visitor happened to be staying with us, of rising exceptionally early in +the morning, so that I always appeared at the breakfast-table fresh, +cheerful, and carefully dressed, with, when possible, a dew-besprinkled +flower in my hair to prove that I had already been out in the garden. The +effort, as far as the young man visitor was concerned, was always thrown +away; as a general rule, he came down late himself, and generally too +drowsy to notice anything much. But it was excellent practice for me. I +wake now at seven o'clock as a matter of course, whatever time I go to +bed. I made my own dresses and most of our cakes, and took care to let +everybody know it. Though I say it who should not, I play and sing +rather well. I certainly was never a fool. I had no little brothers and +sisters to whom to be exceptionally devoted, but I had my cousins about +the house as much as possible, and damaged their characters, if anything, +by over-indulgence. My dear, it never caught even a curate! I am not +one of those women to run down men; I think them delightful creatures, +and in a general way I find them very intelligent. But where their +hearts are concerned it is the girl with the frizzy hair, who wants two +people to help her over the stile, that is their idea of an angel. No +man could fall in love with me; he couldn't if he tried. That I can +understand; but"--Miss Ramsbotham sunk her voice to a more confidential +tone--"what I cannot understand is that I have never fallen in love with +any man, because I like them all." + +"You have given the explanation yourself," suggested the bosom friend--one +Susan Fossett, the "Aunt Emma" of _The Ladies' Journal_, a nice woman, +but talkative. "You are too sensible." + +Miss Ramsbotham shook her head, "I should just love to fall in love. When +I think about it, I feel quite ashamed of myself for not having done so." + +Whether it was this idea, namely, that it was her duty, or whether it was +that passion came to her, unsought, somewhat late in life, and therefore +all the stronger, she herself would perhaps have been unable to declare. +Certain only it is that at over thirty years of age this clever, +sensible, clear-seeing woman fell to sighing and blushing, starting and +stammering at the sounding of a name, as though for all the world she had +been a love-sick girl in her teens. + +Susan Fossett, her bosom friend, brought the strange tidings to Bohemia +one foggy November afternoon, her opportunity being a tea-party given by +Peter Hope to commemorate the birthday of his adopted daughter and sub- +editor, Jane Helen, commonly called Tommy. The actual date of Tommy's +birthday was known only to the gods; but out of the London mist to +wifeless, childless Peter she had come the evening of a certain November +the eighteenth, and therefore by Peter and his friends November the +eighteenth had been marked upon the calendar as a day on which they +should rejoice together. + +"It is bound to leak out sooner or later," Susan Fossett was convinced, +"so I may as well tell you: that gaby Mary Ramsbotham has got herself +engaged." + +"Nonsense!" was Peter Hope's involuntary ejaculation. + +"Precisely what I mean to tell her the very next time I see her," added +Susan. + +"Who to?" demanded Tommy. + +"You mean 'to whom.' The preeposition governs the objective case," +corrected her James Douglas McTear, commonly called "The Wee Laddie," who +himself wrote English better than he spoke it. + +"I meant 'to whom,'" explained Tommy. + +"Ye didna say it," persisted the Wee Laddie. + +"I don't know to whom," replied Miss Ramsbotham's bosom friend, sipping +tea and breathing indignation. "To something idiotic and incongruous +that will make her life a misery to her." + +Somerville, the briefless, held that in the absence of all data such +conclusion was unjustifiable. + +"If it had been to anything sensible," was Miss Fossett's opinion, "she +would not have kept me in the dark about it, to spring it upon me like a +bombshell. I've never had so much as a hint from her until I received +this absurd scrawl an hour ago." + +Miss Fossett produced from her bag a letter written in pencil. + +"There can be no harm in your hearing it," was Miss Fossett's excuse; "it +will give you an idea of the state of the poor thing's mind." + +The tea-drinkers left their cups and gathered round her. "Dear Susan," +read Miss Fossett, "I shall not be able to be with you to-morrow. Please +get me out of it nicely. I can't remember at the moment what it is. +You'll be surprised to hear that I'm _engaged_--to be married, I mean, I +can hardly _realise_ it. I hardly seem to know where I am. Have just +made up my mind to run down to Yorkshire and see grandmamma. I must do +_something_. I must _talk_ to _somebody_ and--forgive me, dear--but you +_are_ so sensible, and just now--well I don't _feel_ sensible. Will tell +you all about it when I see you--next week, perhaps. You must _try_ to +like him. He is _so_ handsome and _really_ clever--in his own way. Don't +scold me. I never thought it possible that _anyone_ could be so happy. +It's quite a different sort of happiness to _any_ other sort of +happiness. I don't know how to describe it. Please ask Burcot to let me +off the antequarian congress. I feel I should do it badly. I am so +thankful he has _no_ relatives--in England. I should have been so +_terribly_ nervous. Twelve hours ago I could not have _dreamt_ of it, +and now I walk on tiptoe for fear of waking up. Did I leave my +chinchilla at your rooms? Don't be angry with me. I should have told +you if I had known. In haste. Yours, Mary." + +"It's dated from Marylebone Road, and yesterday afternoon she did leave +her chinchilla in my rooms, which makes me think it really must be from +Mary Ramsbotham. Otherwise I should have my doubts," added Miss Fossett, +as she folded up the letter and replaced it in her bag. + +"Id is love!" was the explanation of Dr. William Smith, his round, red +face illuminated with poetic ecstasy. "Love has gone to her--has +dransformed her once again into the leedle maid." + +"Love," retorted Susan Fossett, "doesn't transform an intelligent, +educated woman into a person who writes a letter all in jerks, underlines +every other word, spells antiquarian with an 'e,' and Burcott's name, +whom she has known for the last eight years, with only one 't.' The +woman has gone stark, staring mad!" + +"We must wait until we have seen him," was Peter's judicious view. "I +should be so glad to think that the dear lady was happy." + +"So should I," added Miss Fossett drily. + +"One of the most sensible women I have ever met," commented William +Clodd. "Lucky man, whoever he is. Half wish I'd thought of it myself." + +"I am not saying that he isn't," retorted Miss Fossett. "It isn't him +I'm worrying about." + +"I preesume you mean 'he,'" suggested the Wee Laddie. "The verb 'to +be'--" + +"For goodness' sake," suggested Miss Fossett to Tommy, "give that man +something to eat or drink. That's the worst of people who take up +grammar late in life. Like all converts, they become fanatical." + +"She's a ripping good sort, is Mary Ramsbotham," exclaimed Grindley +junior, printer and publisher of _Good Humour_. "The marvel to me is +that no man hitherto has ever had the sense to want her." + +"Oh, you men!" cried Miss Fossett. "A pretty face and an empty head is +all you want." + +"Must they always go together?" laughed Mrs. Grindley junior, _nee_ +Helvetia Appleyard. + +"Exceptions prove the rule," grunted Miss Fossett. + +"What a happy saying that is," smiled Mrs. Grindley junior. "I wonder +sometimes how conversation was ever carried on before it was invented." + +"De man who would fall in love wid our dear frent Mary," thought Dr. +Smith, "he must be quite egsceptional." + +"You needn't talk about her as if she was a monster--I mean were," +corrected herself Miss Fossett, with a hasty glance towards the Wee +Laddie. "There isn't a man I know that's worthy of her." + +"I mean," explained the doctor, "dat he must be a man of character--of +brain. Id is de noble man dat is attracted by de noble woman." + +"By the chorus-girl more often," suggested Miss Fossett. + +"We must hope for the best," counselled Peter. "I cannot believe that a +clever, capable woman like Mary Ramsbotham would make a fool of herself." + +"From what I have seen," replied Miss Fossett, "it's just the clever +people--as regards this particular matter--who do make fools of +themselves." + +Unfortunately Miss Fossett's judgment proved to be correct. On being +introduced a fortnight later to Miss Ramsbotham's fiance, the impulse of +Bohemia was to exclaim, "Great Scott! Whatever in the name of--" Then +on catching sight of Miss Ramsbotham's transfigured face and trembling +hands Bohemia recollected itself in time to murmur instead: "Delighted, +I'm sure!" and to offer mechanical congratulations. Reginald Peters was +a pretty but remarkably foolish-looking lad of about two-and-twenty, with +curly hair and receding chin; but to Miss Ramsbotham evidently a +promising Apollo. Her first meeting with him had taken place at one of +the many political debating societies then in fashion, attendance at +which Miss Ramsbotham found useful for purposes of journalistic "copy." +Miss Ramsbotham, hitherto a Radical of pronounced views, he had succeeded +under three months in converting into a strong supporter of the +Gentlemanly Party. His feeble political platitudes, which a little while +before she would have seized upon merrily to ridicule, she now sat +drinking in, her plain face suffused with admiration. Away from him and +in connection with those subjects--somewhat numerous--about which he knew +little and cared less, she retained her sense and humour; but in his +presence she remained comparatively speechless, gazing up into his +somewhat watery eyes with the grateful expression of one learning wisdom +from a master. + +Her absurd adoration--irritating beyond measure to her friends, and which +even to her lover, had he possessed a grain of sense, would have appeared +ridiculous--to Master Peters was evidently a gratification. Of selfish, +exacting nature, he must have found the services of this brilliant woman +of the world of much practical advantage. Knowing all the most +interesting people in London, it was her pride and pleasure to introduce +him everywhere. Her friends put up with him for her sake; to please her +made him welcome, did their best to like him, and disguised their +failure. The free entry to a places of amusement saved his limited +purse. Her influence, he had instinct enough to perceive, could not fail +to be of use to him in his profession: that of a barrister. She praised +him to prominent solicitors, took him to tea with judges' wives, +interested examiners on his behalf. In return he overlooked her many +disadvantages, and did not fail to let her know it. Miss Ramsbotham's +gratitude was boundless. + +"I do so wish I were younger and better looking," she sighed to the bosom +friend. "For myself, I don't mind; I have got used to it. But it is so +hard on Reggie. He feels it, I know he does, though he never openly +complains." + +"He would be a cad if he did," answered Susan Fossett, who having tried +conscientiously for a month to tolerate the fellow, had in the end +declared her inability even to do more than avoid open expression of +cordial dislike. "Added to which I don't quite see of what use it would +be. You never told him you were young and pretty, did you?" + +"I told him, my dear," replied Miss Ramsbotham, "the actual truth. I +don't want to take any credit for doing so; it seemed the best course. +You see, unfortunately, I look my age. With most men it would have made +a difference. You have no idea how good he is. He assured me he had +engaged himself to me with his eyes open, and that there was no need to +dwell upon unpleasant topics. It is so wonderful to me that he should +care for me--he who could have half the women in London at his feet." + +"Yes, he's the type that would attract them, I daresay," agreed Susan +Fossett. "But are you quite sure that he does?--care for you, I mean." + +"My dear," returned Miss Ramsbotham, "you remember Rochefoucauld's +definition. 'One loves, the other consents to be loved.' If he will +only let me do that I shall be content. It is more than I had any right +to expect." + +"Oh, you are a fool," told her bluntly her bosom friend. + +"I know I am," admitted Miss Ramsbotham; "but I had no idea that being a +fool was so delightful." + +Bohemia grew day by day more indignant and amazed. Young Peters was not +even a gentleman. All the little offices of courtship he left to her. It +was she who helped him on with his coat, and afterwards adjusted her own +cloak; she who carried the parcel, she who followed into and out of the +restaurant. Only when he thought anyone was watching would he make any +attempt to behave to her with even ordinary courtesy. He bullied her, +contradicted her in public, ignored her openly. Bohemia fumed with +impotent rage, yet was bound to confess that so far as Miss Ramsbotham +herself was concerned he had done more to make her happy than had ever +all Bohemia put together. A tender light took up its dwelling in her +eyes, which for the first time it was noticed were singularly deep and +expressive. The blood, of which she possessed if anything too much, now +came and went, so that her cheeks, in place of their insistent red, took +on a varied pink and white. Life had entered her thick dark hair, giving +to it shade and shadow. + +The woman began to grow younger. She put on flesh. Sex, hitherto +dormant, began to show itself; femininities peeped out. New tones, +suggesting possibilities, crept into her voice. Bohemia congratulated +itself that the affair, after all, might turn out well. + +Then Master Peters spoiled everything by showing a better side to his +nature, and, careless of all worldly considerations, falling in love +himself, honestly, with a girl at the bun shop. He did the best thing +under the circumstances that he could have done: told Miss Ramsbotham the +plain truth, and left the decision in her hands. + +Miss Ramsbotham acted as anyone who knew her would have foretold. +Possibly, in the silence of her delightful little four-roomed flat over +the tailor's shop in Marylebone Road, her sober, worthy maid dismissed +for a holiday, she may have shed some tears; but, if so, no trace of them +was allowed to mar the peace of mind of Mr. Peters. She merely thanked +him for being frank with her, and by a little present pain saving them +both a future of disaster. It was quite understandable; she knew he had +never really been in love with her. She had thought him the type of man +that never does fall in love, as the word is generally understood--Miss +Ramsbotham did not add, with anyone except himself--and had that been the +case, and he content merely to be loved, they might have been happy +together. As it was--well, it was fortunate he had found out the truth +before it was too late. Now, would he take her advice? + +Mr. Peters was genuinely grateful, as well he might be, and would consent +to any suggestion that Miss Ramsbotham might make; felt he had behaved +shabbily, was very much ashamed of himself, would be guided in all things +by Miss Ramsbotham, whom he should always regard as the truest of +friends, and so on. + +Miss Ramsbotham's suggestion was this: Mr. Peters, no more robust of body +than of mind, had been speaking for some time past of travel. Having +nothing to do now but to wait for briefs, why not take this opportunity +of visiting his only well-to-do relative, a Canadian farmer. Meanwhile, +let Miss Peggy leave the bun shop and take up her residence in Miss +Ramsbotham's flat. Let there be no engagement--merely an understanding. +The girl was pretty, charming, good, Miss Ramsbotham felt sure; but--well, +a little education, a little training in manners and behaviour would not +be amiss, would it? If, on returning at the end of six months or a year, +Mr. Peters was still of the same mind, and Peggy also wishful, the affair +would be easier, would it not? + +There followed further expressions of eternal gratitude. Miss Ramsbotham +swept all such aside. It would be pleasant to have a bright young girl +to live with her; teaching, moulding such an one would be a pleasant +occupation. + +And thus it came to pass that Mr. Reginald Peters disappeared for a while +from Bohemia, to the regret of but few, and there entered into it one +Peggy Nutcombe, as pretty a child as ever gladdened the eye of man. She +had wavy, flaxen hair, a complexion that might have been manufactured +from the essence of wild roses, the nose that Tennyson bestows upon his +miller's daughter, and a mouth worthy of the Lowther Arcade in its days +of glory. Add to this the quick grace of a kitten, with the appealing +helplessness of a baby in its first short frock, and you will be able to +forgive Mr. Reginald Peters his faithlessness. Bohemia looked from one +to the other--from the fairy to the woman--and ceased to blame. That the +fairy was as stupid as a camel, as selfish as a pig, and as lazy as a +nigger Bohemia did not know; nor--so long as her figure and complexion +remained what it was--would its judgment have been influenced, even if it +had. I speak of the Bohemian male. + +But that is just what her figure and complexion did not do. Mr. Reginald +Peters, finding his uncle old, feeble, and inclined to be fond, deemed it +to his advantage to stay longer than he had intended. Twelve months went +by. Miss Peggy was losing her kittenish grace, was becoming lumpy. A +couple of pimples--one near the right-hand corner of her rosebud mouth, +and another on the left-hand side of her tip-tilted nose--marred her baby +face. At the end of another six months the men called her plump, and the +women fat. Her walk was degenerating into a waddle; stairs caused her to +grunt. She took to breathing with her mouth, and Bohemia noticed that +her teeth were small, badly coloured, and uneven. The pimples grew in +size and number. The cream and white of her complexion was merging into +a general yellow. A certain greasiness of skin was manifesting itself. +Babyish ways in connection with a woman who must have weighed about +eleven stone struck Bohemia as incongruous. Her manners, judged alone, +had improved. But they had not improved her. They did not belong to +her; they did not fit her. They sat on her as Sunday broadcloth on a +yokel. She had learned to employ her "h's" correctly, and to speak good +grammar. This gave to her conversation a painfully artificial air. The +little learning she had absorbed was sufficient to bestow upon her an +angry consciousness of her own invincible ignorance. + +Meanwhile, Miss Ramsbotham had continued upon her course of rejuvenation. +At twenty-nine she had looked thirty-five; at thirty-two she looked not a +day older than five-and-twenty. Bohemia felt that should she retrograde +further at the same rate she would soon have to shorten her frocks and +let down her hair. A nervous excitability had taken possession of her +that was playing strange freaks not only with her body, but with her +mind. What it gave to the one it seemed to take from the other. Old +friends, accustomed to enjoy with her the luxury of plain speech, +wondered in vain what they had done to offend her. Her desire was now +towards new friends, new faces. Her sense of humour appeared to be +departing from her; it became unsafe to jest with her. On the other +hand, she showed herself greedy for admiration and flattery. Her former +chums stepped back astonished to watch brainless young fops making their +way with her by complimenting her upon her blouse, or whispering to her +some trite nonsense about her eyelashes. From her work she took a good +percentage of her brain power to bestow it on her clothes. Of course, +she was successful. Her dresses suited her, showed her to the best +advantage. Beautiful she could never be, and had sense enough to know +it; but a charming, distinguished-looking woman she had already become. +Also, she was on the high road to becoming a vain, egotistical, +commonplace woman. + +It was during the process of this, her metamorphosis, that Peter Hope one +evening received a note from her announcing her intention of visiting him +the next morning at the editorial office of _Good Humour_. She added in +a postscript that she would prefer the interview to be private. + +Punctually to the time appointed Miss Ramsbotham arrived. Miss +Ramsbotham, contrary to her custom, opened conversation with the weather. +Miss Ramsbotham was of opinion that there was every possibility of rain. +Peter Hope's experience was that there was always possibility of rain. + +"How is the Paper doing?" demanded Miss Ramsbotham. + +The Paper--for a paper not yet two years old--was doing well. "We expect +very shortly--very shortly indeed," explained Peter Hope, "to turn the +corner." + +"Ah! that 'corner,'" sympathised Miss Ramsbotham. + +"I confess," smiled Peter Hope, "it doesn't seem to be exactly a right- +angled corner. One reaches it as one thinks. But it takes some getting +round--what I should describe as a cornery corner." + +"What you want," thought Miss Ramsbotham, "are one or two popular +features." + +"Popular features," agreed Peter guardedly, scenting temptation, "are not +to be despised, provided one steers clear of the vulgar and the +commonplace." + +"A Ladies' Page!" suggested Miss Ramsbotham--"a page that should make the +woman buy it. The women, believe me, are going to be of more and more +importance to the weekly press." + +"But why should she want a special page to herself?" demanded Peter Hope. +"Why should not the paper as a whole appeal to her?" + +"It doesn't," was all Miss Ramsbotham could offer in explanation. + +"We give her literature and the drama, poetry, fiction, the higher +politics, the--" + +"I know, I know," interrupted Miss Ramsbotham, who of late, among other +failings new to her, had developed a tendency towards impatience; "but +she gets all that in half a dozen other papers. I have thought it out." +Miss Ramsbotham leaned further across the editorial desk and sunk her +voice unconsciously to a confidential whisper. "Tell her the coming +fashions. Discuss the question whether hat or bonnet makes you look the +younger. Tell her whether red hair or black is to be the new colour, +what size waist is being worn by the best people. Oh, come!" laughed +Miss Ramsbotham in answer to Peter's shocked expression; "one cannot +reform the world and human nature all at once. You must appeal to +people's folly in order to get them to listen to your wisdom. Make your +paper a success first. You can make it a power afterwards." + +"But," argued Peter, "there are already such papers--papers devoted to--to +that sort of thing, and to nothing else." + +"At sixpence!" replied the practical Miss Ramsbotham. "I am thinking of +the lower middle-class woman who has twenty pounds a year to spend on +dress, and who takes twelve hours a day to think about it, poor creature. +My dear friend, there is a fortune in it. Think of the advertisements." + +Poor Peter groaned--old Peter, the dreamer of dreams. But for thought of +Tommy! one day to be left alone to battle with a stony-eyed, deaf world, +Peter most assuredly would have risen in his wrath, would have said to +his distinguished-looking temptress, "Get thee behind me, Miss +Ramsbotham. My journalistic instinct whispers to me that your scheme, +judged by the mammon of unrighteousness, is good. It is a new departure. +Ten years hence half the London journals will have adopted it. There is +money in it. But what of that? Shall I for mere dross sell my editorial +soul, turn the temple of the Mighty Pen into a den of--of milliners! Good +morning, Miss Ramsbotham. I grieve for you. I grieve for you as for a +fellow-worker once inspired by devotion to a noble calling, who has +fallen from her high estate. Good morning, madam." + +So Peter thought as he sat tattooing with his finger-tips upon the desk; +but only said-- + +"It would have to be well done." + +"Everything would depend upon how it was done," agreed Miss Ramsbotham. +"Badly done, the idea would be wasted. You would be merely giving it +away to some other paper." + +"Do you know of anyone?" queried Peter. + +"I was thinking of myself," answered Miss Ramsbotham. + +"I am sorry," said Peter Hope. + +"Why?" demanded Miss Ramsbotham. "Don't you think I could do it?" + +"I think," said Peter, "no one could do it better. I am sorry you should +wish to do it--that is all." + +"I want to do it," replied Miss Ramsbotham, a note of doggedness in her +voice. + +"How much do you propose to charge me?" Peter smiled. + +"Nothing." + +"My dear lady--" + +"I could not in conscience," explained Miss Ramsbotham, "take payment +from both sides. I am going to make a good deal out of it. I am going +to make out of it at least three hundred a year, and they will be glad to +pay it." + +"Who will?" + +"The dressmakers. I shall be one of the most stylish women in London," +laughed Miss Ramsbotham. + +"You used to be a sensible woman," Peter reminded her. + +"I want to live." + +"Can't you manage to do it without--without being a fool, my dear." + +"No," answered Miss Ramsbotham, "a woman can't. I've tried it." + +"Very well," agreed Peter, "be it so." + +Peter had risen. He laid his shapely, white old hand upon the woman's +shoulder. "Tell me when you want to give it up. I shall be glad." + +Thus it was arranged. _Good Humour_ gained circulation and--of more +importance yet--advertisements; and Miss Ramsbotham, as she had +predicted, the reputation of being one of the best-dressed women in +London. Her reason for desiring such reputation Peter Hope had shrewdly +guessed. Two months later his suspicions were confirmed. Mr. Reginald +Peters, his uncle being dead, was on his way back to England. + +His return was awaited with impatience only by the occupants of the +little flat in the Marylebone Road; and between these two the difference +of symptom was marked. Mistress Peggy, too stupid to comprehend the +change that had been taking place in her, looked forward to her lover's +arrival with delight. Mr. Reginald Peters, independently of his +profession, was in consequence of his uncle's death a man of means. Miss +Ramsbotham's tutelage, which had always been distasteful to her, would +now be at an end. She would be a "lady" in the true sense of the +word--according to Miss Peggy's definition, a woman with nothing to do +but eat and drink, and nothing to think of but dress. Miss Ramsbotham, +on the other hand, who might have anticipated the home-coming of her +quondam admirer with hope, exhibited a strange condition of alarmed +misery, which increased from day to day as the date drew nearer. + +The meeting--whether by design or accident was never known--took place at +an evening party given by the proprietors of a new journal. The +circumstance was certainly unfortunate for poor Peggy, whom Bohemia began +to pity. Mr. Peters, knowing both women would be there and so on the +look-out, saw in the distance among the crowd of notabilities a superbly +millinered, tall, graceful woman, whose face recalled sensations he could +not for the moment place. Chiefly noticeable about her were her +exquisite neck and arms, and the air of perfect breeding with which she +moved, talking and laughing, through the distinguished, fashionable +throng. Beside her strutted, nervously aggressive, a vulgar, fat, +pimply, shapeless young woman, attracting universal attention by the +incongruity of her presence in the room. On being greeted by the +graceful lady of the neck and arms, the conviction forced itself upon him +that this could be no other than the once Miss Ramsbotham, plain of face +and indifferent of dress, whose very appearance he had almost forgotten. +On being greeted gushingly as "Reggie" by the sallow-complexioned, over- +dressed young woman he bowed with evident astonishment, and apologised +for a memory that, so he assured the lady, had always been to him a +source of despair. + +Of course, he thanked his stars--and Miss Ramsbotham--that the engagement +had never been formal. So far as Mr. Peters was concerned, there was an +end to Mistress Peggy's dream of an existence of everlasting breakfasts +in bed. Leaving the Ramsbotham flat, she returned to the maternal roof, +and there a course of hard work and plain living tended greatly to +improve her figure and complexion; so that in course of time, the gods +smiling again upon her, she married a foreman printer, and passes out of +this story. + +Meanwhile, Mr. Reginald Peters--older, and the possessor, perhaps, of +more sense--looked at Miss Ramsbotham with new eyes, and now not +tolerated but desired her. Bohemia waited to assist at the happy +termination of a pretty and somewhat novel romance. Miss Ramsbotham had +shown no sign of being attracted elsewhere. Flattery, compliment, she +continued to welcome; but merely, so it seemed, as favourable criticism. +Suitors more fit and proper were now not lacking, for Miss Ramsbotham, +though a woman less desirable when won, came readily to the thought of +wooing. But to all such she turned a laughing face. + +"I like her for it," declared Susan Fossett; "and he has improved--there +was room for it--though I wish it could have been some other. There was +Jack Herring--it would have been so much more suitable. Or even Joe, in +spite of his size. But it's her wedding, not ours; and she will never +care for anyone else." + +And Bohemia bought its presents, and had them ready, but never gave them. +A few months later Mr. Reginald Peters returned to Canada, a bachelor. +Miss Ramsbotham expressed her desire for another private interview with +Peter Hope. + +"I may as well keep on the Letter to Clorinda," thought Miss Ramsbotham. +"I have got into the knack of it. But I will get you to pay me for it in +the ordinary way." + +"I would rather have done so from the beginning," explained Peter. + +"I know. I could not in conscience, as I told you, take from both sides. +For the future--well, they have said nothing; but I expect they are +beginning to get tired of it." + +"And you!" questioned Peter. + +"Yes. I am tired of it myself," laughed Miss Ramsbotham. "Life isn't +long enough to be a well-dressed woman." + +"You have done with all that?" + +"I hope so," answered Miss Ramsbotham. + +"And don't want to talk any more about it?" suggested Peter. + +"Not just at present. I should find it so difficult to explain." + +By others, less sympathetic than old Peter, vigorous attempts were made +to solve the mystery. Miss Ramsbotham took enjoyment in cleverly evading +these tormentors. Thwarted at every point, the gossips turned to other +themes. Miss Ramsbotham found interest once again in the higher branches +of her calling; became again, by slow degrees, the sensible, frank, 'good +sort' that Bohemia had known, liked, respected--everything but loved. + +Years later, to Susan Fossett, the case was made clear; and through Susan +Fossett, a nice enough woman but talkative, those few still interested +learned the explanation. + +"Love," said Miss Ramsbotham to the bosom friend, "is not regulated by +reason. As you say, there were many men I might have married with much +more hope of happiness. But I never cared for any other man. He was not +intellectual, was egotistical, possibly enough selfish. The man should +always be older than the woman; he was younger, and he was a weak +character. Yet I loved him." + +"I am glad you didn't marry him," said the bosom friend. + +"So am I," agreed Miss Ramsbotham. + +"If you can't trust me," had said the bosom friend at this point, +"don't." + +"I meant to do right," said Miss Ramsbotham, "upon my word of honour I +did, in the beginning." + +"I don't understand," said the bosom friend. + +"If she had been my own child," continued Miss Ramsbotham, "I could not +have done more--in the beginning. I tried to teach her, to put some +sense into her. Lord! the hours I wasted on that little idiot! I marvel +at my own patience. She was nothing but an animal. An animal! she had +only an animal's vices. To eat and drink and sleep was her idea of +happiness; her one ambition male admiration, and she hadn't character +enough to put sufficient curb upon her stomach to retain it. I reasoned +with her, I pleaded with her, I bullied her. Had I persisted I might +have succeeded by sheer physical and mental strength in restraining her +from ruining herself. I was winning. I had made her frightened of me. +Had I gone on, I might have won. By dragging her out of bed in the +morning, by insisting upon her taking exercise, by regulating every +particle of food and drink she put into her mouth, I kept the little +beast in good condition for nearly three months. Then, I had to go away +into the country for a few days; she swore she would obey my +instructions. When I came back I found she had been in bed most of the +time, and had been living chiefly on chocolate and cakes. She was curled +up asleep in an easy-chair, snoring with her mouth wide open, when I +opened the door. And at sight of that picture the devil came to me and +tempted me. Why should I waste my time, wear myself out in mind and +body, that the man I loved should marry a pig because it looked like an +angel? 'Six months' wallowing according to its own desires would reveal +it in its true shape. So from that day I left it to itself. No, worse +than that--I don't want to spare myself--I encouraged her. I let her +have a fire in her bedroom, and half her meals in bed. I let her have +chocolate with tablespoonfuls of cream floating on the top: she loved it. +She was never really happy except when eating. I let her order her own +meals. I took a fiendish delight watching the dainty limbs turning to +shapeless fat, the pink-and-white complexion growing blotchy. It is +flesh that man loves; brain and mind and heart and soul! he never thinks +of them. This little pink-and-white sow could have cut me out with +Solomon himself. Why should such creatures have the world arranged for +them, and we not be allowed to use our brains in our own defence? But +for my looking-glass I might have resisted the temptation, but I always +had something of the man in me: the sport of the thing appealed to me. I +suppose it was the nervous excitement under which I was living that was +changing me. All my sap was going into my body. Given sufficient time, +I might meet her with her own weapons, animal against animal. Well, you +know the result: I won. There was no doubt about his being in love with +me. His eyes would follow me round the room, feasting on me. I had +become a fine animal. Men desired me, Do you know why I refused him? He +was in every way a better man than the silly boy I had fallen in love +with; but he came back with a couple of false teeth: I saw the gold +setting one day when he opened his mouth to laugh. I don't say for a +moment, my dear, there is no such thing as love--love pure, ennobling, +worthy of men and women, its roots in the heart and nowhere else. But +that love I had missed; and the other! I saw it in its true light. I +had fallen in love with him because he was a pretty, curly-headed boy. He +had fallen in love with Peggy when she was pink-and-white and slim. I +shall always see the look that came into his eyes when she spoke to him +at the hotel, the look of disgust and loathing. The girl was the same; +it was only her body that had grown older. I could see his eyes fixed +upon my arms and neck. I had got to grow old in time, brown skinned, and +wrinkled. I thought of him, growing bald, fat--" + +"If you had fallen in love with the right man," had said Susan Fossett, +"those ideas would not have come to you." + +"I know," said Miss Ramsbotham. "He will have to like me thin and in +these clothes, just because I am nice, and good company, and helpful. +That is the man I am waiting for." + +He never came along. A charming, bright-eyed, white-haired lady occupies +alone a little flat in the Marylebone Road, looks in occasionally at the +Writers' Club. She is still Miss Ramsbotham. + +Bald-headed gentlemen feel young again talking to her: she is so +sympathetic, so big-minded, so understanding. Then, hearing the clock +strike, tear themselves from her with a sigh, and return home--some of +them--to stupid shrewish wives. + + + + +STORY THE FIFTH--Joey Loveredge agrees--on certain terms--to join the +Company + + +The most popular member of the Autolycus Club was undoubtedly Joseph +Loveredge. Small, chubby, clean-shaven, his somewhat longish, soft, +brown hair parted in the middle, strangers fell into the error of +assuming him to be younger than he really was. It is on record that a +leading lady novelist--accepting her at her own estimate--irritated by +his polite but firm refusal to allow her entrance into his own editorial +office without appointment, had once boxed his ears, under the impression +that he was his own office-boy. Guests to the Autolycus Club, on being +introduced to him, would give to him kind messages to take home to his +father, with whom they remembered having been at school together. This +sort of thing might have annoyed anyone with less sense of humour. Joseph +Loveredge would tell such stories himself, keenly enjoying the jest--was +even suspected of inventing some of the more improbable. Another fact +tending to the popularity of Joseph Loveredge among all classes, over and +above his amiability, his wit, his genuine kindliness, and his +never-failing fund of good stories, was that by care and inclination he +had succeeded in remaining a bachelor. Many had been the attempts to +capture him; nor with the passing of the years had interest in the sport +shown any sign of diminution. Well over the frailties and distempers so +dangerous to youth, of staid and sober habits, with an ever-increasing +capital invested in sound securities, together with an ever-increasing +income from his pen, with a tastefully furnished house overlooking +Regent's Park, an excellent and devoted cook and house-keeper, and +relatives mostly settled in the Colonies, Joseph Loveredge, though +inexperienced girls might pass him by with a contemptuous sniff, was +recognised by ladies of maturer judgment as a prize not too often dangled +before the eyes of spinsterhood. Old foxes--so we are assured by kind- +hearted country gentlemen--rather enjoy than otherwise a day with the +hounds. However that may be, certain it is that Joseph Loveredge, +confident of himself, one presumes, showed no particular disinclination +to the chase. Perhaps on the whole he preferred the society of his own +sex, with whom he could laugh and jest with more freedom, to whom he +could tell his stories as they came to him without the trouble of having +to turn them over first in his own mind; but, on the other hand, Joey +made no attempt to avoid female company whenever it came his way; and +then no cavalier could render himself more agreeable, more unobtrusively +attentive. Younger men stood by, in envious admiration of the ease with +which in five minutes he would establish himself on terms of cosy +friendship with the brilliant beauty before whose gracious coldness they +had stood shivering for months; the daring with which he would tuck under +his arm, so to speak, the prettiest girl in the room, smooth down as if +by magic her hundred prickles, and tease her out of her overwhelming +sense of her own self-importance. The secret of his success was, +probably, that he was not afraid of them. Desiring nothing from them +beyond companionableness, a reasonable amount of appreciation for his +jokes--which without being exceptionally stupid they would have found it +difficult to withhold--with just sufficient information and intelligence +to make conversation interesting, there was nothing about him by which +they could lay hold of him. Of course, that rendered them particularly +anxious to lay hold of him. Joseph's lady friends might, roughly +speaking, be divided into two groups: the unmarried, who wanted to marry +him to themselves; and the married, who wanted to marry him to somebody +else. It would be a social disaster, the latter had agreed among +themselves, if Joseph Loveredge should never wed. + +"He would make such an excellent husband for poor Bridget." + +"Or Gladys. I wonder how old Gladys really is?" + +"Such a nice, kind little man." + +"And when one thinks of the sort of men that _are_ married, it does seem +such a pity!" + +"I wonder why he never has married, because he's just the sort of man +you'd think _would_ have married." + +"I wonder if he ever was in love." + +"Oh, my dear, you don't mean to tell me that a man has reached the age of +forty without ever being in love!" + +The ladies would sigh. + +"I do hope if ever he does marry, it will be somebody nice. Men are so +easily deceived." + +"I shouldn't be surprised myself a bit if something came of it with +Bridget. She's a dear girl, Bridget--so genuine." + +"Well, I think myself, dear, if it's anyone, it's Gladys. I should be so +glad to see poor dear Gladys settled." + +The unmarried kept their thoughts more to themselves. Each one, upon +reflection, saw ground for thinking that Joseph Loveredge had given proof +of feeling preference for herself. The irritating thing was that, on +further reflection, it was equally clear that Joseph Loveredge had shown +signs of preferring most of the others. + +Meanwhile Joseph Loveredge went undisturbed upon his way. At eight +o'clock in the morning Joseph's housekeeper entered the room with a cup +of tea and a dry biscuit. At eight-fifteen Joseph Loveredge arose and +performed complicated exercises on an indiarubber pulley, warranted, if +persevered in, to bestow grace upon the figure and elasticity upon the +limbs. Joseph Loveredge persevered steadily, and had done so for years, +and was himself contented with the result, which, seeing it concerned +nobody else, was all that could be desired. At half-past eight on +Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Joseph Loveredge breakfasted on one cup +of tea, brewed by himself; one egg, boiled by himself; and two pieces of +toast, the first one spread with marmalade, the second with butter. On +Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Joseph Loveredge discarded eggs and +ate a rasher of bacon. On Sundays Joseph Loveredge had both eggs and +bacon, but then allowed himself half an hour longer for reading the +paper. At nine-thirty Joseph Loveredge left the house for the office of +the old-established journal of which he was the incorruptible and +honoured City editor. At one-forty-five, having left his office at one- +thirty, Joseph Loveredge entered the Autolycus Club and sat down to +lunch. Everything else in Joseph's life was arranged with similar +preciseness, so far as was possible with the duties of a City editor. +Monday evening Joseph spent with musical friends at Brixton. Friday was +Joseph's theatre night. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he was open to receive +invitations out to dinner; on Wednesdays and Saturdays he invited four +friends to dine with him at Regent's Park. On Sundays, whatever the +season, Joseph Loveredge took an excursion into the country. He had his +regular hours for reading, his regular hours for thinking. Whether in +Fleet Street, or the Tyrol, on the Thames, or in the Vatican, you might +recognise him from afar by his grey frock-coat, his patent-leather boots, +his brown felt hat, his lavender tie. The man was a born bachelor. When +the news of his engagement crept through the smoky portals of the +Autolycus Club nobody believed it. + +"Impossible!" asserted Jack Herring. "I've known Joey's life for fifteen +years. Every five minutes is arranged for. He could never have found +the time to do it." + +"He doesn't like women, not in that way; I've heard him say so," +explained Alexander the Poet. "His opinion is that women are the artists +of Society--delightful as entertainers, but troublesome to live with." + +"I call to mind," said the Wee Laddie, "a story he told me in this verra +room, barely three months agone: Some half a dozen of them were gong home +together from the Devonshire. They had had a joyous evening, and one of +them--Joey did not notice which--suggested their dropping in at his place +just for a final whisky. They were laughing and talking in the dining- +room, when their hostess suddenly appeared upon the scene in a costume--so +Joey described it--the charm of which was its variety. She was a nice- +looking woman, Joey said, but talked too much; and when the first lull +occurred, Joey turned to the man sitting nighest to him, and who looked +bored, and suggested in a whisper that it was about time they went. + +"'Perhaps you had better go,' assented the bored-looking man. 'Wish I +could come with you; but, you see, I live here.'" + +"I don't believe it," said Somerville the Briefless. "He's been cracking +his jokes, and some silly woman has taken him seriously." + +But the rumour grew into report, developed detail, lost all charm, +expanded into plain recital of fact. Joey had not been seen within the +Club for more than a week--in itself a deadly confirmation. The question +became: Who was she--what was she like? + +"It's none of our set, or we should have heard something from her side +before now," argued acutely Somerville the Briefless. + +"Some beastly kid who will invite us to dances and forget the supper," +feared Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called the Babe. "Old men always fall +in love with young girls." + +"Forty," explained severely Peter Hope, editor and part proprietor of +_Good Humour_, "is not old." + +"Well, it isn't young," persisted Johnny. + +"Good thing for you, Johnny, if it is a girl," thought Jack Herring. +"Somebody for you to play with. I often feel sorry for you, having +nobody but grown-up people to talk to." + +"They do get a bit stodgy after a certain age," agreed the Babe. + +"I am hoping," said Peter, "it will be some sensible, pleasant woman, a +little over thirty. He is a dear fellow, Loveredge; and forty is a very +good age for a man to marry." + +"Well, if I'm not married before I'm forty--" said the Babe. + +"Oh, don't you fret," Jack Herring interrupted him--"a pretty boy like +you! We will give a ball next season, and bring you out, if you're +good--get you off our hands in no time." + +It was August. Joey went away for his holiday without again entering the +Club. The lady's name was Henrietta Elizabeth Doone. It was said by the +_Morning Post_ that she was connected with the Doones of Gloucestershire. + +Doones of Gloucestershire--Doones of Gloucestershire mused Miss +Ramsbotham, Society journalist, who wrote the weekly Letter to Clorinda, +discussing the matter with Peter Hope in the editorial office of _Good +Humour_. "Knew a Doon who kept a big second-hand store in Euston Road +and called himself an auctioneer. He bought a small place in +Gloucestershire and added an 'e' to his name. Wonder if it's the same?" + +"I had a cat called Elizabeth once," said Peter Hope. + +"I don't see what that's got to do with it." + +"No, of course not," agreed Peter. "But I was rather fond of it. It was +a quaint sort of animal, considered as a cat--would never speak to +another cat, and hated being out after ten o'clock at night." + +"What happened to it?" demanded Miss Ramsbotham. + +"Fell off a roof," sighed Peter Hope. "Wasn't used to them." + +The marriage took place abroad, at the English Church at Montreux. Mr. +and Mrs. Loveredge returned at the end of September. The Autolycus Club +subscribed to send a present of a punch-bowl, left cards, and waited with +curiosity to see the bride. But no invitation arrived. Nor for a month +was Joey himself seen within the Club. Then, one foggy afternoon, waking +after a doze, with a cold cigar in his mouth, Jack Herring noticed he was +not the only occupant of the smoking-room. In a far corner, near a +window, sat Joseph Loveredge reading a magazine. Jack Herring rubbed his +eyes, then rose and crossed the room. + +"I thought at first," explained Jack Herring, recounting the incident +later in the evening, "that I must be dreaming. There he sat, drinking +his five o'clock whisky-and-soda, the same Joey Loveredge I had known for +fifteen years; yet not the same. Not a feature altered, not a hair on +his head changed, yet the whole face was different; the same body, the +same clothes, but another man. We talked for half an hour; he remembered +everything that Joey Loveredge had known. I couldn't understand it. +Then, as the clock struck, and he rose, saying he must be home at half- +past five, the explanation suddenly occurred to me: _Joey Loveredge was +dead_; _this was a married man_." + +"We don't want your feeble efforts at psychological romance," told him +Somerville the Briefless. "We want to know what you talked about. Dead +or married, the man who can drink whisky-and-soda must be held +responsible for his actions. What's the little beggar mean by cutting us +all in this way? Did he ask after any of us? Did he leave any message +for any of us? Did he invite any of us to come an see him?" + +"Yes, he did ask after nearly everybody; I was coming to that. But he +didn't leave any message. I didn't gather that he was pining for old +relationships with any of us." + +"Well, I shall go round to the office to-morrow morning," said Somerville +the Briefless, "and force my way in if necessary. This is getting +mysterious." + +But Somerville returned only to puzzle the Autolycus Club still further. +Joey had talked about the weather, the state of political parties, had +received with unfeigned interest all gossip concerning his old friends; +but about himself, his wife, nothing had been gleaned. Mrs. Loveredge +was well; Mrs. Loveredge's relations were also well. But at present Mrs. +Loveredge was not receiving. + +Members of the Autolycus Club with time upon their hands took up the +business of private detectives. Mrs. Loveredge turned out to be a +handsome, well-dressed lady of about thirty, as Peter Hope had desired. +At eleven in the morning, Mrs. Loveredge shopped in the neighbourhood of +the Hampstead Road. In the afternoon, Mrs. Loveredge, in a hired +carriage, would slowly promenade the Park, looking, it was noticed, with +intense interest at the occupants of other carriages as they passed, but +evidently having no acquaintances among them. The carriage, as a general +rule, would call at Joey's office at five, and Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge +would drive home. Jack Herring, as the oldest friend, urged by the other +members, took the bull by the horns and called boldly. On neither +occasion was Mrs. Loveredge at home. + +"I'm damned if I go again!" said Jack. "She was in the second time, I +know. I watched her into the house. Confound the stuck-up pair of +them!" + +Bewilderment gave place to indignation. Now and again Joey would creep, +a mental shadow of his former self, into the Club where once every member +would have risen with a smile to greet him. They gave him curt answers +and turned away from him. Peter Hope one afternoon found him there +alone, standing with his hands in his pockets looking out of window. +Peter was fifty, so he said, maybe a little older; men of forty were to +him mere boys. So Peter, who hated mysteries, stepped forward with a +determined air and clapped Joey on the shoulder. + +"I want to know, Joey," said Peter, "I want to know whether I am to go on +liking you, or whether I've got to think poorly of you. Out with it." + +Joey turned to him a face so full of misery that Peter's heart was +touched. "You can't tell how wretched it makes me," said Joey. "I +didn't know it was possible to feel so uncomfortable as I have felt +during these last three months." + +"It's the wife, I suppose?" suggested Peter. + +"She's a dear girl. She only has one fault." + +"It's a pretty big one," returned Peter. "I should try and break her of +it if I were you." + +"Break her of it!" cried the little man. "You might as well advise me to +break a brick wall with my head. I had no idea what they were like. I +never dreamt it." + +"But what is her objection to us? We are clean, we are fairly +intelligent--" + +"My dear Peter, do you think I haven't said all that, and a hundred +things more? A woman! she gets an idea into her head, and every argument +against it hammers it in further. She has gained her notion of what she +calls Bohemia from the comic journals. It's our own fault, we have done +it ourselves. There's no persuading her that it's a libel." + +"Won't she see a few of us--judge for herself? There's Porson--why +Porson might have been a bishop. Or Somerville--Somerville's Oxford +accent is wasted here. It has no chance." + +"It isn't only that," explained Joey; "she has ambitions, social +ambitions. She thinks that if we begin with the wrong set, we'll never +get into the right. We have three friends at present, and, so far as I +can see, are never likely to have any more. My dear boy, you'd never +believe there could exist such bores. There's a man and his wife named +Holyoake. They dine with us on Thursdays, and we dine with them on +Tuesdays. Their only title to existence consists in their having a +cousin in the House of Lords; they claim no other right themselves. He +is a widower, getting on for eighty. Apparently he's the only relative +they have, and when he dies, they talk of retiring into the country. +There's a fellow named Cutler, who visited once at Marlborough House in +connection with a charity. You'd think to listen to him that he had +designs upon the throne. The most tiresome of them all is a noisy woman +who, as far as I can make out, hasn't any name at all. 'Miss Montgomery' +is on her cards, but that is only what she calls herself. Who she really +is! It would shake the foundations of European society if known. We sit +and talk about the aristocracy; we don't seem to know anybody else. I +tried on one occasion a little sarcasm as a corrective--recounted +conversations between myself and the Prince of Wales, in which I +invariably addressed him as 'Teddy.' It sounds tall, I know, but those +people took it in. I was too astonished to undeceive them at the time, +the consequence is I am a sort of little god to them. They come round me +and ask for more. What am I to do? I am helpless among them. I've +never had anything to do before with the really first-prize idiot; the +usual type, of course, one knows, but these, if you haven't met them, are +inconceivable. I try insulting them; they don't even know I am insulting +them. Short of dragging them out of their chairs and kicking them round +the room, I don't see how to make them understand it." + +"And Mrs. Loveredge?" asked the sympathetic Peter, "is she--" + +"Between ourselves," said Joey, sinking his voice to a needless whisper, +seeing he and Peter were the sole occupants of the smoking-room--"I +couldn't, of course, say it to a younger man--but between ourselves, my +wife is a charming woman. You don't know her." + +"Doesn't seem much chance of my ever doing so," laughed Peter. + +"So graceful, so dignified, so--so queenly," continued the little man, +with rising enthusiasm. "She has only one fault--she has no sense of +humour." + +To Peter, as it has been said, men of forty were mere boys. + +"My dear fellow, whatever could have induced you--" + +"I know--I know all that," interrupted the mere boy. "Nature arranges it +on purpose. Tall and solemn prigs marry little women with turned-up +noses. Cheerful little fellows like myself--we marry serious, stately +women. If it were otherwise, the human race would be split up into +species." + +"Of course, if you were actuated by a sense of public duty--" + +"Don't be a fool, Peter Hope," returned the little man. "I'm in love +with my wife just as she is, and always shall be. I know the woman with +a sense of humour, and of the two I prefer the one without. The Juno +type is my ideal. I must take the rough with the smooth. One can't have +a jolly, chirpy Juno, and wouldn't care for her if one could." + +"Then are you going to give up all your old friends?" + +"Don't suggest it," pleaded the little man. "You don't know how +miserable it makes me--the mere idea. Tell them to be patient. The +secret of dealing with women, I have found, is to do nothing rashly." The +clock struck five. "I must go now," said Joey. "Don't misjudge her, +Peter, and don't let the others. She's a dear girl. You'll like her, +all of you, when you know her. A dear girl! She only has that one +fault." + +Joey went out. + +Peter did his best that evening to explain the true position of affairs +without imputing snobbery to Mrs. Loveredge. It was a difficult task, +and Peter cannot be said to have accomplished it successfully. Anger and +indignation against Joey gave place to pity. The members of the +Autolycus Club also experienced a little irritation on their own account. + +"What does the woman take us for?" demanded Somerville the Briefless. +"Doesn't she know that we lunch with real actors and actresses, that once +a year we are invited to dine at the Mansion House?" + +"Has she never heard of the aristocracy of genius?" demanded Alexander +the Poet. + +"The explanation may be that possibly she has seen it," feared the Wee +Laddie. + +"One of us ought to waylay the woman," argued the Babe--"insist upon her +talking to him for ten minutes. I've half a mind to do it myself." + +Jack Herring said nothing--seemed thoughtful. + +The next morning Jack Herring, still thoughtful, called at the editorial +offices of _Good Humour_, in Crane Court, and borrowed Miss Ramsbotham's +Debrett. Three days later Jack Herring informed the Club casually that +he had dined the night before with Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge. The Club gave +Jack Herring politely to understand that they regarded him as a liar, and +proceeded to demand particulars. + +"If I wasn't there," explained Jack Herring, with unanswerable logic, +"how can I tell you anything about it?" + +This annoyed the Club, whose curiosity had been whetted. Three members, +acting in the interests of the whole, solemnly undertook to believe +whatever he might tell them. But Jack Herring's feelings had been +wounded. + +"When gentlemen cast a doubt upon another gentleman's veracity--" + +"We didn't cast a doubt," explained Somerville the Briefless. "We merely +said that we personally did not believe you. We didn't say we couldn't +believe you; it is a case for individual effort. If you give us +particulars bearing the impress of reality, supported by details that do +not unduly contradict each other, we are prepared to put aside our +natural suspicions and face the possibility of your statement being +correct." + +"It was foolish of me," said Jack Herring. "I thought perhaps it would +amuse you to hear what sort of a woman Mrs. Loveredge was like--some +description of Mrs. Loveredge's uncle. Miss Montgomery, friend of Mrs. +Loveredge, is certainly one of the most remarkable women I have ever met. +Of course, that isn't her real name. But, as I have said, it was foolish +of me. These people--you will never meet them, you will never see them; +of what interest can they be to you?" + +"They had forgotten to draw down the blinds, and he climbed up a lamp- +post and looked through the window," was the solution of the problem put +forward by the Wee Laddie. + +"I'm dining there again on Saturday," volunteered Jack Herring. "If any +of you will promise not to make a disturbance, you can hang about on the +Park side, underneath the shadow of the fence, and watch me go in. My +hansom will draw up at the door within a few minutes of eight." + +The Babe and the Poet agreed to undertake the test. + +"You won't mind our hanging round a little while, in case you're thrown +out again?" asked the Babe. + +"Not in the least, so far as I am concerned," replied Jack Herring. +"Don't leave it too late and make your mother anxious." + +"It's true enough," the Babe recounted afterwards. "The door was opened +by a manservant and he went straight in. We walked up and down for half +an hour, and unless they put him out the back way, he's telling the +truth." + +"Did you hear him give his name?" asked Somerville, who was stroking his +moustache. + +"No, we were too far off," explained the Babe. "But--I'll swear it was +Jack--there couldn't be any mistake about that." + +"Perhaps not," agreed Somerville the Briefless. + +Somerville the Briefless called at the offices of _Good Humour_, in Crane +Court, the following morning, and he also borrowed Miss Ramsbotham's +Debrett. + +"What's the meaning of it?" demanded the sub-editor. + +"Meaning of what?" + +"This sudden interest of all you fellows in the British Peerage." + +"All of us?" + +"Well, Herring was here last week, poring over that book for half an +hour, with the _Morning Post_ spread out before him. Now you're doing +the same thing." + +"Ah! Jack Herring, was he? I thought as much. Don't talk about it, +Tommy. I'll tell you later on." + +On the following Monday, the Briefless one announced to the Club that he +had received an invitation to dine at the Loveredges' on the following +Wednesday. On Tuesday, the Briefless one entered the Club with a slow +and stately step. Halting opposite old Goslin the porter, who had +emerged from his box with the idea of discussing the Oxford and Cambridge +boat race, Somerville, removing his hat with a sweep of the arm, held it +out in silence. Old Goslin, much astonished, took it mechanically, +whereupon the Briefless one, shaking himself free from his Inverness +cape, flung it lightly after the hat, and strolled on, not noticing that +old Goslin, unaccustomed to coats lightly and elegantly thrown at him, +dropping the hat, had caught it on his head, and had been, in the +language of the prompt-book, "left struggling." The Briefless one, +entering the smoking-room, lifted a chair and let it fall again with a +crash, and sitting down upon it, crossed his legs and rang the bell. + +"Ye're doing it verra weel," remarked approvingly the Wee Laddie. "Ye're +just fitted for it by nature." + +"Fitted for what?" demanded the Briefless one, waking up apparently from +a dream. + +"For an Adelphi guest at eighteenpence the night," assured him the Wee +Laddie. "Ye're just splendid at it." + +The Briefless one, muttering that the worst of mixing with journalists +was that if you did not watch yourself, you fell into their ways, drank +his whisky in silence. Later, the Babe swore on a copy of _Sell's +Advertising Guide_ that, crossing the Park, he had seen the Briefless one +leaning over the railings of Rotten Row, clad in a pair of new kid +gloves, swinging a silver-headed cane. + +One morning towards the end of the week, Joseph Loveredge, looking twenty +years younger than when Peter had last seen him, dropped in at the +editorial office of _Good Humour_ and demanded of Peter Hope how he felt +and what he thought of the present price of Emma Mines. + +Peter Hope's fear was that the gambling fever was spreading to all +classes of society. + +"I want you to dine with us on Sunday," said Joseph Loveredge. "Jack +Herring will be there. You might bring Tommy with you." + +Peter Hope gulped down his astonishment and said he should be delighted; +he thought that Tommy also was disengaged. "Mrs. Loveredge out of town, +I presume?" questioned Peter Hope. + +"On the contrary," replied Joseph Loveredge, "I want you to meet her." + +Joseph Loveredge removed a pile of books from one chair and placed them +carefully upon another, after which he went and stood before the fire. + +"Don't if you don't like," said Joseph Loveredge; "but if you don't mind, +you might call yourself, just for the evening--say, the Duke of +Warrington." + +"Say the what?" demanded Peter Hope. + +"The Duke of Warrington," repeated Joey. "We are rather short of dukes. +Tommy can be the Lady Adelaide, your daughter." + +"Don't be an ass!" said Peter Hope. + +"I'm not an ass," assured him Joseph Loveredge. "He is wintering in +Egypt. You have run back for a week to attend to business. There is no +Lady Adelaide, so that's quite simple." + +"But what in the name of--" began Peter Hope. + +"Don't you see what I'm driving at?" persisted Joey. "It was Jack's idea +at the beginning. I was frightened myself at first, but it is working to +perfection. She sees you, and sees that you are a gentleman. When the +truth comes out--as, of course, it must later on--the laugh will be +against her." + +"You think--you think that'll comfort her?" suggested Peter Hope. + +"It's the only way, and it is really wonderfully simple. We never +mention the aristocracy now--it would be like talking shop. We just +enjoy ourselves. You, by the way, I met in connection with the movement +for rational dress. You are a bit of a crank, fond of frequenting +Bohemian circles." + +"I am risking something, I know," continued Joey; "but it's worth it. I +couldn't have existed much longer. We go slowly, and are very careful. +Jack is Lord Mount-Primrose, who has taken up with anti-vaccination and +who never goes out into Society. Somerville is Sir Francis Baldwin, the +great authority on centipedes. The Wee Laddie is coming next week as +Lord Garrick, who married that dancing-girl, Prissy Something, and +started a furniture shop in Bond Street. I had some difficulty at first. +She wanted to send out paragraphs, but I explained that was only done by +vulgar persons--that when the nobility came to you as friends, it was +considered bad taste. She is a dear girl, as I have always told you, +with only one fault. A woman easier to deceive one could not wish for. I +don't myself see why the truth ever need come out--provided we keep our +heads." + +"Seems to me you've lost them already," commented Peter; "you're +overdoing it." + +"The more of us the better," explained Joey; "we help each other. +Besides, I particularly want you in it. There's a sort of superior +Pickwickian atmosphere surrounding you that disarms suspicion." + +"You leave me out of it," growled Peter. + +"See here," laughed Joey; "you come as the Duke of Warrington, and bring +Tommy with you, and I'll write your City article." + +"For how long?" snapped Peter. Incorruptible City editors are not easily +picked up. + +"Oh, well, for as long as you like." + +"On that understanding," agreed Peter, "I'm willing to make a fool of +myself in your company." + +"You'll soon get used to it," Joey told him; "eight o'clock, then, on +Sunday; plain evening dress. If you like to wear a bit of red ribbon in +your buttonhole, why, do so. You can get it at Evans', in Covent +Garden." + +"And Tommy is the Lady--" + +"Adelaide. Let her have a taste for literature, then she needn't wear +gloves. I know she hates them." Joey turned to go. + +"Am I married?" asked Peter. + +Joey paused. "I should avoid all reference to your matrimonial affairs +if I were you," was Joey's advice. "You didn't come out of that business +too well." + +"Oh! as bad as that, was I? You don't think Mrs. Loveredge will object +to me?" + +"I have asked her that. She's a dear, broad-minded girl. I've promised +not to leave you alone with Miss Montgomery, and Willis has had +instructions not to let you mix your drinks." + +"I'd have liked to have been someone a trifle more respectable," grumbled +Peter. + +"We rather wanted a duke," explained Joey, "and he was the only one that +fitted in all round." + +The dinner a was a complete success. Tommy, entering into the spirit of +the thing, bought a new pair of open-work stockings and assumed a languid +drawl. Peter, who was growing forgetful, introduced her as the Lady +Alexandra; it did not seem to matter, both beginning with an A. She +greeted Lord Mount-Primrose as "Billy," and asked affectionately after +his mother. Joey told his raciest stories. The Duke of Warrington +called everybody by their Christian names, and seemed well acquainted +with Bohemian society--a more amiable nobleman it would have been +impossible to discover. The lady whose real name was not Miss Montgomery +sat in speechless admiration. The hostess was the personification of +gracious devotion. + +Other little dinners, equally successful, followed. Joey's +acquaintanceship appeared to be confined exclusively to the higher +circles of the British aristocracy--with one exception: that of a German +baron, a short, stout gentleman, who talked English well, but with an +accent, and who, when he desired to be impressive, laid his right +forefinger on the right side of his nose and thrust his whole face +forward. Mrs. Loveredge wondered why her husband had not introduced them +sooner, but was too blissful to be suspicious. The Autolycus Club was +gradually changing its tone. Friends could no longer recognise one +another by the voice. Every corner had its solitary student practising +high-class intonation. Members dropped into the habit of addressing one +another as "dear chappie," and, discarding pipes, took to cheap cigars. +Many of the older _habitues_ resigned. + +All might have gone well to the end of time if only Mrs. Loveredge had +left all social arrangements in the hands of her husband--had not sought +to aid his efforts. To a certain political garden-party, one day in the +height of the season, were invited Joseph Loveredge and Mrs. Joseph +Loveredge, his wife. Mr. Joseph Loveredge at the last moment found +himself unable to attend. Mrs. Joseph Loveredge went alone, met there +various members of the British aristocracy. Mrs. Joseph Loveredge, +accustomed to friendship with the aristocracy, felt at her ease and was +natural and agreeable. The wife of an eminent peer talked to her and +liked her. It occurred to Mrs. Joseph Loveredge that this lady might be +induced to visit her house in Regent's Park, there to mingle with those +of her own class. + +"Lord Mount-Primrose, the Duke of Warrington, and a few others will be +dining with us on Sunday next," suggested Mrs. Loveredge. "Will not you +do us the honour of coming? We are, of course, only simple folk +ourselves, but somehow people seem to like us." + +The wife of the eminent peer looked at Mrs. Loveredge, looked round the +grounds, looked at Mrs. Loveredge again, and said she would like to come. +Mrs. Joseph Loveredge intended at first to tell her husband of her +success, but a little devil entering into her head and whispering to her +that it would be amusing, she resolved to keep it as a surprise, to be +sprung upon him at eight o'clock on Sunday. The surprise proved all she +could have hoped for. + +The Duke of Warrington, having journalistic matters to discuss with +Joseph Loveredge, arrived at half-past seven, wearing on his shirt-front +a silver star, purchased in Eagle Street the day before for eight-and- +six. There accompanied him the Lady Alexandra, wearing the identical +ruby necklace that every night for the past six months, and twice on +Saturdays, "John Strongheart" had been falsely accused of stealing. Lord +Garrick, having picked up his wife (Miss Ramsbotham) outside the Mother +Redcap, arrived with her on foot at a quarter to eight. Lord +Mount-Primrose, together with Sir Francis Baldwin, dashed up in a hansom +at seven-fifty. His Lordship, having lost the toss, paid the fare. The +Hon. Harry Sykes (commonly called "the Babe") was ushered in five minutes +later. The noble company assembled in the drawing-room chatted blithely +while waiting for dinner to be announced. The Duke of Warrington was +telling an anecdote about a cat, which nobody appeared to believe. Lord +Mount-Primrose desired to know whether by any chance it might be the same +animal that every night at half-past nine had been in the habit of +climbing up his Grace's railings and knocking at his Grace's door. The +Honourable Harry was saying that, speaking of cats, he once had a sort of +terrier--when the door was thrown open and Willis announced the Lady Mary +Sutton. + +Mr. Joseph Loveredge, who was sitting near the fire, rose up. Lord Mount- +Primrose, who was standing near the piano, sat down. The Lady Mary +Sutton paused in the doorway. Mrs. Loveredge crossed the room to greet +her. + +"Let me introduce you to my husband," said Mrs. Loveredge. "Joey, my +dear, the Lady Mary Sutton. I met the Lady Mary at the O'Meyers' the +other day, and she was good enough to accept my invitation. I forgot to +tell you." + +Mr. Loveredge said he was delighted; after which, although as a rule a +chatty man, he seemed to have nothing else to say. And a silence fell. + +Somerville the Briefless--till then. That evening has always been +reckoned the starting-point of his career. Up till then nobody thought +he had much in him--walked up and held out his hand. + +"You don't remember me, Lady Mary," said the Briefless one. "I met you +some years ago; we had a most interesting conversation--Sir Francis +Baldwin." + +The Lady Mary stood for a moment trying apparently to recollect. She was +a handsome, fresh-complexioned woman of about forty, with frank, +agreeable eyes. The Lady Mary glanced at Lord Garrick, who was talking +rapidly to Lord Mount-Primrose, who was not listening, and who could not +have understood even if he had been, Lord Garrick, without being aware of +it, having dropped into broad Scotch. From him the Lady Mary glanced at +her hostess, and from her hostess to her host. + +The Lady Mary took the hand held out to her. "Of course," said the Lady +Mary; "how stupid of me! It was the day of my own wedding, too. You +really must forgive me. We talked of quite a lot of things. I remember +now." + +Mrs. Loveredge, who prided herself upon maintaining old-fashioned +courtesies, proceeded to introduce the Lady Mary to her fellow-guests, a +little surprised that her ladyship appeared to know so few of them. Her +ladyship's greeting of the Duke of Warrington was accompanied, it was +remarked, by a somewhat curious smile. To the Duke of Warrington's +daughter alone did the Lady Mary address remark. + +"My dear," said the Lady Mary, "how you have grown since last we met!" + +The announcement of dinner, as everybody felt, came none too soon. + +It was not a merry feast. Joey told but one story; he told it three +times, and twice left out the point. Lord Mount-Primrose took sifted +sugar with _pate de foie gras_ and ate it with a spoon. Lord Garrick, +talking a mixture of Scotch and English, urged his wife to give up +housekeeping and take a flat in Gower Street, which, as he pointed out, +was central. She could have her meals sent in to her and so avoid all +trouble. The Lady Alexandra's behaviour appeared to Mrs. Loveredge not +altogether well-bred. An eccentric young noblewoman Mrs. Loveredge had +always found her, but wished on this occasion that she had been a little +less eccentric. Every few minutes the Lady Alexandra buried her face in +her serviette, and shook and rocked, emitting stifled sounds, apparently +those of acute physical pain. Mrs. Loveredge hoped she was not feeling +ill, but the Lady Alexandra appeared incapable of coherent reply. Twice +during the meal the Duke of Warrington rose from the table and began +wandering round the room; on each occasion, asked what he wanted, had +replied meekly that he was merely looking for his snuff-box, and had sat +down again. The only person who seemed to enjoy the dinner was the Lady +Mary Sutton. + +The ladies retired upstairs into the drawing-room. Mrs. Loveredge, +breaking a long silence, remarked it as unusual that no sound of +merriment reached them from the dining-room. The explanation was that +the entire male portion of the party, on being left to themselves, had +immediately and in a body crept on tiptoe into Joey's study, which, +fortunately, happened to be on the ground floor. Joey, unlocking the +bookcase, had taken out his Debrett, but appeared incapable of +understanding it. Sir Francis Baldwin had taken it from his unresisting +hands; the remaining aristocracy huddled themselves into a corner and +waited in silence. + +"I think I've got it all clearly," announced Sir Francis Baldwin, after +five minutes, which to the others had been an hour. "Yes, I don't think +I'm making any mistake. She's the daughter of the Duke of Truro, married +in '53 the Duke of Warrington, at St. Peter's, Eaton Square; gave birth +in '55 to a daughter, the Lady Grace Alexandra Warberton Sutton, which +makes the child just thirteen. In '63 divorced the Duke of Warrington. +Lord Mount-Primrose, so far as I can make out, must be her second cousin. +I appear to have married her in '66 at Hastings. It doesn't seem to me +that we could have got together a homelier little party to meet her even +if we had wanted to." + +Nobody spoke; nobody had anything particularly worth saying. The door +opened, and the Lady Alexandra (otherwise Tommy) entered the room. + +"Isn't it time," suggested the Lady Alexandra, "that some of you came +upstairs?" + +"I was thinking myself," explained Joey, the host, with a grim smile, "it +was about time that I went out and drowned myself. The canal is handy." + +"Put it off till to-morrow," Tommy advised him. "I have asked her +ladyship to give me a lift home, and she has promised to do so. She is +evidently a woman with a sense of humour. Wait till after I have had a +talk with her." + +Six men, whispering at the same time, were prepared with advice; but +Tommy was not taking advice. + +"Come upstairs, all of you," insisted Tommy, "and make yourselves +agreeable. She's going in a quarter of an hour." + +Six silent men, the host leading, the two husbands bringing up the rear, +ascended the stairs, each with the sensation of being twice his usual +weight. Six silent men entered the drawing-room and sat down on chairs. +Six silent men tried to think of something interesting to say. + +Miss Ramsbotham--it was that or hysterics, as she afterwards +explained--stifling a sob, opened the piano. But the only thing she +could remember was "Champagne Charlie is my Name," a song then popular in +the halls. Five men, when she had finished, begged her to go on. Miss +Ramsbotham, speaking in a shrill falsetto, explained it was the only tune +she knew. Four of them begged her to play it again. Miss Ramsbotham +played it a second time with involuntary variations. + +The Lady Mary's carriage was announced by the imperturbable Willis. The +party, with the exception of the Lady Mary and the hostess, suppressed +with difficulty an inclination to burst into a cheer. The Lady Mary +thanked Mrs. Loveredge for a most interesting evening, and beckoned Tommy +to accompany her. With her disappearance, a wild hilarity, uncanny in +its suddenness, took possession of the remaining guests. + +A few days later, the Lady Mary's carriage again drew up before the +little house in Regent's Park. Mrs. Loveredge, fortunately, was at home. +The carriage remained waiting for quite a long time. Mrs. Loveredge, +after it was gone, locked herself in her own room. The under-housemaid +reported to the kitchen that, passing the door, she had detected sounds +indicative of strong emotion. + +Through what ordeal Joseph Loveredge passed was never known. For a few +weeks the Autolycus Club missed him. Then gradually, as aided by Time +they have a habit of doing, things righted themselves. Joseph Loveredge +received his old friends; his friends received Joseph Loveredge. Mrs. +Loveredge, as a hostess, came to have only one failing--a marked coldness +of demeanour towards all people with titles, whenever introduced to her. + + + + +STORY THE SIXTH--"The Babe" applies for Shares + + +People said of the new journal, _Good Humour_--people of taste and +judgment, that it was the brightest, the cleverest, the most literary +penny weekly that ever had been offered to the public. This made Peter +Hope, editor and part-proprietor, very happy. William Clodd, business +manager, and also part-proprietor, it left less elated. + +"Must be careful," said William Clodd, "that we don't make it too clever. +Happy medium, that's the ideal." + +People said--people of taste and judgment, that _Good Humour_ was more +worthy of support than all the other penny weeklies put together. People +of taste and judgment even went so far, some of them, as to buy it. Peter +Hope, looking forward, saw fame and fortune coming to him. + +William Clodd, looking round about him, said-- + +"Doesn't it occur to you, Guv'nor, that we're getting this thing just a +trifle too high class?" + +"What makes you think that?" demanded Peter Hope. + +"Our circulation, for one thing," explained Clodd. "The returns for last +month--" + +"I'd rather you didn't mention them, if you don't mind," interrupted +Peter Hope; "somehow, hearing the actual figures always depresses me." + +"Can't say I feel inspired by them myself," admitted Clodd. + +"It will come," said Peter Hope, "it will come in time. We must educate +the public up to our level." + +"If there is one thing, so far as I have noticed," said William Clodd, +"that the public are inclined to pay less for than another, it is for +being educated." + +"What are we to do?" asked Peter Hope. + +"What you want," answered William Clodd, "is an office-boy." + +"How will our having an office-boy increase our circulation?" demanded +Peter Hope. "Besides, it was agreed that we could do without one for the +first year. Why suggest more expense?" + +"I don't mean an ordinary office-boy," explained Clodd. "I mean the sort +of boy that I rode with in the train going down to Stratford yesterday." + +"What was there remarkable about him?" + +"Nothing. He was reading the current number of the _Penny Novelist_. +Over two hundred thousand people buy it. He is one of them. He told me +so. When he had done with it, he drew from his pocket a copy of the +_Halfpenny Joker_--they guarantee a circulation of seventy thousand. He +sat and chuckled over it until we got to Bow." + +"But--" + +"You wait a minute. I'm coming to the explanation. That boy represents +the reading public. I talked to him. The papers he likes best are the +papers that have the largest sales. He never made a single mistake. The +others--those of them he had seen--he dismissed as 'rot.' What he likes +is what the great mass of the journal-buying public likes. Please him--I +took his name and address, and he is willing to come to us for eight +shillings a week--and you please the people that buy. Not the people +that glance through a paper when it is lying on the smoking-room table, +and tell you it is damned good, but the people that plank down their +penny. That's the sort we want." + +Peter Hope, able editor, with ideals, was shocked--indignant. William +Clodd, business man, without ideals, talked figures. + +"There's the advertiser to be thought of," persisted Clodd. "I don't +pretend to be a George Washington, but what's the use of telling lies +that sound like lies, even to one's self while one's telling them? Give +me a genuine sale of twenty thousand, and I'll undertake, without +committing myself, to convey an impression of forty. But when the actual +figures are under eight thousand--well, it hampers you, if you happen to +have a conscience. + +"Give them every week a dozen columns of good, sound literature," +continued Clodd insinuatingly, "but wrap it up in twenty-four columns of +jam. It's the only way they'll take it, and you will be doing them +good--educating them without their knowing it. All powder and no jam! +Well, they don't open their mouths, that's all." + +Clodd was a man who knew how to get his way. Flipp--spelled +Philip--Tweetel arrived in due course of time at 23, Crane Court, +ostensibly to take up the position of _Good Humour's_ office-boy; in +reality, and without his being aware of it, to act as its literary +taster. Stories in which Flipp became absorbed were accepted. Peter +groaned, but contented himself with correcting only their grosser +grammatical blunders; the experiment should be tried in all good faith. +Humour at which Flipp laughed was printed. Peter tried to ease his +conscience by increasing his subscription to the fund for destitute +compositors, but only partially succeeded. Poetry that brought a tear to +the eye of Flipp was given leaded type. People of taste and judgment +said _Good Humour_ had disappointed them. Its circulation, slowly but +steadily, increased. + +"See!" cried the delighted Clodd; "told you so!" + +"It's sad to think--" began Peter. + +"Always is," interrupted Clodd cheerfully. "Moral--don't think too +much." + +"Tell you what we'll do," added Clodd. "We'll make a fortune out of this +paper. Then when we can afford to lose a little money, we'll launch a +paper that shall appeal only to the intellectual portion of the public. +Meanwhile--" + +A squat black bottle with a label attached, standing on the desk, +arrested Clodd's attention. + +"When did this come?" asked Clodd. + +"About an hour ago," Peter told him. + +"Any order with it?" + +"I think so." Peter searched for and found a letter addressed to +"William Clodd, Esq., Advertising Manager, _Good Humour_." Clodd tore it +open, hastily devoured it. + +"Not closed up yet, are you?" + +"No, not till eight o'clock." + +"Good! I want you to write me a par. Do it now, then you won't forget +it. For the 'Walnuts and Wine' column." + +Peter sat down, headed a sheet of paper: 'For W. and W. Col.' + +"What is it?" questioned Peter--"something to drink?" + +"It's a sort of port," explained Clodd, "that doesn't get into your +head." + +"You consider that an advantage?" queried Peter. + +"Of course. You can drink more of it." + +Peter continued to write: 'Possesses all the qualities of an old vintage +port, without those deleterious properties--' "I haven't tasted it, +Clodd," hinted Peter. + +"That's all right--I have." + +"And was it good?" + +"Splendid stuff. Say it's 'delicious and invigorating.' They'll be sure +to quote that." + +Peter wrote on: 'Personally I have found it delicious and--' Peter left +off writing. "I really think, Clodd, I ought to taste it. You see, I am +personally recommending it." + +"Finish that par. Let me have it to take round to the printers. Then +put the bottle in your pocket. Take it home and make a night of it." + +Clodd appeared to be in a mighty hurry. Now, this made Peter only the +more suspicious. The bottle was close to his hand. Clodd tried to +intercept him, but was not quick enough. + +"You're not used to temperance drinks," urged Clodd. "Your palate is not +accustomed to them." + +"I can tell whether it's 'delicious' or not, surely?" pleaded Peter, who +had pulled out the cork. + +"It's a quarter-page advertisement for thirteen weeks. Put it down and +don't be a fool!" urged Clodd. + +"I'm going to put it down," laughed Peter, who was fond of his joke. +Peter poured out half a tumblerful, and drank--some of it. + +"Like it?" demanded Clodd, with a savage grin. + +"You are sure--you are sure it was the right bottle?" gasped Peter. + +"Bottle's all right," Clodd assured him. "Try some more. Judge it +fairly." + +Peter ventured on another sip. "You don't think they would be satisfied +if I recommended it as a medicine?" insinuated Peter--"something to have +about the house in case of accidental poisoning?" + +"Better go round and suggest the idea to them yourself. I've done with +it." Clodd took up his hat. + +"I'm sorry--I'm very sorry," sighed Peter. "But I couldn't +conscientiously--" + +Clodd put down his hat again with a bang. "Oh! confound that conscience +of yours! Don't it ever think of your creditors? What's the use of my +working out my lungs for you, when all you do is to hamper me at every +step?" + +"Wouldn't it be better policy," urged Peter, "to go for the better class +of advertiser, who doesn't ask you for this sort of thing?" + +"Go for him!" snorted Clodd. "Do you think I don't go for him? They are +just sheep. Get one, you get the lot. Until you've got the one, the +others won't listen to you." + +"That's true," mused Peter. "I spoke to Wilkinson, of Kingsley's, +myself. He advised me to try and get Landor's. He thought that if I +could get an advertisement out of Landor, he might persuade his people to +give us theirs." + +"And if you had gone to Landor, he would have promised you theirs +provided you got Kingsley's." + +"They will come," thought hopeful Peter. "We are going up steadily. They +will come with a rush." + +"They had better come soon," thought Clodd. "The only things coming with +a rush just now are bills." + +"Those articles of young McTear's attracted a good deal of attention," +expounded Peter. "He has promised to write me another series." + +"Jowett is the one to get hold of," mused Clodd. "Jowett, all the others +follow like a flock of geese waddling after the old gander. If only we +could get hold of Jowett, the rest would be easy." + +Jowett was the proprietor of the famous Marble Soap. Jowett spent on +advertising every year a quarter of a million, it was said. Jowett was +the stay and prop of periodical literature. New papers that secured the +Marble Soap advertisement lived and prospered; the new paper to which it +was denied languished and died. Jowett, and how to get hold of him; +Jowett, and how to get round him, formed the chief topic of discussion at +the council-board of most new papers, _Good Humour_ amongst the number. + +"I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham, who wrote the Letter to Clorinda +that filled each week the last two pages of _Good Humour_, and that told +Clorinda, who lived secluded in the country, the daily history of the +highest class society, among whom Miss Ramsbotham appeared to live and +have her being; who they were, and what they wore, the wise and otherwise +things they did--"I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham one morning, Jowett +being as usual the subject under debate, "that the old man is susceptible +to female influence." + +"What I have always thought," said Clodd. "A lady advertising-agent +might do well. At all events, they couldn't kick her out." + +"They might in the end," thought Peter. "Female door-porters would +become a profession for muscular ladies if ever the idea took root." + +"The first one would get a good start, anyhow," thought Clodd. + +The sub-editor had pricked up her ears. Once upon a time, long ago, the +sub-editor had succeeded, when all other London journalists had failed, +in securing an interview with a certain great statesman. The sub-editor +had never forgotten this--nor allowed anyone else to forget it. + +"I believe I could get it for you," said the sub-editor. + +The editor and the business-manager both spoke together. They spoke with +decision and with emphasis. + +"Why not?" said the sub-editor. "When nobody else could get at him, it +was I who interviewed Prince--" + +"We've heard all about that," interrupted the business-manager. "If I +had been your father at the time, you would never have done it." + +"How could I have stopped her?" retorted Peter Hope. "She never said a +word to me." + +"You could have kept an eye on her." + +"Kept an eye on her! When you've got a girl of your own, you'll know +more about them." + +"When I have," asserted Clodd, "I'll manage her." + +"We know all about bachelor's children," sneered Peter Hope, the editor. + +"You leave it to me. I'll have it for you before the end of the week," +crowed the sub-editor. + +"If you do get it," returned Clodd, "I shall throw it out, that's all." + +"You said yourself a lady advertising-agent would be a good idea," the +sub-editor reminded him. + +"So she might be," returned Clodd; "but she isn't going to be you." + +"Why not?" + +"Because she isn't, that's why." + +"But if--" + +"See you at the printer's at twelve," said Clodd to Peter, and went out +suddenly. + +"Well, I think he's an idiot," said the sub-editor. + +"I do not often," said the editor, "but on this point I agree with him. +Cadging for advertisements isn't a woman's work." + +"But what is the difference between--" + +"All the difference in the world," thought the editor. + +"You don't know what I was going to say," returned his sub. + +"I know the drift of it," asserted the editor. + +"But you let me--" + +"I know I do--a good deal too much. I'm going to turn over a new leaf." + +"All I propose to do--" + +"Whatever it is, you're not going to do it," declared the chief. "Shall +be back at half-past twelve, if anybody comes." + +"It seems to me--" But Peter was gone. + +"Just like them all," wailed the sub-editor. "They can't argue; when you +explain things to them, they go out. It does make me so mad!" + +Miss Ramsbotham laughed. "You are a downtrodden little girl, Tommy." + +"As if I couldn't take care of myself!" Tommy's chin was high up in the +air. + +"Cheer up," suggested Miss Ramsbotham. "Nobody ever tells me not to do +anything. I would change with you if I could." + +"I'd have walked into that office and have had that advertisement out of +old Jowett in five minutes, I know I would," bragged Tommy. "I can +always get on with old men." + +"Only with the old ones?" queried Miss Ramsbotham. + +The door opened. "Anybody in?" asked the face of Johnny Bulstrode, +appearing in the jar. + +"Can't you see they are?" snapped Tommy. + +"Figure of speech," explained Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called "the +Babe," entering and closing the door behind him. + +"What do you want?" demanded the sub-editor. + +"Nothing in particular," replied the Babe. + +"Wrong time of the day to come for it, half-past eleven in the morning," +explained the sub-editor. + +"What's the matter with you?" asked the Babe. + +"Feeling very cross," confessed the sub-editor. + +The childlike face of the Babe expressed sympathetic inquiry. + +"We are very indignant," explained Miss Ramsbotham, "because we are not +allowed to rush off to Cannon Street and coax an advertisement out of old +Jowett, the soap man. We feel sure that if we only put on our best hat, +he couldn't possibly refuse us." + +"No coaxing required," thought the sub-editor. "Once get in to see the +old fellow and put the actual figures before him, he would clamour to +come in." + +"Won't he see Clodd?" asked the Babe. + +"Won't see anybody on behalf of anything new just at present, +apparently," answered Miss Ramsbotham. "It was my fault. I was foolish +enough to repeat that I had heard he was susceptible to female charm. +They say it was Mrs. Sarkitt that got the advertisement for _The Lamp_ +out of him. But, of course, it may not be true." + +"Wish I was a soap man and had got advertisements to give away," sighed +the Babe. + +"Wish you were," agreed the sub-editor. + +"You should have them all, Tommy." + +"My name," corrected him the sub-editor, "is Miss Hope." + +"I beg your pardon," said the Babe. "I don't know how it is, but one +gets into the way of calling you Tommy." + +"I will thank you," said the sub-editor, "to get out of it." + +"I am sorry," said the Babe. + +"Don't let it occur again," said the sub-editor. + +The Babe stood first on one leg and then on the other, but nothing seemed +to come of it. "Well," said the Babe, "I just looked in, that's all. +Nothing I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," thanked him the sub-editor. + +"Good morning," said the Babe. + +"Good morning," said the sub-editor. + +The childlike face of the Babe wore a chastened expression as it slowly +descended the stairs. Most of the members of the Autolycus Club looked +in about once a day to see if they could do anything for Tommy. Some of +them had luck. Only the day before, Porson--a heavy, most uninteresting +man--had been sent down all the way to Plaistow to inquire after the +wounded hand of a machine-boy. Young Alexander, whose poetry some people +could not even understand, had been commissioned to search London for a +second-hand edition of Maitland's _Architecture_. Since a fortnight +nearly now, when he had been sent out to drive away an organ that would +not go, Johnny had been given nothing. + +Johnny turned the corner into Fleet Street feeling bitter with his lot. A +boy carrying a parcel stumbled against him. + +"Beg yer pardon--" the small boy looked up into Johnny's face, "miss," +added the small boy, dodging the blow and disappearing into the crowd. + +The Babe, by reason of his childlike face, was accustomed to insults of +this character, but to-day it especially irritated him. Why at twenty- +two could he not grow even a moustache? Why was he only five feet five +and a half? Why had Fate cursed him with a pink-and-white complexion, so +that the members of his own club had nicknamed him "the Babe," while +street-boys as they passed pleaded with him for a kiss? Why was his very +voice, a flute-like alto, more suitable--Suddenly an idea sprang to life +within his brain. The idea grew. Passing a barber's shop, Johnny went +in. + +"'Air cut, sir?" remarked the barber, fitting a sheet round Johnny's +neck. + +"No, shave," corrected Johnny. + +"Beg pardon," said the barber, substituting a towel for the sheet. "Do +you shave up, sir?" later demanded the barber. + +"Yes," answered Johnny. + +"Pleasant weather we are having," said the barber. + +"Very," assented Johnny. + +From the barber's, Johnny went to Stinchcombe's, the costumier's, in +Drury Lane. + +"I am playing in a burlesque," explained the Babe. "I want you to rig me +out completely as a modern girl." + +"Peeth o' luck!" said the shopman. "Goth the very bundle for you. Juth +come in." + +"I shall want everything," explained the Babe, "from the boots to the +hat; stays, petticoats--the whole bag of tricks." + +"Regular troutheau there," said the shopman, emptying out the canvas bag +upon the counter. "Thry 'em on." + +The Babe contented himself with trying on the costume and the boots. + +"Juth made for you!" said the shopman. + +A little loose about the chest, suggested the Babe. + +"Thath's all right," said the shopman. "Couple o' thmall towelths, all +thath's wanted." + +"You don't think it too showy?" queried the Babe. + +"Thowy? Sthylish, thath's all." + +"You are sure everything's here?" + +"Everythinkth there. 'Thept the bit o' meat inthide," assured him the +shopman. + +The Babe left a deposit, and gave his name and address. The shopman +promised the things should be sent round within an hour. The Babe, who +had entered into the spirit of the thing, bought a pair of gloves and a +small reticule, and made his way to Bow Street. + +"I want a woman's light brown wig," said the Babe to Mr. Cox, the +perruquier. + +Mr. Cox tried on two. The deceptive appearance of the second Mr. Cox +pronounced as perfect. + +"Looks more natural on you than your own hair, blessed if it doesn't!" +said Mr. Cox. + +The wig also was promised within the hour. The spirit of completeness +descended upon the Babe. On his way back to his lodgings in Great Queen +Street, he purchased a ladylike umbrella and a veil. + +Now, a quarter of an hour after Johnny Bulstrode had made his exit by the +door of Mr. Stinchcombe's shop, one, Harry Bennett, actor and member of +the Autolycus Club, pushed it open and entered. The shop was empty. +Harry Bennett hammered with his stick and waited. A piled-up bundle of +clothes lay upon the counter; a sheet of paper, with a name and address +scrawled across it, rested on the bundle. Harry Bennett, given to idle +curiosity, approached and read the same. Harry Bennett, with his stick, +poked the bundle, scattering its items over the counter. + +"Donth do thath!" said the shopman, coming up. "Juth been putting 'em +together." + +"What the devil," said Harry Bennett, "is Johnny Bulstrode going to do +with that rig-out?" + +"How thoud I know?" answered the shopman. "Private theathricals, I +suppoth. Friend o' yourth?" + +"Yes," replied Harry Bennett. "By Jove! he ought to make a good girl. +Should like to see it!" + +"Well arthk him for a ticket. Donth make 'em dirty," suggested the +shopman. + +"I must," said Harry Bennett, and talked about his own affairs. + +The rig-out and the wig did not arrive at Johnny's lodgings within the +hour as promised, but arrived there within three hours, which was as much +as Johnny had expected. It took Johnny nearly an hour to dress, but at +last he stood before the plate-glass panel of the wardrobe transformed. +Johnny had reason to be pleased with the result. A tall, handsome girl +looked back at him out of the glass--a little showily dressed, perhaps, +but decidedly _chic_. + +"Wonder if I ought to have a cloak," mused Johnny, as a ray of sunshine, +streaming through the window, fell upon the image in the glass. "Well, +anyhow, I haven't," thought Johnny, as the sunlight died away again, "so +it's no good thinking about it." + +Johnny seized his reticule and his umbrella and opened cautiously the +door. Outside all was silent. Johnny stealthily descended; in the +passage paused again. Voices sounded from the basement. Feeling like an +escaped burglar, Johnny slipped the latch of the big door and peeped out. +A policeman, pasting, turned and looked at him. Johnny hastily drew back +and closed the door again. Somebody was ascending from the kitchen. +Johnny, caught between two terrors, nearer to the front door than to the +stairs, having no time, chose the street. It seemed to Johnny that the +street was making for him. A woman came hurriedly towards him. What was +she going to say to him? What should he answer her? To his surprise she +passed him, hardly noticing him. Wondering what miracle had saved him, +he took a few steps forward. A couple of young clerks coming up from +behind turned to look at him, but on encountering his answering stare of +angry alarm, appeared confused and went their way. It began to dawn upon +him that mankind was less discerning than he had feared. Gaining courage +as he proceeded, he reached Holborn. Here the larger crowd swept around +him indifferent. + +"I beg your pardon," said Johnny, coming into collision with a stout +gentleman. + +"My fault," replied the stout gentleman, as, smiling, he picked up his +damaged hat. + +"I beg your pardon," repeated Johnny again two minutes later, colliding +with a tall young lady. + +"Should advise you to take something for that squint of yours," remarked +the tall young lady with severity. + +"What's the matter with me?" thought Johnny. "Seems to be a sort of +mist--" The explanation flashed across him. "Of course," said Johnny to +himself, "it's this confounded veil!" + +Johnny decided to walk to the Marble Soap offices. "I'll be more used to +the hang of things by the time I get there if I walk," thought Johnny. +"Hope the old beggar's in." + +In Newgate Street, Johnny paused and pressed his hands against his chest. +"Funny sort of pain I've got," thought Johnny. "Wonder if I should shock +them if I went in somewhere for a drop of brandy?" + +"It don't get any better," reflected Johnny, with some alarm, on reaching +the corner of Cheapside. "Hope I'm not going to be ill. Whatever--" The +explanation came to him. "Of course, it's these damned stays! No wonder +girls are short-tempered, at times." + +At the offices of the Marble Soap, Johnny was treated with marked +courtesy. Mr. Jowett was out, was not expected back till five o'clock. +Would the lady wait, or would she call again? The lady decided, now she +was there, to wait. Would the lady take the easy-chair? Would the lady +have the window open or would she have it shut? Had the lady seen _The +Times_? + +"Or the _Ha'penny Joker_?" suggested a junior clerk, who thereupon was +promptly sent back to his work. + +Many of the senior clerks had occasion to pass through the waiting-room. +Two of the senior clerks held views about the weather which they appeared +wishful to express at length. Johnny began to enjoy himself. This thing +was going to be good fun. By the time the slamming of doors and the +hurrying of feet announced the advent of the chief, Johnny was looking +forward to his interview. + +It was briefer and less satisfactory than he had anticipated. Mr. Jowett +was very busy--did not as a rule see anybody in the afternoon; but of +course, a lady--"Would Miss--" + +"Montgomery." + +"Would Miss Montgomery inform Mr. Jowett what it was he might have the +pleasure of doing for her?" + +Miss Montgomery explained. + +Mr. Jowett seemed half angry, half amused. + +"Really," said Mr. Jowett, "this is hardly playing the game. Against our +fellow-men we can protect ourselves, but if the ladies are going to +attack us--really it isn't fair." + +Miss Montgomery pleaded. + +"I'll think it over," was all that Mr. Jowett could be made to promise. +"Look me up again." + +"When?" asked Miss Montgomery. + +"What's to-day?--Thursday. Say Monday." Mr. Jowett rang the bell. "Take +my advice," said the old gentleman, laying a fatherly hand on Johnny's +shoulder, "leave business to us men. You are a handsome girl. You can +do better for yourself than this." + +A clerk entered, Johnny rose. + +"On Monday next, then," Johnny reminded him. + +"At four o'clock," agreed Mr. Jowett. "Good afternoon." + +Johnny went out feeling disappointed, and yet, as he told himself, he +hadn't done so badly. Anyhow, there was nothing for it but to wait till +Monday. Now he would go home, change his clothes, and get some dinner. +He hailed a hansom. + +"Number twenty-eight--no. Stop at the Queen's Street corner of Lincoln's +Inn Fields," Johnny directed the man. + +"Quite right, miss," commented the cabman pleasantly. "Corner's +best--saves all talk." + +"What do you mean?" demanded Johnny. + +"No offence, miss," answered the man. "We was all young once." + +Johnny climbed in. At the corner of Queen Street and Lincoln's Inn +Fields, Johnny got out. Johnny, who had been pondering other matters, +put his hand instinctively to where, speaking generally, his pocket +should have been; then recollected himself. + +"Let me see, did I think to bring any money out with me, or did I not?" +mused Johnny, as he stood upon the kerb. + +"Look in the ridicule, miss," suggested the cabman. + +Johnny looked. It was empty. + +"Perhaps I put it in my pocket," thought Johnny. + +The cabman hitched his reins to the whip-socket and leant back. + +"It's somewhere about here, I know, I saw it," Johnny told himself. +"Sorry to keep you waiting," Johnny added aloud to the cabman. + +"Don't you worry about that, miss," replied the cabman civilly; "we are +used to it. A shilling a quarter of an hour is what we charge." + +"Of all the damned silly tricks!" muttered Johnny to himself. + +Two small boys and a girl carrying a baby paused, interested. + +"Go away," told them the cabman. "You'll have troubles of your own one +day." + +The urchins moved a few steps further, then halted again and were joined +by a slatternly woman and another boy. + +"Got it!" cried Johnny, unable to suppress his delight as his hand +slipped through a fold. The lady with the baby, without precisely +knowing why, set up a shrill cheer. Johnny's delight died away; it +wasn't the pocket-hole. Short of taking the skirt off and turning it +inside out, it didn't seem to Johnny that he ever would find that pocket. + +Then in that moment of despair he came across it accidentally. It was as +empty as the reticule! + +"I am sorry," said Johnny to the cabman, "but I appear to have come out +without my purse." + +The cabman said he had heard that tale before, and was making +preparations to descend. The crowd, now numbering eleven, looked +hopeful. It occurred to Johnny later that he might have offered his +umbrella to the cabman; at least it would have fetched the eighteenpence. +One thinks of these things afterwards. The only idea that occurred to +him at the moment was that of getting home. + +"'Ere, 'old my 'orse a minute, one of yer," shouted the cabman. + +Half a dozen willing hands seized the dozing steed and roused it into +madness. + +"Hi! stop 'er!" roared the cabman. + +"She's down!" shouted the excited crowd. + +"Tripped over 'er skirt," explained the slatternly woman. "They do +'amper you." + +"No, she's not. She's up again!" vociferated a delighted plumber, with a +sounding slap on his own leg. "Gor blimy, if she ain't a good 'un!" + +Fortunately the Square was tolerably clear and Johnny a good runner. +Holding now his skirt and petticoat high in his left hand, Johnny moved +across the Square at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. A butcher's boy +sprang in front of him with arms held out to stop him. The thing that +for the next three months annoyed that butcher boy most was hearing +shouted out after him "Yah! who was knocked down and run over by a lidy?" +By the time Johnny reached the Strand, _via_ Clement's Inn, the hue and +cry was far behind. Johnny dropped his skirts and assumed a more girlish +pace. Through Bow Street and Long Acre he reached Great Queen Street in +safety. Upon his own doorstep he began to laugh. His afternoon's +experience had been amusing; still, on the whole, he wasn't sorry it was +over. One can have too much even of the best of jokes. Johnny rang the +bell. + +The door opened. Johnny would have walked in had not a big, raw-boned +woman barred his progress. + +"What do you want?" demanded the raw-boned woman. + +"Want to come in," explained Johnny. + +"What do you want to come in for?" + +This appeared to Johnny a foolish question. On reflection he saw the +sense of it. This raw-boned woman was not Mrs. Pegg, his landlady. Some +friend of hers, he supposed. + +"It's all right," said Johnny, "I live here. Left my latchkey at home, +that's all." + +"There's no females lodging here," declared the raw-boned lady. "And +what's more, there's going to be none." + +All this was very vexing. Johnny, in his joy at reaching his own +doorstep, had not foreseen these complications. Now it would be +necessary to explain things. He only hoped the story would not get round +to the fellows at the club. + +"Ask Mrs. Pegg to step up for a minute," requested Johnny. + +"Not at 'ome," explained the raw-boned lady. + +"Not--not at home?" + +"Gone to Romford, if you wish to know, to see her mother." + +"Gone to Romford?" + +"I said Romford, didn't I?" retorted the raw-boned lady, tartly. + +"What--what time do you expect her in?" + +"Sunday evening, six o'clock," replied the raw-boned lady. + +Johnny looked at the raw-boned lady, imagined himself telling the raw- +boned lady the simple, unvarnished truth, and the raw-boned lady's utter +disbelief of every word of it. An inspiration came to his aid. + +"I am Mr. Bulstrode's sister," said Johnny meekly; "he's expecting me." + +"Thought you said you lived here?" reminded him the raw-boned lady. + +"I meant that he lived here," replied poor Johnny still more meekly. "He +has the second floor, you know." + +"I know," replied the raw-boned lady. "Not in just at present." + +"Not in?" + +"Went out at three o'clock." + +"I'll go up to his room and wait for him," said Johnny. + +"No, you won't," said the raw-boned lady. + +For an instant it occurred to Johnny to make a dash for it, but the raw- +boned lady looked both formidable and determined. There would be a big +disturbance--perhaps the police called in. Johnny had often wanted to +see his name in print: in connection with this affair he somehow felt he +didn't. + +"Do let me in," Johnny pleaded; "I have nowhere else to go." + +"You have a walk and cool yourself," suggested the raw-boned lady. "Don't +expect he will be long." + +"But, you see--" + +The raw-boned lady slammed the door. + +Outside a restaurant in Wellington Street, from which proceeded savoury +odours, Johnny paused and tried to think. + +"What the devil did I do with that umbrella? I had it--no, I didn't. +Must have dropped it, I suppose, when that silly ass tried to stop me. By +Jove! I am having luck!" + +Outside another restaurant in the Strand Johnny paused again. "How am I +to live till Sunday night? Where am I to sleep? If I telegraph +home--damn it! how can I telegraph? I haven't got a penny. This is +funny," said Johnny, unconsciously speaking aloud; "upon my word, this is +funny! Oh! you go to--." + +Johnny hurled this last at the head of an overgrown errand-boy whose +intention had been to offer sympathy. + +"Well, I never!" commented a passing flower-girl. "Calls 'erself a lidy, +I suppose." + +"Nowadays," observed the stud and button merchant at the corner of Exeter +Street, "they make 'em out of anything." + +Drawn by a notion that was forming in his mind, Johnny turned his steps +up Bedford Street. "Why not?" mused Johnny. "Nobody else seems to have +a suspicion. Why should they? I'll never hear the last of it if they +find me out. But why should they find me out? Well, something's got to +be done." + +Johnny walked on quickly. At the door of the Autolycus Club he was +undecided for a moment, then took his courage in both hands and plunged +through the swing doors. + +"Is Mr. Herring--Mr. Jack Herring--here?" + +"Find him in the smoking-room, Mr. Bulstrode," answered old Goslin, who +was reading the evening paper. + +"Oh, would you mind asking him to step out a moment?" + +Old Goslin looked up, took off his spectacles, rubbed them, put them on +again. + +"Please say Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister." + +Old Goslin found Jack Herring the centre of an earnest argument on +Hamlet--was he really mad? + +"A lady to see you, Mr. Herring," announced old Goslin. + +"A what?" + +"Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister. She's waiting in the hall." + +"Never knew he had a sister," said Jack Herring, rising. + +"Wait a minute," said Harry Bennett. "Shut that door. Don't go." This +to old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. "Lady in a heliotrope +dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the skirt?" + +"That's right, Mr. Bennett," agreed old Goslin. + +"It's the Babe himself!" asserted Harry Bennett. + +The question of Hamlet's madness was forgotten. + +"Was in at Stinchcombe's this morning," explained Harry Bennett; "saw the +clothes on the counter addressed to him. That's the identical frock. +This is just a 'try on'--thinks he's going to have a lark with us." + +The Autolycus Club looked round at itself. + +"I can see verra promising possibilities in this, provided the thing is +properly managed," said the Wee Laddie, after a pause. + +"So can I," agreed Jack Herring. "Keep where you are, all of you. +'Twould be a pity to fool it." + +The Autolycus Club waited. Jack Herring re-entered the room. + +"One of the saddest stories I have ever heard in all my life," explained +Jack Herring in a whisper. "Poor girl left Derbyshire this morning to +come and see her brother; found him out--hasn't been seen at his lodgings +since three o'clock; fears something may have happened to him. Landlady +gone to Romford to see her mother; strange woman in charge, won't let her +in to wait for him." + +"How sad it is when trouble overtakes the innocent and helpless!" +murmured Somerville the Briefless. + +"That's not the worst of it," continued Jack. "The dear girl has been +robbed of everything she possesses, even of her umbrella, and hasn't got +a _sou_; hasn't had any dinner, and doesn't know where to sleep." + +"Sounds a bit elaborate," thought Porson. + +"I think I can understand it," said the Briefless one. "What has +happened is this. He's dressed up thinking to have a bit of fun with us, +and has come out, forgetting to put any money or his latchkey in his +pocket. His landlady may have gone to Romford or may not. In any case, +he would have to knock at the door and enter into explanations. What +does he suggest--the loan of a sovereign?" + +"The loan of two," replied Jack Herring. + +"To buy himself a suit of clothes. Don't you do it, Jack. Providence +has imposed this upon us. Our duty is to show him the folly of indulging +in senseless escapades." + +"I think we might give him a dinner," thought the stout and sympathetic +Porson. + +"What I propose to do," grinned Jack, "is to take him round to Mrs. +Postwhistle's. She's under a sort of obligation to me. It was I who got +her the post office. We'll leave him there for a night, with +instructions to Mrs. P. to keep a motherly eye on him. To-morrow he +shall have his 'bit of fun,' and I guess he'll be the first to get tired +of the joke." + +It looked a promising plot. Seven members of the Autolycus Club +gallantly undertook to accompany "Miss Bulstrode" to her lodgings. Jack +Herring excited jealousy by securing the privilege of carrying her +reticule. "Miss Bulstrode" was given to understand that anything any of +the seven could do for her, each and every would be delighted to do, if +only for the sake of her brother, one of the dearest boys that ever +breathed--a bit of an ass, though that, of course, he could not help. +"Miss Bulstrode" was not as grateful as perhaps she should have been. Her +idea still was that if one of them would lend her a couple of sovereigns, +the rest need not worry themselves further. This, purely in her own +interests, they declined to do. She had suffered one extensive robbery +that day already, as Jack reminded her. London was a city of danger to +the young and inexperienced. Far better that they should watch over her +and provide for her simple wants. Painful as it was to refuse a lady, a +beloved companion's sister's welfare was yet dearer to them. "Miss +Bulstrode's" only desire was not to waste their time. Jack Herring's +opinion was that there existed no true Englishman who would grudge time +spent upon succouring a beautiful maiden in distress. + +Arrived at the little grocer's shop in Rolls Court, Jack Herring drew +Mrs. Postwhistle aside. + +"She's the sister of a very dear friend of ours," explained Jack Herring. + +"A fine-looking girl," commented Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"I shall be round again in the morning. Don't let her out of your sight, +and, above all, don't lend her any money," directed Jack Herring. + +"I understand," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"Miss Bulstrode" having despatched an excellent supper of cold mutton and +bottled beer, leant back in her chair and crossed her legs. + +"I have often wondered," remarked Miss Bulstrode, her eyes fixed upon the +ceiling, "what a cigarette would taste like." + +"Taste nasty, I should say, the first time," thought Mrs. Postwhistle, +who was knitting. + +"Some girls, so I have heard," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "smoke +cigarettes." + +"Not nice girls," thought Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"One of the nicest girls I ever knew," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "always +smoked a cigarette after supper. Said it soothed her nerves." + +"Wouldn't 'ave thought so if I'd 'ad charge of 'er," said Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +"I think," said Miss Bulstrode, who seemed restless, "I think I shall go +for a little walk before turning in." + +"Perhaps it would do us good," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, laying down her +knitting. + +"Don't you trouble to come," urged the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode. "You +look tired." + +"Not at all," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. "Feel I should like it." + +In some respects Mrs. Postwhistle proved an admirable companion. She +asked no questions, and only spoke when spoken to, which, during that +walk, was not often. At the end of half an hour, Miss Bulstrode pleaded +a headache and thought she would return home and go to bed. Mrs. +Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea. + +"Well, it's better than tramping the streets," muttered Johnny, as the +bedroom door was closed behind him, "and that's all one can say for it. +Must get hold of a smoke to-morrow, if I have to rob the till. What's +that?" Johnny stole across on, tiptoe. "Confound it!" said Johnny, "if +she hasn't locked the door!" + +Johnny sat down upon the bed and took stock of his position. "It doesn't +seem to me," thought Johnny, "that I'm ever going to get out of this +mess." Johnny, still muttering, unfastened his stays. "Thank God, +that's off!" ejaculated Johnny piously, as he watched his form slowly +expanding. "Suppose I'll be used to them before I've finished with +them." + +Johnny had a night of dreams. + +For the whole of next day, which was Friday, Johnny remained "Miss +Bulstrode," hoping against hope to find an opportunity to escape from his +predicament without confession. The entire Autolycus Club appeared to +have fallen in love with him. + +"Thought I was a bit of a fool myself," mused Johnny, "where a petticoat +was concerned. Don't believe these blithering idiots have ever seen a +girl before." + +They came in ones, they came in little parties, and tendered him +devotion. Even Mrs. Postwhistle, accustomed to regard human phenomena +without comment, remarked upon it. + +"When you are all tired of it," said Mrs. Postwhistle to Jack Herring, +"let me know." + +"The moment we find her brother," explained Jack Herring, "of course we +shall take her to him." + +"Nothing like looking in the right place for a thing when you've finished +looking in the others," observed Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"What do you mean?" demanded Jack. + +"Just what I say," answered Mrs. Postwhistle. + +Jack Herring looked at Mrs. Postwhistle. But Mrs. Postwhistle's face was +not of the expressive order. + +"Post office still going strong?" asked Jack Herring. + +"The post office 'as been a great 'elp to me," admitted Mrs. Postwhistle; +"and I'm not forgetting that I owe it to you." + +"Don't mention it," murmured Jack Herring. + +They brought her presents--nothing very expensive, more as tokens of +regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple flowers, bottles of +scent. To Somerville "Miss Bulstrode" hinted that if he really did +desire to please her, and wasn't merely talking through his hat--Miss +Bulstrode apologised for the slang, which, she feared, she must have +picked up from her brother--he might give her a box of Messani's +cigarettes, size No. 2. The suggestion pained him. Somerville the +Briefless was perhaps old-fashioned. Miss Bulstrode cut him short by +agreeing that he was, and seemed disinclined for further conversation. + +They took her to Madame Tussaud's. They took her up the Monument. They +took her to the Tower of London. In the evening they took her to the +Polytechnic to see Pepper's Ghost. They made a merry party wherever they +went. + +"Seem to be enjoying themselves!" remarked other sightseers, surprised +and envious. + +"Girl seems to be a bit out of it," remarked others, more observant. + +"Sulky-looking bit o' goods, I call her," remarked some of the ladies. + +The fortitude with which Miss Bulstrode bore the mysterious disappearance +of her brother excited admiration. + +"Hadn't we better telegraph to your people in Derbyshire?" suggested Jack +Herring. + +"Don't do it," vehemently protested the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode; "it +might alarm them. The best plan is for you to lend me a couple of +sovereigns and let me return home quietly." + +"You might be robbed again," feared Jack Herring. "I'll go down with +you." + +"Perhaps he'll turn up to-morrow," thought Miss Bulstrode. "Expect he's +gone on a visit." + +"He ought not to have done it," thought Jack Herring, "knowing you were +coming." + +"Oh! he's like that," explained Miss Bulstrode. + +"If I had a young and beautiful sister--" said Jack Herring. + +"Oh! let's talk of something else," suggested Miss Bulstrode. "You make +me tired." + +With Jack Herring, in particular, Johnny was beginning to lose patience. +That "Miss Bulstrode's" charms had evidently struck Jack Herring all of a +heap, as the saying is, had in the beginning amused Master Johnny. +Indeed--as in the seclusion of his bedchamber over the little grocer's +shop he told himself with bitter self-reproach--he had undoubtedly +encouraged the man. From admiration Jack had rapidly passed to +infatuation, from infatuation to apparent imbecility. Had Johnny's mind +been less intent upon his own troubles, he might have been suspicious. As +it was, and after all that had happened, nothing now could astonish +Johnny. "Thank Heaven," murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, "this +Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman." + +Now, about the same time that Johnny's head was falling thus upon his +pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for their next day's +entertainment. + +"I think," said Jack Herring, "the Crystal Palace in the morning when +it's nice and quiet." + +"To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the afternoon," suggested +Somerville. + +"Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the evening," thought +Porson. + +"Hardly the place for the young person," feared Jack Herring. "Some of +the jokes--" + +"Mr. Brandram gives a reading of _Julius Caesar_ at St. George's Hall," +the Wee Laddie informed them for their guidance. + +"Hallo!" said Alexander the Poet, entering at the moment. "What are you +all talking about?" + +"We were discussing where to take Miss Bulstrode to-morrow evening," +informed him Jack Herring. + +"Miss Bulstrode," repeated the Poet in a tone of some surprise. "Do you +mean Johnny Bulstrode's sister?" + +"That's the lady," answered Jack. "But how do you come to know about +her? Thought you were in Yorkshire." + +"Came up yesterday," explained the Poet. "Travelled up with her." + +"Travelled up with her?" + +"From Matlock Bath. What's the matter with you all?" demanded the Poet. +"You all of you look--" + +"Sit down," said the Briefless one to the Poet. "Let's talk this matter +over quietly." + +Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down. + +"You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss Bulstrode. You +are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?" + +"Sure!" retorted the Poet. "Why, I've known her ever since she was a +baby." + +"About what time did you reach London?" + +"Three-thirty." + +"And what became of her? Where did she say she was going?" + +"I never asked her. The last I saw of her she was getting into a cab. I +had an appointment myself, and was--I say, what's the matter with +Herring?" + +Herring had risen and was walking about with his head between his hands. + +"Never mind him. Miss Bulstrode is a lady of about--how old?" + +"Eighteen--no, nineteen last birthday." + +"A tall, handsome sort of girl?" + +"Yes. I say, has anything happened to her?" + +"Nothing has happened to her," assured him Somerville. "_She's_ all +right. Been having rather a good time, on the whole." + +The Poet was relieved to hear it. + +"I asked her an hour ago," said Jack Herring, who was still holding his +head between his hands as if to make sure it was there, "if she thought +she could ever learn to love me. Would you say that could be construed +into an offer of marriage?" + +The remainder of the Club was unanimously of opinion that, practically +speaking, it was a proposal. + +"I don't see it," argued Jack Herring. "It was merely in the nature of a +remark." + +The Club was of opinion that such quibbling was unworthy of a gentleman. + +It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring sat down and +then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, care of Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +"But what I don't understand--" said Alexander the Poet. + +"Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, someone," moaned Jack Herring. +"How can I think with all this chatter going on?" + +"But why did Bennett--" whispered Porson. + +"Where is Bennett?" demanded half a dozen fierce voices. + +Harry Bennett had not been seen all day. + +Jack's letter was delivered to "Miss Bulstrode" the next morning at +breakfast-time. Having perused it, Miss Bulstrode rose and requested of +Mrs. Postwhistle the loan of half a crown. + +"Mr. Herring's particular instructions were," explained Mrs. Postwhistle, +"that, above all things, I was not to lend you any money." + +"When you have read that," replied Miss Bulstrode, handing her the +letter, "perhaps you will agree with me that Herring is--an ass." + +Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the half-crown. + +"Better get a shave with part of it," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. "That +is, if you are going to play the fool much longer." + +"Miss Bulstrode" opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with her +breakfast. + +"Don't tell them," said Johnny; "not just for a little while, at all +events." + +"Nothing to do with me," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. + +Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to her aunt in +Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in an envelope, the +following hastily scrawled note:-- + + "Want to speak to you at once--_alone_. Don't yell when you see me. + It's all right. Can explain in two ticks.--Your loving brother, + JOHNNY." + +It took longer than two ticks; but at last the Babe came to an end of it. + +"When you have done laughing," said the Babe. + +"But you look so ridiculous," said his sister. + +"_They_ didn't think so," retorted the Babe. "I took them in all right. +Guess you've never had as much attention, all in one day." + +"Are you sure you took them in?" queried his sister. + +"If you will come to the Club at eight o'clock this evening," said the +Babe, "I'll prove it to you. Perhaps I'll take you on to a theatre +afterwards--if you're good." + +The Babe himself walked into the Autolycus Club a few minutes before +eight and encountered an atmosphere of restraint. + +"Thought you were lost," remarked Somerville coldly. + +"Called away suddenly--very important business," explained the Babe. +"Awfully much obliged to all you fellows for all you have been doing for +my sister. She's just been telling me." + +"Don't mention it," said two or three. + +"Awfully good of you, I'm sure," persisted the Babe. "Don't know what +she would have done without you." + +A mere nothing, the Club assured him. The blushing modesty of the +Autolycus Club at hearing of their own good deeds was touching. Left to +themselves, they would have talked of quite other things. As a matter of +fact, they tried to. + +"Never heard her speak so enthusiastically of anyone as she does of you, +Jack," said the Babe, turning to Jack Herring. + +"Of course, you know, dear boy," explained Jack Herring, "anything I +could do for a sister of yours--" + +"I know, dear boy," replied the Babe; "I always felt it." + +"Say no more about it," urged Jack Herring. + +"She couldn't quite make out that letter of yours this morning," +continued the Babe, ignoring Jack's request. "She's afraid you think her +ungrateful." + +"It seemed to me, on reflection," explained Jack Herring, "that on one or +two little matters she may have misunderstood me. As I wrote her, there +are days when I don't seem altogether to quite know what I'm doing." + +"Rather awkward," thought the Babe. + +"It is," agreed Jack Herring. "Yesterday was one of them." + +"She tells me you were most kind to her," the Babe reassured him. "She +thought at first it was a little uncivil, your refusing to lend her any +money. But as I put it to her--" + +"It was silly of me," interrupted Jack. "I see that now. I went round +this morning meaning to make it all right. But she was gone, and Mrs. +Postwhistle seemed to think I had better leave things as they were. I +blame myself exceedingly." + +"My dear boy, don't blame yourself for anything. You acted nobly," the +Babe told him. "She's coming here to call for me this evening on purpose +to thank you." + +"I'd rather not," said Jack Herring. + +"Nonsense," said the Babe. + +"You must excuse me," insisted Jack Herring. "I don't mean it rudely, +but really I'd rather not see her." + +"But here she is," said the Babe, taking at that moment the card from old +Goslin's hand. "She will think it so strange." + +"I'd really rather not," repeated poor Jack. + +"It seems discourteous," suggested Somerville. + +"You go," suggested Jack. + +"She doesn't want to see me," explained Somerville. + +"Yes she does," corrected him the Babe. + +"I'd forgotten, she wants to see you both." + +"If I go," said Jack, "I shall tell her the plain truth." + +"Do you know," said Somerville, "I'm thinking that will be the shortest +way." + +Miss Bulstrode was seated in the hall. Jack Herring and Somerville both +thought her present quieter style of dress suited her much better. + +"Here he is," announced the Babe, in triumph. "Here's Jack Herring and +here's Somerville. Do you know, I could hardly persuade them to come out +and see you. Dear old Jack, he always was so shy." + +Miss Bulstrode rose. She said she could never thank them sufficiently +for all their goodness to her. Miss Bulstrode seemed quite overcome. Her +voice trembled with emotion. + +"Before we go further, Miss Bulstrode," said Jack Herring, "it will be +best to tell you that all along we thought you were your brother, dressed +up as a girl." + +"Oh!" said the Babe, "so that's the explanation, is it? If I had only +known--" Then the Babe stopped, and wished he hadn't spoken. + +Somerville seized him by the shoulders and, with a sudden jerk, stood him +beside his sister under the gas-jet. + +"You little brute!" said Somerville. "It was you all along." And the +Babe, seeing the game was up, and glad that the joke had not been +entirely on one side, confessed. + +Jack Herring and Somerville the Briefless went that night with Johnny and +his sister to the theatre--and on other nights. Miss Bulstrode thought +Jack Herring very nice, and told her brother so. But she thought +Somerville the Briefless even nicer, and later, under cross-examination, +when Somerville was no longer briefless, told Somerville so himself. + +But that has nothing to do with this particular story, the end of which +is that Miss Bulstrode kept the appointment made for Monday afternoon +between "Miss Montgomery" and Mr. Jowett, and secured thereby the Marble +Soap advertisement for the back page of _Good Humour_ for six months, at +twenty-five pounds a week. + + + + +STORY THE SEVENTH--Dick Danvers presents his Petition + + +William Clodd, mopping his brow, laid down the screwdriver, and stepping +back, regarded the result of his labours with evident satisfaction. + +"It looks like a bookcase," said William Clodd. "You might sit in the +room for half an hour and never know it wasn't a bookcase." + +What William Clodd had accomplished was this: he had had prepared, after +his own design, what appeared to be four shelves laden with works +suggestive of thought and erudition. As a matter of fact, it was not a +bookcase, but merely a flat board, the books merely the backs of volumes +that had long since found their way into the paper-mill. This artful +deception William Clodd had screwed upon a cottage piano standing in the +corner of the editorial office of _Good Humour_. Half a dozen real +volumes piled upon the top of the piano completed the illusion. As +William Clodd had proudly remarked, a casual visitor might easily have +been deceived. + +"If you had to sit in the room while she was practising mixed scales, +you'd be quickly undeceived," said the editor of _Good Humour_, one Peter +Hope. He spoke bitterly. + +"You are not always in," explained Clodd. "There must be hours when she +is here alone, with nothing else to do. Besides, you will get used to it +after a while." + +"You, I notice, don't try to get used to it," snarled Peter Hope. "You +always go out the moment she commences." + +"A friend of mine," continued William Clodd, "worked in an office over a +piano-shop for seven years, and when the shop closed, it nearly ruined +his business; couldn't settle down to work for want of it." + +"Why doesn't he come here?" asked Peter Hope. "The floor above is +vacant." + +"Can't," explained William Clodd. "He's dead." + +"I can quite believe it," commented Peter Hope. + +"It was a shop where people came and practised, paying sixpence an hour, +and he had got to like it--said it made a cheerful background to his +thoughts. Wonderful what you can get accustomed to." + +"What's the good of it?" demanded Peter Hope. + +"What's the good of it!" retorted William Clodd indignantly. "Every girl +ought to know how to play the piano. A nice thing if when her lover asks +her to play something to him--" + +"I wonder you don't start a matrimonial agency," sneered Peter Hope. +"Love and marriage--you think of nothing else." + +"When you are bringing up a young girl--" argued Clodd. + +"But you're not," interrupted Peter; "that's just what I'm trying to get +out of your head. It is I who am bringing her up. And between +ourselves, I wish you wouldn't interfere so much." + +"You are not fit to bring up a girl." + +"I've brought her up for seven years without your help. She's my adopted +daughter, not yours. I do wish people would learn to mind their own +business." + +"You've done very well--" + +"Thank you," said Peter Hope sarcastically. "It's very kind of you. +Perhaps when you've time, you'll write me out a testimonial." + +"--up till now," concluded the imperturbable Clodd. "A girl of eighteen +wants to know something else besides mathematics and the classics. You +don't understand them." + +"I do understand them," asserted Peter Hope. "What do you know about +them? You're not a father." + +"You've done your best," admitted William Clodd in a tone of patronage +that irritated Peter greatly; "but you're a dreamer; you don't know the +world. The time is coming when the girl will have to think of a +husband." + +"There's no need for her to think of a husband, not for years," retorted +Peter Hope. "And even when she does, is strumming on the piano going to +help her?" + +"I tink--I tink," said Dr. Smith, who had hitherto remained a silent +listener, "our young frent Clodd is right. You haf never quite got over +your idea dat she was going to be a boy. You haf taught her de tings a +boy should know." + +"You cut her hair," added Clodd. + +"I don't," snapped Peter. + +"You let her have it cut--it's the same thing. At eighteen she knows +more about the ancient Greeks and Romans than she does about her own +frocks." + +"De young girl," argued the doctor, "what is she? De flower dat makes +bright for us de garden of life, de gurgling brook dat murmurs by de +dusty highway, de cheerful fire--" + +"She can't be all of them," snapped Peter, who was a stickler for style. +"Do keep to one simile at a time." + +"Now you listen to plain sense," said William Clodd. "You want--we all +want--the girl to be a success all round." + +"I want her--" Peter Hope was rummaging among the litter on the desk. It +certainly was not there. Peter pulled out a drawer-two drawers. "I +wish," said Peter Hope, "I wish sometimes she wasn't quite so clever." + +The old doctor rummaged among dusty files of papers in a corner. Clodd +found it on the mantelpiece concealed beneath the hollow foot of a big +brass candlestick, and handed it to Peter. + +Peter had one vice--the taking in increasing quantities of snuff, which +was harmful for him, as he himself admitted. Tommy, sympathetic to most +masculine frailties, was severe, however, upon this one. + +"You spill it upon your shirt and on your coat," had argued Tommy. "I +like to see you always neat. Besides, it isn't a nice habit. I do wish, +dad, you'd give it up." + +"I must," Peter had agreed. "I'll break myself of it. But not all at +once--it would be a wrench; by degrees, Tommy, by degrees." + +So a compromise had been compounded. Tommy was to hide the snuff-box. It +was to be somewhere in the room and to be accessible, but that was all. +Peter, when self-control had reached the breaking-point, might try and +find it. Occasionally, luck helping Peter, he would find it early in the +day, when he would earn his own bitter self-reproaches by indulging in +quite an orgie. But more often Tommy's artfulness was such that he would +be compelled, by want of time, to abandon the search. Tommy always knew +when he had failed by the air of indignant resignation with which he +would greet her on her return. Then perhaps towards evening, Peter, +looking up, would see the box open before his nose, above it, a pair of +reproving black eyes, their severity counterbalanced by a pair of full +red lips trying not to smile. And Peter, knowing that only one pinch +would be permitted, would dip deeply. + +"I want her," said Peter Hope, feeling with his snuff-box in his hand +more confidence in his own judgment, "to be a sensible, clever woman, +capable of earning her own living and of being independent; not a mere +helpless doll, crying for some man to come and take care of her." + +"A woman's business," asserted Clodd, "is to be taken care of." + +"Some women, perhaps," admitted Peter; "but Tommy, you know very well, is +not going to be the ordinary type of woman. She has brains; she will +make her way in the world." + +"It doesn't depend upon brains," said Clodd. "She hasn't got the +elbows." + +"The elbows?" + +"They are not sharp enough. The last 'bus home on a wet night tells you +whether a woman is capable of pushing her own way in the world. Tommy's +the sort to get left on the kerb." + +"She's the sort," retorted Peter, "to make a name for herself and to be +able to afford a cab. Don't you bully me!" Peter sniffed +self-assertiveness from between his thumb and finger. + +"Yes, I shall," Clodd told him, "on this particular point. The poor +girl's got no mother." + +Fortunately for the general harmony the door opened at the moment to +admit the subject of discussion. + +"Got that _Daisy Blossom_ advertisement out of old Blatchley," announced +Tommy, waving triumphantly a piece of paper over her head. + +"No!" exclaimed Peter. "How did you manage it?" + +"Asked him for it," was Tommy's explanation. + +"Very odd," mused Peter; "asked the old idiot for it myself only last +week. He refused it point-blank." + +Clodd snorted reproof. "You know I don't like your doing that sort of +thing. It isn't proper for a young girl--" + +"It's all right," assured him Tommy; "he's bald!" + +"That makes no difference," was Clodd's opinion. + +"Yes it does," was Tommy's. "I like them bald." + +Tommy took Peter's head between her hands and kissed it, and in doing so +noticed the tell-tale specks of snuff. + +"Just a pinch, my dear," explained Peter, "the merest pinch." + +Tommy took up the snuff-box from the desk. "I'll show you where I'm +going to put it this time." She put it in her pocket. Peter's face +fell. + +"What do you think of it?" said Clodd. He led her to the corner. "Good +idea, ain't it?" + +"Why, where's the piano?" demanded Tommy. + +Clodd turned in delighted triumph to the others. + +"Humbug!" growled Peter. + +"It isn't humbug," cried Clodd indignantly. "She thought it was a +bookcase--anybody would. You'll be able to sit there and practise by the +hour," explained Clodd to Tommy. "When you hear anybody coming up the +stairs, you can leave off." + +"How can she hear anything when she--" A bright idea occurred to Peter. +"Don't you think, Clodd, as a practical man," suggested Peter +insinuatingly, adopting the Socratic method, "that if we got her one of +those dummy pianos--you know what I mean; it's just like an ordinary +piano, only you don't hear it?" + +Clodd shook his head. "No good at all. Can't tell the effect she is +producing." + +"Quite so. Then, on the other hand, Clodd, don't you think that hearing +the effect they are producing may sometimes discourage the beginner?" + +Clodd's opinion was that such discouragement was a thing to be battled +with. + +Tommy, who had seated herself, commenced a scale in contrary motion. + +"Well, I'm going across to the printer's now," explained Clodd, taking up +his hat. "Got an appointment with young Grindley at three. You stick to +it. A spare half-hour now and then that you never miss does wonders. +You've got it in you." With these encouraging remarks to Tommy, Clodd +disappeared. + +"Easy for him," muttered Peter bitterly. "Always does have an +appointment outside the moment she begins." + +Tommy appeared to be throwing her very soul into the performance. Passers- +by in Crane Court paused, regarded the first-floor windows of the +publishing and editorial offices of _Good Humour_ with troubled looks, +then hurried on. + +"She has--remarkably firm douch!" shouted the doctor into Peter's ear. +"Will see you--evening. Someting--say to you." + +The fat little doctor took his hat and departed. Tommy, ceasing +suddenly, came over and seated herself on the arm of Peter's chair. + +"Feeling grumpy?" asked Tommy. + +"It isn't," explained Peter, "that I mind the noise. I'd put up with +that if I could see the good of it." + +"It's going to help me to get a husband, dad. Seems to me an odd way of +doing it; but Billy says so, and Billy knows all about everything." + +"I can't understand you, a sensible girl, listening to such nonsense," +said Peter. "It's that that troubles me." + +"Dad, where are your wits?" demanded Tommy. "Isn't Billy acting like a +brick? Why, he could go into Fleet Street to half a dozen other papers +and make five hundred a year as advertising-agent--you know he could. But +he doesn't. He sticks to us. If my making myself ridiculous with that +tin pot they persuaded him was a piano is going to please him, isn't it +common sense and sound business, to say nothing of good nature and +gratitude, for me to do it? Dad, I've got a surprise for him. Listen." +And Tommy, springing from the arm of Peter's chair, returned to the +piano. + +"What was it?" questioned Tommy, having finished. "Could you recognise +it?" + +"I think," said Peter, "it sounded like--It wasn't 'Home, Sweet Home,' +was it?" + +Tommy clapped her hands. "Yes, it was. You'll end by liking it +yourself, dad. We'll have musical 'At Homes.'" + +"Tommy, have I brought you up properly, do you think?" + +"No dad, you haven't. You have let me have my own way too much. You +know the proverb: 'Good mothers make bad daughters.' Clodd's right; +you've spoilt me, dad. Do you remember, dad, when I first came to you, +seven years ago, a ragged little brat out of the streets, that didn't +know itself whether 'twas a boy or a girl? Do you know what I thought to +myself the moment I set eyes on you? 'Here's a soft old juggins; I'll be +all right if I can get in here!' It makes you smart, knocking about in +the gutters and being knocked about; you read faces quickly." + +"Do you remember your cooking, Tommy? You 'had an aptitude for it,' +according to your own idea." + +Tommy laughed. "I wonder how you stood it." + +"You were so obstinate. You came to me as 'cook and housekeeper,' and as +cook and housekeeper, and as nothing else, would you remain. If I +suggested any change, up would go your chin into the air. I dared not +even dine out too often, you were such a little tyrant. The only thing +you were always ready to do, if I wasn't satisfied, was to march out of +the house and leave me. Wherever did you get that savage independence of +yours?" + +"I don't know. I think it must have been from a woman--perhaps she was +my mother; I don't know--who used to sit up in the bed and cough, all +night it seemed to me. People would come to see us--ladies in fine +clothes, and gentlemen with oily hair. I think they wanted to help us. +Many of them had kind voices. But always a hard look would come into her +face, and she would tell them what even then I knew to be untrue--it was +one of the first things I can recollect--that we had everything we +wanted, that we needed no help from anyone. They would go away, +shrugging their shoulders. I grew up with the feeling that seemed to +have been burnt into my brain, that to take from anybody anything you had +not earned was shameful. I don't think I could do it even now, not even +from you. I am useful to you, dad--I do help you?" + +There had crept a terror into Tommy's voice. Peter felt the little hands +upon his arm trembling. + +"Help me? Why, you work like a nigger--like a nigger is supposed to +work, but doesn't. No one--whatever we paid him--would do half as much. +I don't want to make your head more swollen than it is, young woman, but +you have talent; I am not sure it is not genius." Peter felt the little +hands tighten upon his arm. + +"I do want this paper to be a success; that is why I strum upon the piano +to please Clodd. Is it humbug?" + +"I am afraid it is; but humbug is the sweet oil that helps this whirling +world of ours to spin round smoothly. Too much of it cloys: we drop it +very gently." + +"But you are sure it is only humbug, Tommy?" It was Peter's voice into +which fear had entered now. "It is not that you think he understands you +better than I do--would do more for you?" + +"You want me to tell you all I think of you, and that isn't good for you, +dad--not too often. It would be you who would have swelled head then." + +"I am jealous, Tommy, jealous of everyone that comes near you. Life is a +tragedy for us old folks. We know there must come a day when you will +leave the nest, leave us voiceless, ridiculous, flitting among bare +branches. You will understand later, when you have children of your own. +This foolish talk about a husband! It is worse for a man than it is for +the woman. The mother lives again in her child: the man is robbed of +all." + +"Dad, do you know how old I am?--that you are talking terrible nonsense?" + +"He will come, little girl." + +"Yes," answered Tommy, "I suppose he will; but not for a long while--oh, +not for a very long while. Don't. It frightens me." + +"You? Why should it frighten you?" + +"The pain. It makes me feel a coward. I want it to come; I want to +taste life, to drain the whole cup, to understand, to feel. But that is +the boy in me. I am more than half a boy, I always have been. But the +woman in me: it shrinks from the ordeal." + +"You talk, Tommy, as if love were something terrible." + +"There are all things in it; I feel it, dad. It is life in a single +draught. It frightens me." + +The child was standing with her face hidden behind her hands. Old Peter, +always very bad at lying, stood silent, not knowing what consolation to +concoct. The shadow passed, and Tommy's laughing eyes looked out again. + +"Haven't you anything to do, dad--outside, I mean?" + +"You want to get rid of me?" + +"Well, I've nothing else to occupy me till the proofs come in. I'm going +to practise, hard." + +"I think I'll turn over my article on the Embankment," said Peter. + +"There's one thing you all of you ought to be grateful to me for," +laughed Tommy, as she seated herself at the piano. "I do induce you all +to take more fresh air than otherwise you would." + +Tommy, left alone, set herself to her task with the energy and +thoroughness that were characteristic of her. Struggling with +complicated scales, Tommy bent her eyes closer and closer over the pages +of _Czerny's Exercises_. Glancing up to turn a page, Tommy, to her +surprise, met the eyes of a stranger. They were brown eyes, their +expression sympathetic. Below them, looking golden with the sunlight +falling on it, was a moustache and beard cut short in Vandyke fashion, +not altogether hiding a pleasant mouth, about the corners of which lurked +a smile. + +"I beg your pardon," said the stranger. "I knocked three times. Perhaps +you did not hear me?" + +"No, I didn't," confessed Tommy, closing the book of _Czerny's +Exercises_, and rising with chin at an angle that, to anyone acquainted +with the chart of Tommy's temperament, might have suggested the +advisability of seeking shelter. + +"This is the editorial office of _Good Humour_, is it not?" inquired the +stranger. + +"It is." + +"Is the editor in?" + +"The editor is out." + +"The sub-editor?" suggested the stranger. + +"I am the sub-editor." + +The stranger raised his eyebrows. Tommy, on the contrary, lowered hers. + +"Would you mind glancing through that?" The stranger drew from his +pocket a folded manuscript. "It will not take you a moment. I ought, of +course, to have sent it through the post; but I am so tired of sending +things through the post." + +The stranger's manner was compounded of dignified impudence combined with +pathetic humility. His eyes both challenged and pleaded. Tommy held out +her hand for the paper and retired with it behind the protection of the +big editorial desk that, flanked on one side by a screen and on the other +by a formidable revolving bookcase, stretched fortress-like across the +narrow room. The stranger remained standing. + +"Yes. It's pretty," criticised the sub-editor. "Worth printing, +perhaps, not worth paying for." + +"Not merely a--a nominal sum, sufficient to distinguish it from the work +of the amateur?" + +Tommy pursed her lips. "Poetry is quite a drug in the market. We can +get as much as we want of it for nothing." + +"Say half a crown," suggested the stranger. + +Tommy shot a swift glance across the desk, and for the first time saw the +whole of him. He was clad in a threadbare, long, brown ulster--long, +that is, it would have been upon an ordinary man, but the stranger +happening to be remarkably tall, it appeared on him ridiculously short, +reaching only to his knees. Round his neck and tucked into his +waistcoat, thus completely hiding the shirt and collar he may have been +wearing or may not, was carefully arranged a blue silk muffler. His +hands, which were bare, looked blue and cold. Yet the black frock-coat +and waistcoat and French grey trousers bore the unmistakable cut of a +first-class tailor and fitted him to perfection. His hat, which he had +rested on the desk, shone resplendent, and the handle of his silk +umbrella was an eagle's head in gold, with two small rubies for the eyes. + +"You can leave it if you like," consented Tommy. "I'll speak to the +editor about it when he returns." + +"You won't forget it?" urged the stranger. + +"No," answered Tommy. "I shall not forget it." + +Her black eyes were fixed upon the stranger without her being aware of +it. She had dropped unconsciously into her "stocktaking" attitude. + +"Thank you very much," said the stranger. "I will call again to-morrow." + +The stranger, moving backward to the door, went out. + +Tommy sat with her face between her hands. _Czerny's Exercises_ lay +neglected. + +"Anybody called?" asked Peter Hope. + +"No," answered Tommy. "Oh, just a man. Left this--not bad." + +"The old story," mused Peter, as he unfolded the manuscript. "We all of +us begin with poetry. Then we take to prose romances; poetry doesn't +pay. Finally, we write articles: 'How to be Happy though Married,' 'What +shall we do with our Daughters?' It is life summarised. What is it all +about?" + +"Oh, the usual sort of thing," explained Tommy. "He wants half a crown +for it." + +"Poor devil! Let him have it." + +"That's not business," growled Tommy. + +"Nobody will ever know," said Peter. "We'll enter it as 'telegrams.'" + +The stranger called early the next day, pocketed his half-crown, and left +another manuscript--an essay. Also he left behind him his gold-handled +umbrella, taking away with him instead an old alpaca thing Clodd kept in +reserve for exceptionally dirty weather. Peter pronounced the essay +usable. + +"He has a style," said Peter; "he writes with distinction. Make an +appointment for me with him." + +Clodd, on missing his umbrella, was indignant. + +"What's the good of this thing to me?" commented Clodd. "Sort of thing +for a dude in a pantomime! The fellow must be a blithering ass!" + +Tommy gave to the stranger messages from both when next he called. He +appeared more grieved than surprised concerning the umbrellas. + +"You don't think Mr. Clodd would like to keep this umbrella in exchange +for his own?" he suggested. + +"Hardly his style," explained Tommy. + +"It's very peculiar," said the stranger, with a smile. "I have been +trying to get rid of this umbrella for the last three weeks. Once upon a +time, when I preferred to keep my own umbrella, people used to take it by +mistake, leaving all kinds of shabby things behind them in exchange. Now, +when I'd really like to get quit of it, nobody will have it." + +"Why do you want to get rid of it?" asked Tommy. "It looks a very good +umbrella." + +"You don't know how it hampers me," said the stranger. "I have to live +up to it. It requires a certain amount of resolution to enter a cheap +restaurant accompanied by that umbrella. When I do, the waiters draw my +attention to the most expensive dishes and recommend me special brands of +their so-called champagne. They seem quite surprised if I only want a +chop and a glass of beer. I haven't always got the courage to disappoint +them. It is really becoming quite a curse to me. If I use it to stop a +'bus, three or four hansoms dash up and quarrel over me. I can't do +anything I want to do. I want to live simply and inexpensively: it will +not let me." + +Tommy laughed. "Can't you lose it?" + +The stranger laughed also. "Lose it! You have no idea how honest people +are. I hadn't myself. The whole world has gone up in my estimation +within the last few weeks. People run after me for quite long distances +and force it into my hand--people on rainy days who haven't got umbrellas +of their own. It is the same with this hat." The stranger sighed as he +took it up. "I am always trying to get _off_ with something reasonably +shabby in exchange for it. I am always found out and stopped." + +"Why don't you pawn them?" suggested the practicable Tommy. + +The stranger regarded her with admiration. + +"Do you know, I never thought of that," said the stranger. "Of course. +What a good idea! Thank you so much." + +The stranger departed, evidently much relieved. + +"Silly fellow," mused Tommy. "They won't give him a quarter of the +value, and he will say: 'Thank you so much,' and be quite contented." It +worried Tommy a good deal that day, the thought of that stranger's +helplessness. + +The stranger's name was Richard Danvers. He lived the other side of +Holborn, in Featherstone Buildings, but much of his time came to be spent +in the offices of _Good Humour_. + +Peter liked him. "Full of promise," was Peter's opinion. "His criticism +of that article of mine on 'The Education of Woman' showed both sense and +feeling. A scholar and a thinker." + +Flipp, the office-boy (spelt Philip), liked him; and Flipp's attitude, in +general, was censorial. "He's all right," pronounced Flipp; "nothing +stuck-up about him. He's got plenty of sense, lying hidden away." + +Miss Ramsbotham liked him. "The men--the men we think about at all," +explained Miss Ramsbotham--"may be divided into two classes: the men we +ought to like, but don't; and the men there is no particular reason for +our liking, but that we do. Personally I could get very fond of your +friend Dick. There is nothing whatever attractive about him except +himself." + +Even Tommy liked him in her way, though at times she was severe with him. + +"If you mean a big street," grumbled Tommy, who was going over proofs, +"why not say a big street? Why must you always call it a 'main artery'?" + +"I am sorry," apologised Danvers. "It is not my own idea. You told me +to study the higher-class journals." + +"I didn't tell you to select and follow all their faults. Here it is +again. Your crowd is always a 'hydra-headed monster'; your tea 'the cup +that cheers but not inebriates.'" + +"I am afraid I am a deal of trouble to you," suggested the staff. + +"I am afraid you are," agreed the sub-editor. + +"Don't give me up," pleaded the staff. "I misunderstood you, that is +all. I will write English for the future." + +"Shall be glad if you will," growled the sub-editor. + +Dick Danvers rose. "I am so anxious not to get what you call 'the sack' +from here." + +The sub-editor, mollified, thought the staff need be under no +apprehension, provided it showed itself teachable. + +"I have been rather a worthless fellow, Miss Hope," confessed Dick +Danvers. "I was beginning to despair of myself till I came across you +and your father. The atmosphere here--I don't mean the material +atmosphere of Crane Court--is so invigorating: its simplicity, its +sincerity. I used to have ideals. I tried to stifle them. There is a +set that sneers at all that sort of thing. Now I see that they are good. +You will help me?" + +Every woman is a mother. Tommy felt for the moment that she wanted to +take this big boy on her knee and talk to him for his good. He was only +an overgrown lad. But so exceedingly overgrown! Tommy had to content +herself with holding out her hand. Dick Danvers grasped it tightly. + +Clodd was the only one who did not approve of him. + +"How did you get hold of him?" asked Clodd one afternoon, he and Peter +alone in the office. + +"He came. He came in the usual way," explained Peter. + +"What do you know about him?" + +"Nothing. What is there to know? One doesn't ask for a character with a +journalist." + +"No, I suppose that wouldn't work. Found out anything about him since?" + +"Nothing against him. Why so suspicious of everybody?" + +"Because you are just a woolly lamb and want a dog to look after you. Who +is he? On a first night he gives away his stall and sneaks into the pit. +When you send him to a picture-gallery, he dodges the private view and +goes on the first shilling day. If an invitation comes to a public +dinner, he asks me to go and eat it for him and tell him what it's all +about. That doesn't suggest the frank and honest journalist, does it?" + +"It is unusual, it certainly is unusual," Peter was bound to admit. + +"I distrust the man," said Clodd. "He's not our class. What is he doing +here?" + +"I will ask him, Clodd; I will ask him straight out." + +"And believe whatever he tells you." + +"No, I shan't." + +"Then what's the good of asking him?" + +"Well, what am I to do?" demanded the bewildered Peter. + +"Get rid of him," suggested Clodd. + +"Get rid of him?" + +"Get him away! Don't have him in and out of the office all day +long-looking at her with those collie-dog eyes of his, arguing art and +poetry with her in that cushat-dove voice of his. Get him clean away--if +it isn't too late already." + +"Nonsense," said Peter, who had turned white, however. "She's not that +sort of girl." + +"Not that sort of girl!" Clodd had no patience with Peter Hope, and told +him so. "Why are there never inkstains on her fingers now? There used +to be. Why does she always keep a lemon in her drawer? When did she +last have her hair cut? I'll tell you if you care to know--the week +before he came, five months ago. She used to have it cut once a +fortnight: said it tickled her neck. Why does she jump on people when +they call her Tommy and tell them that her name is Jane? It never used +to be Jane. Maybe when you're a bit older you'll begin to notice things +for yourself." + +Clodd jammed his hat on his head and flung himself down the stairs. + +Peter, slipping out a minute later, bought himself an ounce of snuff. + +"Fiddle-de-dee!" said Peter as he helped himself to his thirteenth pinch. +"Don't believe it. I'll sound her. I shan't say a word--I'll just sound +her." + +Peter stood with his back to the fire. Tommy sat at her desk, correcting +proofs of a fanciful story: _The Man Without a Past_. + +"I shall miss him," said Peter; "I know I shall." + +"Miss whom?" demanded Tommy. + +"Danvers," sighed Peter. "It always happens so. You get friendly with a +man; then he goes away--abroad, back to America, Lord knows where. You +never see him again." + +Tommy looked up. There was trouble in her face. + +"How do you spell 'harassed'?" questioned Tommy! "two r's or one." + +"One r," Peter informed her, "two s's." + +"I thought so." The trouble passed from Tommy's face. + +"You don't ask when he's going, you don't ask where he's going," +complained Peter. "You don't seem to be interested in the least." + +"I was going to ask, so soon as I had finished correcting this sheet," +explained Tommy. "What reason does he give?" + +Peter had crossed over and was standing where he could see her face +illumined by the lamplight. + +"It doesn't upset you--the thought of his going away, of your never +seeing him again?" + +"Why should it?" Tommy answered his searching gaze with a slightly +puzzled look. "Of course, I'm sorry. He was becoming useful. But we +couldn't expect him to stop with us always, could we?" + +Peter, rubbing his hands, broke into a chuckle. "I told him 'twas all +fiddlesticks. Clodd, he would have it you were growing to care for the +fellow." + +"For Dick Danvers?" Tommy laughed. "Whatever put that into his head?" + +"Oh, well, there were one or two little things that we had noticed." + +"We?" + +"I mean that Clodd had noticed." + +I'm glad it was Clodd that noticed them, not you, dad, thought Tommy to +herself. They'd have been pretty obvious if you had noticed them. + +"It naturally made me anxious," confessed Peter. "You see, we know +absolutely nothing of the fellow." + +"Absolutely nothing," agreed Tommy. + +"He may be a man of the highest integrity. Personally, I think he is. I +like him. On the other hand, he may be a thorough-paced scoundrel. I +don't believe for a moment that he is, but he may be. Impossible to +say." + +"Quite impossible," agreed Tommy. + +"Considered merely as a journalist, it doesn't matter. He writes well. +He has brains. There's an end of it." + +"He is very painstaking," agreed Tommy. + +"Personally," added Peter, "I like the fellow." Tommy had returned to +her work. + +Of what use was Peter in a crisis of this kind? Peter couldn't scold. +Peter couldn't bully. The only person to talk to Tommy as Tommy knew she +needed to be talked to was one Jane, a young woman of dignity with sense +of the proprieties. + +"I do hope that at least you are feeling ashamed of yourself," remarked +Jane to Tommy that same night, as the twain sat together in their little +bedroom. + +"Done nothing to be ashamed of," growled Tommy. + +"Making a fool of yourself openly, for everybody to notice." + +"Clodd ain't everybody. He's got eyes at the back of his head. Sees +things before they happen." + +"Where's your woman's pride: falling in love with a man who has never +spoken to you, except in terms of the most ordinary courtesy." + +"I'm not in love with him." + +"A man about whom you know absolutely nothing." + +"Not in love with him." + +"Where does he come from? Who is he?" + +"I don't know, don't care; nothing to do with me." + +"Just because of his soft eyes, and his wheedling voice, and that half- +caressing, half-devotional manner of his. Do you imagine he keeps it +specially for you? I gave you credit for more sense." + +"I'm not in love with him, I tell you. He's down on his luck, and I'm +sorry for him, that's all." + +"And if he is, whose fault was it, do you think?" + +"It doesn't matter. We are none of us saints. He's trying to pull +himself together, and I respect him for it. It's our duty to be +charitable and kind to one another in this world!" + +"Oh, well, I'll tell you how you can be kind to him: by pointing out to +him that he is wasting his time. With his talents, now that he knows his +business, he could be on the staff of some big paper, earning a good +income. Put it nicely to him, but be firm. Insist on his going. That +will be showing true kindness to him--and to yourself, too, I'm thinking, +my dear." + +And Tommy understood and appreciated the sound good sense underlying +Jane's advice, and the very next day but one, seizing the first +opportunity, acted upon it; and all would have gone as contemplated if +only Dick Danvers had sat still and listened, as it had been arranged in +Tommy's programme that he should. + +"But I don't want to go," said Dick. + +"But you ought to want to go. Staying here with us you are doing +yourself no good." + +He rose and came to where she stood with one foot upon the fender, +looking down into the fire. His doing this disconcerted her. So long as +he remained seated at the other end of the room, she was the sub-editor, +counselling the staff for its own good. Now that she could not raise her +eyes without encountering his, she felt painfully conscious of being +nothing more important than a little woman who was trembling. + +"It is doing me all the good in the world," he told her, "being near to +you." + +"Oh, please do sit down again," she urged him. "I can talk to you so +much better when you're sitting down." + +But he would not do anything he should have done that day. Instead he +took her hands in his, and would not let them go; and the reason and the +will went out of her, leaving her helpless. + +"Let me be with you always," he pleaded. "It means the difference +between light and darkness to me. You have done so much for me. Will +you not finish your work? Will you not trust me? It is no hot passion +that can pass away, my love for you. It springs from all that is best in +me--from the part of me that is wholesome and joyous and strong, the part +of me that belongs to you." + +Releasing her, he turned away. + +"The other part of me--the blackguard--it is dead, dear,--dead and +buried. I did not know I was a blackguard, I thought myself a fine +fellow, till one day it came home to me. Suddenly I saw myself as I +really was. And the sight of the thing frightened me and I ran away from +it. I said to myself I would begin life afresh, in a new country, free +of every tie that could bind me to the past. It would mean +poverty--privation, maybe, in the beginning. What of that? The struggle +would brace me. It would be good sport. Ah, well, you can guess the +result: the awakening to the cold facts, the reaction of feeling. In +what way was I worse than other men? Who was I, to play the prig in a +world where others were laughing and dining? I had tramped your city +till my boots were worn into holes. I had but to abandon my quixotic +ideals--return to where shame lay waiting for me, to be welcomed with the +fatted calf. It would have ended so had I not chanced to pass by your +door that afternoon and hear you strumming on the piano." + +So Billy was right, after all, thought Tommy to herself, the piano does +help. + +"It was so incongruous--a piano in Crane Court--I looked to see where the +noise came from. I read the name of the paper on the doorpost. 'It will +be my last chance,' I said to myself. 'This shall decide it.'" + +He came back to her. She had not moved. "I am not afraid to tell you +all this. You are so big-hearted, so human; you will understand, you can +forgive. It is all past. Loving you tells a man that he has done with +evil. Will you not trust me?" + +She put her hands in his. "I am trusting you," she said, "with all my +life. Don't make a muddle of it, dear, if you can help it." + +It was an odd wooing, as Tommy laughingly told herself when she came to +think it over in her room that night. But that is how it shaped itself. + +What troubled her most was that he had not been quite frank with Peter, +so that Peter had to defend her against herself. + +"I attacked you so suddenly," explained Peter, "you had not time to +think. You acted from instinct. A woman seeks to hide her love even +from herself." + +"I expect, after all, I am more of a girl than a boy," feared Tommy: "I +seem to have so many womanish failings." + +Peter took himself into quite places and trained himself to face the fact +that another would be more to her than he had ever been, and Clodd went +about his work like a bear with a sore head; but they neither of them +need have troubled themselves so much. The marriage did not take place +till nearly fifteen years had passed away, and much water had to flow +beneath old London Bridge before that day. + +The past is not easily got rid of. A tale was once written of a woman +who killed her babe and buried it in a lonely wood, and later stole back +in the night and saw there, white in the moonlight, a child's hand +calling through the earth, and buried it again and yet again; but always +that white baby hand called upwards through the earth, trample it down as +she would. Tommy read the story one evening in an old miscellany, and +sat long before the dead fire, the book open on her lap, and shivered; +for now she knew the fear that had been haunting her. + +Tommy lived expecting her. She came one night when Tommy was alone, +working late in the office. Tommy knew her the moment she entered the +door, a handsome woman, with snake-like, rustling skirts. She closed the +door behind her, and drawing forward a chair, seated herself the other +side of the desk, and the two looked long and anxiously at one another. + +"They told me I should find you here alone," said the woman. "It is +better, is it not?" + +"Yes," said Tommy, "it is better." + +"Tell me," said the woman, "are you very much in love with him?" + +"Why should I tell you?" + +"Because, if not--if you have merely accepted him thinking him a good +catch--which he isn't, my dear; hasn't a penny to bless himself with, and +never will if he marries you--why, then the matter is soon settled. They +tell me you are a business-like young lady, and I am prepared to make a +business-like proposition." + +There was no answer. The woman shrugged her shoulders. + +"If, on the other hand, you are that absurd creature, a young girl in +love--why, then, I suppose we shall have to fight for him." + +"It would be more sporting, would it not?" suggested Tommy. + +"Let me explain before you decide," continued the woman. "Dick Danvers +left me six months ago, and has kept from me ever since, because he loved +me." + +"It sounds a curious reason." + +"I was a married woman when Dick Danvers and I first met. Since he left +me--for my sake and his own--I have received information of my husband's +death." + +"And does Dick--does he know?" asked the girl. + +"Not yet. I have only lately learnt the news myself." + +"Then if it is as you say, when he knows he will go back to you." + +"There are difficulties in the way." + +"What difficulties?" + +"My dear, this. To try and forget me, he has been making love to you. +Men do these things. I merely ask you to convince yourself of the truth. +Go away for six months--disappear entirely. Leave him free--uninfluenced. +If he loves you--if it be not merely a sense of honour that binds him--you +will find him here on your return. If not--if in the interval I have +succeeded in running off with him, well, is not the two or three thousand +pounds I am prepared to put into this paper of yours a fair price for +such a lover?" + +Tommy rose with a laugh of genuine amusement. She could never altogether +put aside her sense of humour, let Fate come with what terrifying face it +would. + +"You may have him for nothing--if he is that man," the girl told her; "he +shall be free to choose between us." + +"You mean you will release him from his engagement?" + +"That is what I mean." + +"Why not take my offer? You know the money is needed. It will save your +father years of anxiety and struggle. Go away--travel, for a couple of +months, if you're afraid of the six. Write him that you must be alone, +to think things over." + +The girl turned upon her. + +"And leave you a free field to lie and trick?" + +The woman, too, had risen. "Do you think he really cares for you? At +the moment you interest him. At nineteen every woman is a mystery. When +the mood is past--and do you know how long a man's mood lasts, you poor +chit? Till he has caught what he is running after, and has tasted +it--then he will think not of what he has won, but of what he has lost: +of the society from which he has cut himself adrift; of all the old +pleasures and pursuits he can no longer enjoy; of the +luxuries--necessities to a man of his stamp--that marriage with you has +deprived him of. Then your face will be a perpetual reminder to him of +what he has paid for it, and he will curse it every time he sees it." + +"You don't know him," the girl cried. "You know just a part of him--the +part you would know. All the rest of him is a good man, that would +rather his self-respect than all the luxuries you mention--you included." + +"It seems to resolve itself into what manner of man he is," laughed the +woman. + +The girl looked at her watch. "He will be here shortly; he shall tell us +himself." + +"How do you mean?" + +"That here, between the two of us, he shall decide--this very night." She +showed her white face to the woman. "Do you think I could live through a +second day like to this?" + +"The scene would be ridiculous." + +"There will be none here to enjoy the humour of it." + +"He will not understand." + +"Oh, yes, he will," the girl laughed. "Come, you have all the +advantages; you are rich, you are clever; you belong to his class. If he +elects to stop with me, it will be because he is my man--mine. Are you +afraid?" + +The woman shivered. She wrapped her fur cloak about her closer and sat +down again, and Tommy returned to her proofs. It was press-night, and +there was much to be done. + +He came a little later, though how long the time may have seemed to the +two women one cannot say. They heard his footstep on the stair. The +woman rose and went forward, so that when he opened the door she was the +first he saw. But he made no sign. Possibly he had been schooling +himself for this moment, knowing that sooner or later it must come. The +woman held out her hand to him with a smile. + +"I have not the honour," he said. + +The smile died from her face. "I do not understand," she said. + +"I have not the honour," he repeated. "I do not know you." + +The girl was leaning with her back against the desk in a somewhat mannish +attitude. He stood between them. It will always remain Life's chief +comic success: the man between two women. The situation has amused the +world for so many years. Yet, somehow, he contrived to maintain a +certain dignity. + +"Maybe," he continued, "you are confounding me with a Dick Danvers who +lived in New York up to a few months ago. I knew him well--a worthless +scamp you had done better never to have met." + +"You bear a wonderful resemblance to him," laughed the woman. + +"The poor fool is dead," he answered. "And he left for you, my dear +lady, this dying message: that, from the bottom of his soul, he was sorry +for the wrong he had done you. He asked you to forgive him--and forget +him." + +"The year appears to be opening unfortunately for me," said the woman. +"First my lover, then my husband." + +He had nerved himself to fight the living. This was a blow from the +dead. The man had been his friend. + +"Dead?" + +"He was killed, it appears, in that last expedition in July," answered +the woman. "I received the news from the Foreign Office only a fortnight +ago." + +An ugly look came into his eyes--the look of a cornered creature fighting +for its life. "Why have you followed me here? Why do I find you here +alone with her? What have you told her?" + +The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Only the truth." + +"All the truth?" he demanded--"all? Ah! be just. Tell her it was not +all my fault. Tell her all the truth." + +"What would you have me tell her? That I played Potiphar's wife to your +Joseph?" + +"Ah, no! The truth--only the truth. That you and I were a pair of idle +fools with the devil dancing round us. That we played a fool's game, and +that it is over." + +"Is it over? Dick, is it over?" She flung her arms towards him; but he +threw her from him almost brutally. "The man is dead, I tell you. His +folly and his sin lie dead with him. I have nothing to do with you, nor +you with me." + +"Dick!" she whispered. "Dick, cannot you understand? I must speak with +you alone." + +But they did not understand, neither the man nor the child. + +"Dick, are you really dead?" she cried. "Have you no pity for me? Do +you think that I have followed you here to grovel at your feet for mere +whim? Am I acting like a woman sane and sound? Don't you see that I am +mad, and why I am mad? Must I tell you before her? Dick--" She +staggered towards him, and the fine cloak slipped from her shoulders; and +then it was that Tommy changed from a child into a woman, and raised the +other woman from the ground with crooning words of encouragement such as +mothers use, and led her to the inner room. "Do not go," she said, +turning to Dick; "I shall be back in a few minutes." + +He crossed to one of the windows against which beat the City's roar, and +it seemed to him as the throb of passing footsteps beating down through +the darkness to where he lay in his grave. + +She re-entered, closing the door softly behind her. "It is true?" she +asked. + +"It can be. I had not thought of it." + +They spoke in low, matter-of-fact tones, as people do who have grown +weary of their own emotions. + +"When did he go away--her husband?" + +"About--it is February now, is it not? About eighteen months ago." + +"And died just eight months ago. Rather conveniently, poor fellow." + +"Yes, I'm glad he is dead--poor Lawrence." + +"What is the shortest time in which a marriage can be arranged?" + +"I do not know," he answered listlessly. "I do not intend to marry her." + +"You would leave her to bear it alone?" + +"It is not as if she were a poor woman. You can do anything with money." + +"It will not mend reputation. Her position in society is everything to +that class of woman." + +"My marrying her now," he pointed out, "would not save her." + +"Practically speaking it would," the girl pleaded. "The world does not +go out of its way to find out things it does not want to know. Marry her +as quietly as possible and travel for a year or two." + +"Why should I? Ah! it is easy enough to call a man a coward for +defending himself against a woman. What is he to do when he is fighting +for his life? Men do not sin with good women." + +"There is the child to be considered," she urged--"your child. You see, +dear, we all do wrong sometimes. We must not let others suffer for our +fault more--more than we can help." + +He turned to her for the first time. "And you?" + +"I? Oh, I shall cry for a little while, but later on I shall laugh, as +often. Life is not all love. I have my work." + +He knew her well by this time. And also it came to him that it would be +a finer thing to be worthy of her than even to possess her. + +So he did her bidding and went out with the other woman. Tommy was glad +it was press-night. She would not be able to think for hours to come, +and then, perhaps, she would be feeling too tired. Work can be very +kind. + +Were this an artistic story, here, of course, one would write "Finis." +But in the workaday world one never knows the ending till it comes. Had +it been otherwise, I doubt I could have found courage to tell you this +story of Tommy. It is not all true--at least, I do not suppose so. One +drifts unconsciously a little way into dream-land when one sits oneself +down to recall the happenings of long ago; while Fancy, with a sly wink, +whispers ever and again to Memory: "Let me tell this incident--picture +that scene: I can make it so much more interesting than you would." But +Tommy--how can I put it without saying too much: there is someone I think +of when I speak of her? To remember only her dear wounds, and not the +healing of them, would have been a task too painful. I love to dwell on +their next meeting. Flipp, passing him on the steps, did not know him, +the tall, sunburnt gentleman with the sweet, grave-faced little girl. + +"Seen that face somewhere before," mused Flipp, as at the corner of +Bedford Street he climbed into a hansom, "seen it somewhere on a thinner +man." + +For Dick Danvers, that he did not recognise Flipp, there was more excuse. +A very old young man had Flipp become at thirty. Flipp no longer enjoyed +popular journalism. He produced it. + +The gold-bound doorkeeper feared the mighty Clodd would be unable to see +so insignificant an atom as an unappointed stranger, but would let the +card of Mr. Richard Danvers plead for itself. To the gold-bound keeper's +surprise came down the message that Mr. Danvers was to be at once shown +up. + +"I thought, somehow, you would come to me first," said the portly Clodd, +advancing with out-stretched hand. "And this is--?" + +"My little girl, Honor. We have been travelling for the last few +months." + +Clodd took the grave, small face between his big, rough hands: + +"Yes. She is like you. But looks as if she were going to have more +sense. Forgive me, I knew your father my dear," laughed Clodd; "when he +was younger." + +They lit their cigars and talked. + +"Well, not exactly dead; we amalgamated it," winked Clodd in answer to +Danvers' inquiry. "It was just a trifle _too_ high-class. Besides, the +old gentleman was not getting younger. It hurt him a little at first. +But then came Tommy's great success, and that has reconciled him to all +things. Do they know you are in England?" + +"No," explained Danvers; "we arrived only last night." + +Clodd called directions down the speaking-tube. + +"You will find hardly any change in her. One still has to keep one's eye +upon her chin. She has not even lost her old habit of taking stock of +people. You remember." Clodd laughed. + +They talked a little longer, till there came a whistle, and Clodd put his +ear to the tube. + +"I have to see her on business," said Clodd, rising; "you may as well +come with me. They are still in the old place, Gough Square." + +Tommy was out, but Peter was expecting her every minute. + +Peter did not know Dick, but would not admit it. Forgetfulness was a +sign of age, and Peter still felt young. + +"I know your face quite well," said Peter; "can't put a name to it, +that's all." + +Clodd whispered it to him, together with information bringing history up +to date. And then light fell upon the old lined face. He came towards +Dick, meaning to take him by both hands, but, perhaps because he had +become somewhat feeble, he seemed glad when the younger man put his arms +around him and held him for a moment. It was un-English, and both of +them felt a little ashamed of themselves afterwards. + +"What we want," said Clodd, addressing Peter, "we three--you, I, and Miss +Danvers--is tea and cakes, with cream in them; and I know a shop where +they sell them. We will call back for your father in half an hour." +Clodd explained to Miss Danvers; "he has to talk over a matter of +business with Miss Hope." + +"I know," answered the grave-faced little person. She drew Dick's face +down to hers and kissed it. And then the three went out together, +leaving Dick standing by the window. + +"Couldn't we hide somewhere till she comes?" suggested Miss Danvers. "I +want to see her." + +So they waited in the open doorway of a near printing-house till Tommy +drove up. Both Peter and Clodd watched the child's face with some +anxiety. She nodded gravely to herself three times, then slipped her +hand into Peter's. + +Tommy opened the door with her latchkey and passed in. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMMY AND CO.*** + + +******* This file should be named 2356.txt or 2356.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/5/2356 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Jerome + + + + +STORY THE FIRST--Peter Hope plans his Prospectus + + + +"Come in!" said Peter Hope. + +Peter Hope was tall and thin, clean-shaven but for a pair of side +whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below the ear, with +hair of the kind referred to by sympathetic barbers as "getting a +little thin on the top, sir," but arranged with economy, that +everywhere is poverty's true helpmate. About Mr. Peter Hope's +linen, which was white though somewhat frayed, there was a self- +assertiveness that invariably arrested the attention of even the +most casual observer. Decidedly there was too much of it--its +ostentation aided and abetted by the retiring nature of the cut- +away coat, whose chief aim clearly was to slip off and disappear +behind its owner's back. "I'm a poor old thing," it seemed to say. +"I don't shine--or, rather, I shine too much among these up-to-date +young modes. I only hamper you. You would be much more +comfortable without me." To persuade it to accompany him, its +proprietor had to employ force, keeping fastened the lowest of its +three buttons. At every step, it struggled for its liberty. +Another characteristic of Peter's, linking him to the past, was his +black silk cravat, secured by a couple of gold pins chained +together. Watching him as he now sat writing, his long legs +encased in tightly strapped grey trousering, crossed beneath the +table, the lamplight falling on his fresh-complexioned face, upon +the shapely hand that steadied the half-written sheet, a stranger +might have rubbed his eyes, wondering by what hallucination he thus +found himself in presence seemingly of some young beau belonging to +the early 'forties; but looking closer, would have seen the many +wrinkles. + +"Come in!" repeated Mr. Peter Hope, raising his voice, but not his +eyes. + +The door opened, and a small, white face, out of which gleamed a +pair of bright, black eyes, was thrust sideways into the room. + +"Come in!" repeated Mr. Peter Hope for the third time. "Who is +it?" + +A hand not over clean, grasping a greasy cloth cap, appeared below +the face. + +"Not ready yet," said Mr. Hope. "Sit down and wait." + +The door opened wider, and the whole of the figure slid in and, +closing the door behind it, sat itself down upon the extreme edge +of the chair nearest. + +"Which are you--Central News or Courier?" demanded Mr. Peter Hope, +but without looking up from his work. + +The bright, black eyes, which had just commenced an examination of +the room by a careful scrutiny of the smoke-grimed ceiling, +descended and fixed themselves upon the one clearly defined bald +patch upon his head that, had he been aware of it, would have +troubled Mr. Peter Hope. But the full, red lips beneath the +turned-up nose remained motionless. + +That he had received no answer to his question appeared to have +escaped the attention of Mr. Peter Hope. The thin, white hand +moved steadily to and fro across the paper. Three more sheets were +added to those upon the floor. Then Mr. Peter Hope pushed back his +chair and turned his gaze for the first time upon his visitor. + +To Peter Hope, hack journalist, long familiar with the genus +Printer's Devil, small white faces, tangled hair, dirty hands, and +greasy caps were common objects in the neighbourhood of that buried +rivulet, the Fleet. But this was a new species. Peter Hope sought +his spectacles, found them after some trouble under a heap of +newspapers, adjusted them upon his high, arched nose, leant +forward, and looked long and up and down. + +"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "What is it?" + +The figure rose to its full height of five foot one and came +forward slowly. + +Over a tight-fitting garibaldi of blue silk, excessively decollete, +it wore what once had been a boy's pepper-and-salt jacket. A +worsted comforter wound round the neck still left a wide expanse of +throat showing above the garibaldi. Below the jacket fell a long, +black skirt, the train of which had been looped up about the waist +and fastened with a cricket-belt. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" asked Mr. Peter Hope. + +For answer, the figure, passing the greasy cap into its other hand, +stooped down and, seizing the front of the long skirt, began to +haul it up. + +"Don't do that!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "I say, you know, you--" + +But by this time the skirt had practically disappeared, leaving to +view a pair of much-patched trousers, diving into the right-hand +pocket of which the dirty hand drew forth a folded paper, which, +having opened and smoothed out, it laid upon the desk. + +Mr. Peter Hope pushed up his spectacles till they rested on his +eyebrows, and read aloud--"'Steak and Kidney Pie, 4d.; Do. (large +size), 6d.; Boiled Mutton--'" + +"That's where I've been for the last two weeks," said the figure,-- +"Hammond's Eating House!" + +The listener noted with surprise that the voice--though it told him +as plainly as if he had risen and drawn aside the red rep curtains, +that outside in Gough Square the yellow fog lay like the ghost of a +dead sea--betrayed no Cockney accent, found no difficulty with its +aitches. + +"You ask for Emma. She'll say a good word for me. She told me +so." + +"But, my good--" Mr. Peter Hope, checking himself, sought again the +assistance of his glasses. The glasses being unable to decide the +point, their owner had to put the question bluntly: + +"Are you a boy or a girl?" + +"I dunno." + +"You don't know!" + +"What's the difference?" + +Mr. Peter Hope stood up, and taking the strange figure by the +shoulders, turned it round slowly twice, apparently under the +impression that the process might afford to him some clue. But it +did not. + +"What is your name?" + +"Tommy." + +"Tommy what?" + +"Anything you like. I dunno. I've had so many of 'em." + +"What do you want? What have you come for?" + +"You're Mr. Hope, ain't you, second floor, 16, Gough Square?" + +"That is my name." + +"You want somebody to do for you?" + +"You mean a housekeeper!" + +"Didn't say anything about housekeeper. Said you wanted somebody +to do for you--cook and clean the place up. Heard 'em talking +about it in the shop this afternoon. Old lady in green bonnet was +asking Mother Hammond if she knew of anyone." + +"Mrs. Postwhistle--yes, I did ask her to look out for someone for +me. Why, do you know of anyone? Have you been sent by anybody?" + +"You don't want anything too 'laborate in the way o' cooking? You +was a simple old chap, so they said; not much trouble." + +"No--no. I don't want much--someone clean and respectable. But +why couldn't she come herself? Who is it?" + +"Well, what's wrong about me?" + +"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"Why won't I do? I can make beds and clean rooms--all that sort o' +thing. As for cooking, I've got a natural aptitude for it. You +ask Emma; she'll tell you. You don't want nothing 'laborate?" + +"Elizabeth," said Mr. Peter Hope, as he crossed and, taking up the +poker, proceeded to stir the fire, "are we awake or asleep?" + +Elizabeth thus appealed to, raised herself on her hind legs and dug +her claws into her master's thigh. Mr. Hope's trousers being thin, +it was the most practical answer she could have given him. + +"Done a lot of looking after other people for their benefit," +continued Tommy. "Don't see why I shouldn't do it for my own." + +"My dear--I do wish I knew whether you were a boy or a girl. Do +you seriously suggest that I should engage you as my housekeeper?" +asked Mr. Peter Hope, now upright with his back to the fire. + +"I'd do for you all right," persisted Tommy. "You give me my grub +and a shake-down and, say, sixpence a week, and I'll grumble less +than most of 'em." + +"Don't be ridiculous," said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"You won't try me?" + +"Of course not; you must be mad." + +"All right. No harm done." The dirty hand reached out towards the +desk, and possessing itself again of Hammond's Bill of Fare, +commenced the operations necessary for bearing it away in safety. + +"Here's a shilling for you," said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"Rather not," said Tommy. "Thanks all the same." + +"Nonsense!" said Mr. Peter Hope. + +"Rather not," repeated Tommy. "Never know where that sort of thing +may lead you to." + +"All right," said Mr. Peter Hope, replacing the coin in his pocket. +"Don't!" + +The figure moved towards the door. + +"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," said Mr. Peter Hope irritably. + +The figure, with its hand upon the door, stood still. + +"Are you going back to Hammond's?" + +"No. I've finished there. Only took me on for a couple o' weeks, +while one of the gals was ill. She came back this morning." + +"Who are your people?" + +Tommy seemed puzzled. "What d'ye mean?" + +"Well, whom do you live with?" + +"Nobody." + +"You've got nobody to look after you--to take care of you?" + +"Take care of me! D'ye think I'm a bloomin' kid?" + +"Then where are you going to now?" + +"Going? Out." + +Peter Hope's irritation was growing. + +"I mean, where are you going to sleep? Got any money for a +lodging?" + +"Yes, I've got some money," answered Tommy. "But I don't think +much o' lodgings. Not a particular nice class as you meet there. +I shall sleep out to-night. 'Tain't raining." + +Elizabeth uttered a piercing cry. + +"Serves you right!" growled Peter savagely. "How can anyone help +treading on you when you will get just between one's legs. Told +you of it a hundred times." + +The truth of the matter was that Peter was becoming very angry with +himself. For no reason whatever, as he told himself, his memory +would persist in wandering to Ilford Cemetery, in a certain +desolate corner of which lay a fragile little woman whose lungs had +been but ill adapted to breathing London fogs; with, on the top of +her, a still smaller and still more fragile mite of humanity that, +in compliment to its only relative worth a penny-piece, had been +christened Thomas--a name common enough in all conscience, as Peter +had reminded himself more than once. In the name of common sense, +what had dead and buried Tommy Hope to do with this affair? The +whole thing was the veriest sentiment, and sentiment was Mr. Peter +Hope's abomination. Had he not penned articles innumerable +pointing out its baneful influence upon the age? Had he not always +condemned it, wherever he had come across it in play or book? Now +and then the suspicion had crossed Peter's mind that, in spite of +all this, he was somewhat of a sentimentalist himself--things had +suggested this to him. The fear had always made him savage. + +"You wait here till I come back," he growled, seizing the +astonished Tommy by the worsted comforter and spinning it into the +centre of the room. "Sit down, and don't you dare to move." And +Peter went out and slammed the door behind him. + +"Bit off his chump, ain't he?" remarked Tommy to Elizabeth, as the +sound of Peter's descending footsteps died away. People had a way +of addressing remarks to Elizabeth. Something in her manner +invited this. + +"Oh, well, it's all in the day's work," commented Tommy cheerfully, +and sat down as bid. + +Five minutes passed, maybe ten. Then Peter returned, accompanied +by a large, restful lady, to whom surprise--one felt it +instinctively--had always been, and always would remain, an unknown +quantity. + +Tommy rose. + +"That's the--the article," explained Peter. + +Mrs. Postwhistle compressed her lips and slightly tossed her head. +It was the attitude of not ill-natured contempt from which she +regarded most human affairs. + +"That's right," said Mrs. Postwhistle; "I remember seeing 'er +there--leastways, it was an 'er right enough then. What 'ave you +done with your clothes?" + +"They weren't mine," explained Tommy. "They were things what Mrs. +Hammond had lent me." + +"Is that your own?" asked Mrs. Postwhistle, indicating the blue +silk garibaldi. + +"Yes." + +"What went with it?" + +"Tights. They were too far gone." + +"What made you give up the tumbling business and go to Mrs. +'Ammond's?" + +"It gave me up. Hurt myself." + +"Who were you with last?" + +"Martini troupe." + +"And before that?" + +"Oh! heaps of 'em." + +"Nobody ever told you whether you was a boy or a girl?" + +"Nobody as I'd care to believe. Some of them called me the one, +some of them the other. It depended upon what was wanted." + +"How old are you?" + +"I dunno." + +Mrs. Postwhistle turned to Peter, who was jingling keys. + +"Well, there's the bed upstairs. It's for you to decide." + +"What I don't want to do," explained Peter, sinking his voice to a +confidential whisper, "is to make a fool of myself." + +"That's always a good rule," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, "for those to +whom it's possible." + +"Anyhow," said Peter, "one night can't do any harm. To-morrow we +can think what's to be done." + +"To-morrow"had always been Peter's lucky day. At the mere mention +of the magic date his spirits invariably rose. He now turned upon +Tommy a countenance from which all hesitation was banished. + +"Very well, Tommy," said Mr. Peter Hope, "you can sleep here to- +night. Go with Mrs. Postwhistle, and she'll show you your room." + +The black eyes shone. + +"You're going to give me a trial?" + +"We'll talk about all that to-morrow." The black eyes clouded. + +"Look here. I tell you straight, it ain't no good." + +"What do you mean? What isn't any good?" demanded Peter. + +"You'll want to send me to prison." + +"To prison!" + +"Oh, yes. You'll call it a school, I know. You ain't the first +that's tried that on. It won't work." The bright, black eyes were +flashing passionately. "I ain't done any harm. I'm willing to +work. I can keep myself. I always have. What's it got to do with +anybody else?" + +Had the bright, black eyes retained their expression of passionate +defiance, Peter Hope might have retained his common sense. Only +Fate arranged that instead they should suddenly fill with wild +tears. And at sight of them Peter's common sense went out of the +room disgusted, and there was born the history of many things. + +"Don't be silly," said Peter. "You didn't understand. Of course +I'm going to give you a trial. You're going to 'do' for me. I +merely meant that we'd leave the details till to-morrow. Come, +housekeepers don't cry." + +The little wet face looked up. + +"You mean it? Honour bright?" + +"Honour bright. Now go and wash yourself. Then you shall get me +my supper." + +The odd figure, still heaving from its paroxysm of sobs, stood up. + +"And I have my grub, my lodging, and sixpence a week?" + +"Yes, yes; I think that's a fair arrangement," agreed Mr. Peter +Hope, considering. "Don't you, Mrs. Postwhistle?" + +"With a frock--or a suit of trousers--thrown in," suggested Mrs. +Postwhistle. "It's generally done." + +"If it's the custom, certainly," agreed Mr. Peter Hope. "Sixpence +a week and clothes." + +And this time it was Peter that, in company with Elizabeth, sat +waiting the return of Tommy. + +"I rather hope," said Peter, "it's a boy. It was the fogs, you +know. If only I could have afforded to send him away!" + +Elizabeth looked thoughtful. The door opened. + +"Ah! that's better, much better," said Mr. Peter Hope. "'Pon my +word, you look quite respectable." + +By the practical Mrs. Postwhistle a working agreement, benefiting +both parties, had been arrived at with the long-trained skirt; +while an ample shawl arranged with judgment disguised the nakedness +that lay below. Peter, a fastidious gentleman, observed with +satisfaction that the hands, now clean, had been well cared for. + +"Give me that cap," said Peter. He threw it in the glowing fire. +It burned brightly, diffusing strange odours. + +"There's a travelling cap of mine hanging up in the passage. You +can wear that for the present. Take this half-sovereign and get me +some cold meat and beer for supper. You'll find everything else +you want in that sideboard or else in the kitchen. Don't ask me a +hundred questions, and don't make a noise," and Peter went back to +his work. + +"Good idea, that half-sovereign," said Peter. "Shan't be bothered +with 'Master Tommy' any more, don't expect. Starting a nursery at +our time of life. Madness." Peter's pen scratched and spluttered. +Elizabeth kept an eye upon the door. + +"Quarter of an hour," said Peter, looking at his watch. "Told you +so." The article on which Peter was now engaged appeared to be of +a worrying nature. + +"Then why," said Peter, "why did he refuse that shilling? +Artfulness," concluded Peter, "pure artfulness. Elizabeth, old +girl, we've got out of this business cheaply. Good idea, that +half-sovereign." Peter gave vent to a chuckle that had the effect +of alarming Elizabeth. + +But luck evidently was not with Peter that night. + +"Pingle's was sold out," explained Tommy, entering with parcels; +"had to go to Bow's in Farringdon Street." + +"Oh!" said Peter, without looking up. + +Tommy passed through into the little kitchen behind. Peter wrote +on rapidly, making up for lost time. + +"Good!" murmured Peter, smiling to himself, "that's a neat phrase. +That ought to irritate them." + +Now, as he wrote, while with noiseless footsteps Tommy, unseen +behind him, moved to and fro and in and out the little kitchen, +there came to Peter Hope this very curious experience: it felt to +him as if for a long time he had been ill--so ill as not even to +have been aware of it--and that now he was beginning to be himself +again; consciousness of things returning to him. This solidly +furnished, long, oak-panelled room with its air of old-world +dignity and repose--this sober, kindly room in which for more than +half his life he had lived and worked--why had he forgotten it? It +came forward greeting him with an amused smile, as of some old +friend long parted from. The faded photos, in stiff, wooden frames +upon the chimney-piece, among them that of the fragile little woman +with the unadaptable lungs. + +"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Peter Hope, pushing back his chair. +"It's thirty years ago. How time does fly! Why, let me see, I +must be--" + +"D'you like it with a head on it?" demanded Tommy, who had been +waiting patiently for signs. + +Peter shook himself awake and went to his supper. + +A bright idea occurred to Peter in the night. "Of course; why +didn't I think of it before? Settle the question at once." Peter +fell into an easy sleep. + +"Tommy," said Peter, as he sat himself down to breakfast the next +morning. "By-the-by," asked Peter with a puzzled expression, +putting down his cup, "what is this?" + +"Cauffee," informed him Tommy. "You said cauffee." + +"Oh!" replied Peter. "For the future, Tommy, if you don't mind, I +will take tea of a morning." + +"All the same to me," explained the agreeable Tommy, "it's your +breakfast." + +"What I was about to say," continued Peter, "was that you're not +looking very well, Tommy." + +"I'm all right," asserted Tommy; "never nothing the matter with +me." + +"Not that you know of, perhaps; but one can be in a very bad way, +Tommy, without being aware of it. I cannot have anyone about me +that I am not sure is in thoroughly sound health." + +"If you mean you've changed your mind and want to get rid of me--" +began Tommy, with its chin in the air. + +"I don't want any of your uppishness," snapped Peter, who had wound +himself up for the occasion to a degree of assertiveness that +surprised even himself. "If you are a thoroughly strong and +healthy person, as I think you are, I shall be very glad to retain +your services. But upon that point I must be satisfied. It is the +custom," explained Peter. "It is always done in good families. +Run round to this address"--Peter wrote it upon a leaf of his +notebook--"and ask Dr. Smith to come and see me before he begins +his round. You go at once, and don't let us have any argument." + +"That is the way to talk to that young person--clearly," said Peter +to himself, listening to Tommy's footsteps dying down the stairs. + +Hearing the street-door slam, Peter stole into the kitchen and +brewed himself a cup of coffee. + +Dr. Smith, who had commenced life as Herr Schmidt, but who in +consequence of difference of opinion with his Government was now an +Englishman with strong Tory prejudices, had but one sorrow: it was +that strangers would mistake him for a foreigner. He was short and +stout, with bushy eyebrows and a grey moustache, and looked so +fierce that children cried when they saw him, until he patted them +on the head and addressed them as "mein leedle frent" in a voice so +soft and tender that they had to leave off howling just to wonder +where it came from. He and Peter, who was a vehement Radical, had +been cronies for many years, and had each an indulgent contempt for +the other's understanding, tempered by a sincere affection for one +another they would have found it difficult to account for. + +"What tink you is de matter wid de leedle wench?" demanded Dr. +Smith, Peter having opened the case. Peter glanced round the room. +The kitchen door was closed. + +"How do you know it's a wench?" + +The eyes beneath the bushy brows grew rounder. "If id is not a +wench, why dress it--" + +"Haven't dressed it," interrupted Peter. "Just what I'm waiting to +do--so soon as I know." + +And Peter recounted the events of the preceding evening. + +Tears gathered in the doctor's small, round eyes. His absurd +sentimentalism was the quality in his friend that most irritated +Peter. + +"Poor leedle waif!" murmured the soft-hearted old gentleman. "Id +was de good Providence dat guided her--or him, whichever id be." + +"Providence be hanged!" snarled Peter. "What was my Providence +doing--landing me with a gutter-brat to look after?" + +"So like you Radicals," sneered the doctor, "to despise a fellow +human creature just because id may not have been born in burble and +fine linen." + +"I didn't send for you to argue politics," retorted Peter, +controlling his indignation by an effort. "I want you to tell me +whether it's a boy or a girl, so that I may know what to do with +it." + +"What mean you to do wid id?" inquired the doctor. + +"I don't know," confessed Peter. "If it's a boy, as I rather think +it is, maybe I'll be able to find it a place in one of the offices- +-after I've taught it a little civilisation." + +"And if id be a girl?" + +"How can it be a girl when it wears trousers?" demanded Peter. +"Why anticipate difficulties?" + +Peter, alone, paced to and fro the room, his hands behind his back, +his ear on the alert to catch the slightest sound from above. + +"I do hope it is a boy," said Peter, glancing up. + +Peter's eyes rested on the photo of the fragile little woman gazing +down at him from its stiff frame upon the chimney-piece. Thirty +years ago, in this same room, Peter had paced to and fro, his hands +behind his back, his ear alert to catch the slightest sound from +above, had said to himself the same words. + +"It's odd," mused Peter--"very odd indeed." + +The door opened. The stout doctor, preceded at a little distance +by his watch-chain, entered and closed the door behind him. + +"A very healthy child," said the doctor, "as fine a child as any +one could wish to see. A girl." + +The two old gentlemen looked at one another. Elizabeth, possibly +relieved in her mind, began to purr. + +"What am I to do with it?" demanded Peter. + +"A very awkward bosition for you," agreed the sympathetic doctor. + +"I was a fool!" declared Peter. + +"You haf no one here to look after de leedle wench when you are +away," pointed out the thoughtful doctor. + +"And from what I've seen of the imp," added Peter, "it will want +some looking after." + +"I tink--I tink," said the helpful doctor, "I see a way out!" + +"What?" + +The doctor thrust his fierce face forward and tapped knowingly with +his right forefinger the right side of his round nose. "I will +take charge of de leedle wench." + +"You?" + +"To me de case will not present de same difficulties. I haf a +housekeeper." + +"Oh, yes, Mrs. Whateley." + +"She is a goot woman when you know her," explained the doctor. +"She only wants managing." + +"Pooh!" ejaculated Peter. + +"Why do you say dat?" inquired the doctor. + +"You! bringing up a headstrong girl. The idea!" + +"I should be kind, but firm." + +"You don't know her." + +"How long haf you known her?" + +"Anyhow, I'm not a soft-hearted sentimentalist that would just ruin +the child." + +"Girls are not boys," persisted the doctor; "dey want different +treatment." + +"Well, I'm not a brute!" snarled Peter. "Besides, suppose she +turns out rubbish! What do you know about her?" + +"I take my chance," agreed the generous doctor. + +"It wouldn't be fair," retorted honest Peter. + +"Tink it over," said the doctor. "A place is never home widout de +leedle feet. We Englishmen love de home. You are different. You +haf no sentiment." + +"I cannot help feeling," explained Peter, "a sense of duty in this +matter. The child came to me. It is as if this thing had been +laid upon me." + +"If you look upon id dat way, Peter," sighed the doctor. + +"With sentiment," went on Peter, "I have nothing to do; but duty-- +duty is quite another thing." Peter, feeling himself an ancient +Roman, thanked the doctor and shook hands with him. + +Tommy, summoned, appeared. + +"The doctor, Tommy," said Peter, without looking up from his +writing, "gives a very satisfactory account of you. So you can +stop." + +"Told you so," returned Tommy. "Might have saved your money." + +"But we shall have to find you another name." + +"What for?" + +"If you are to be a housekeeper, you must be a girl." + +"Don't like girls." + +"Can't say I think much of them myself, Tommy. We must make the +best of it. To begin with, we must get you proper clothes." + +"Hate skirts. They hamper you." + +"Tommy," said Peter severely, "don't argue." + +"Pointing out facts ain't arguing," argued Tommy. "They do hamper +you. You try 'em." + +The clothes were quickly made, and after a while they came to fit; +but the name proved more difficult of adjustment. A sweet-faced, +laughing lady, known to fame by a title respectable and orthodox, +appears an honoured guest to-day at many a literary gathering. But +the old fellows, pressing round, still call her "Tommy." + +The week's trial came to an end. Peter, whose digestion was +delicate, had had a happy thought. + +"What I propose, Tommy--I mean Jane," said Peter, "is that we +should get in a woman to do just the mere cooking. That will give +you more time to--to attend to other things, Tommy--Jane, I mean." + +"What other things?" chin in the air. + +"The--the keeping of the rooms in order, Tommy. The--the dusting." + +"Don't want twenty-four hours a day to dust four rooms." + +"Then there are messages, Tommy. It would be a great advantage to +me to have someone I could send on a message without feeling I was +interfering with the housework." + +"What are you driving at?" demanded Tommy. "Why, I don't have half +enough to do as it is. I can do all--" + +Peter put his foot down. "When I say a thing, I mean a thing. The +sooner you understand that, the better. How dare you argue with +me! Fiddle-de-dee!" For two pins Peter would have employed an +expletive even stronger, so determined was he feeling. + +Tommy without another word left the room. Peter looked at +Elizabeth and winked. + +Poor Peter! His triumph was short-lived. Five minutes later, +Tommy returned, clad in the long, black skirt, supported by the +cricket belt, the blue garibaldi cut decollete, the pepper-and-salt +jacket, the worsted comforter, the red lips very tightly pressed, +the long lashes over the black eyes moving very rapidly. + +"Tommy" (severely), "what is this tomfoolery?" + +"I understand. I ain't no good to you. Thanks for giving me a +trial. My fault." + +"Tommy" (less severely), "don't be an idiot." + +"Ain't an idiot. 'Twas Emma. Told me I was good at cooking. Said +I'd got an aptitude for it. She meant well." + +"Tommy" (no trace of severity), "sit down. Emma was quite right. +Your cooking is--is promising. As Emma puts it, you have aptitude. +Your--perseverance, your hopefulness proves it." + +"Then why d'ye want to get someone else in to do it?" + +If Peter could have answered truthfully! If Peter could have +replied: + +"My dear, I am a lonely old gentleman. I did not know it until-- +until the other day. Now I cannot forget it again. Wife and child +died many years ago. I was poor, or I might have saved them. That +made me hard. The clock of my life stood still. I hid away the +key. I did not want to think. You crept to me out of the cruel +fog, awakened old dreams. Do not go away any more"--perhaps Tommy, +in spite of her fierce independence, would have consented to be +useful; and thus Peter might have gained his end at less cost of +indigestion. But the penalty for being an anti-sentimentalist is +that you must not talk like this even to yourself. So Peter had to +cast about for other methods. + +"Why shouldn't I keep two servants if I like?" It did seem hard on +the old gentleman. + +"What's the sense of paying two to do the work of one? You would +only be keeping me on out of charity." The black eyes flashed. "I +ain't a beggar." + +"And you really think, Tommy--I should say Jane, you can manage +the--the whole of it? You won't mind being sent on a message, +perhaps in the very middle of your cooking. It was that I was +thinking of, Tommy--some cooks would." + +"You go easy," advised him Tommy, "till I complain of having too +much to do." + +Peter returned to his desk. Elizabeth looked up. It seemed to +Peter that Elizabeth winked. + +The fortnight that followed was a period of trouble to Peter, for +Tommy, her suspicions having been aroused, was sceptical of +"business" demanding that Peter should dine with this man at the +club, lunch with this editor at the Cheshire Cheese. At once the +chin would go up into the air, the black eyes cloud threateningly. +Peter, an unmarried man for thirty years, lacking experience, would +under cross-examination contradict himself, become confused, break +down over essential points. + +"Really," grumbled Peter to himself one evening, sawing at a mutton +chop, "really there's no other word for it--I'm henpecked." + +Peter that day had looked forward to a little dinner at a favourite +restaurant, with his "dear old friend Blenkinsopp, a bit of a +gourmet, Tommy--that means a man who likes what you would call +elaborate cooking!"--forgetful at the moment that he had used up +"Blenkinsopp" three days before for a farewell supper, +"Blenkinsopp" having to set out the next morning for Egypt. Peter +was not facile at invention. Names in particular had always been a +difficulty to him. + +"I like a spirit of independence," continued Peter to himself. +"Wish she hadn't quite so much of it. Wonder where she got it +from." + +The situation was becoming more serious to Peter than he cared to +admit. For day by day, in spite of her tyrannies, Tommy was +growing more and more indispensable to Peter. Tommy was the first +audience that for thirty years had laughed at Peter's jokes; Tommy +was the first public that for thirty years had been convinced that +Peter was the most brilliant journalist in Fleet Street; Tommy was +the first anxiety that for thirty years had rendered it needful +that Peter each night should mount stealthily the creaking stairs, +steal with shaded candle to a bedside. If only Tommy wouldn't "do" +for him! If only she could be persuaded to "do" something else. + +Another happy thought occurred to Peter. + +"Tommy--I mean Jane," said Peter, "I know what I'll do with you." + +"What's the game now?" + +"I'll make a journalist of you." + +"Don't talk rot." + +"It isn't rot. Besides, I won't have you answer me like that. As +a Devil--that means, Tommy, the unseen person in the background +that helps a journalist to do his work--you would be invaluable to +me. It would pay me, Tommy--pay me very handsomely. I should make +money out of you." + +This appeared to be an argument that Tommy understood. Peter, with +secret delight, noticed that the chin retained its normal level. + +"I did help a chap to sell papers, once," remembered Tommy; "he +said I was fly at it." + +"I told you so," exclaimed Peter triumphantly. "The methods are +different, but the instinct required is the same. We will get a +woman in to relieve you of the housework." + +The chin shot up into the air. + +"I could do it in my spare time." + +"You see, Tommy, I should want you to go about with me--to be +always with me." + +"Better try me first. Maybe you're making an error." + +Peter was learning the wisdom of the serpent. + +"Quite right, Tommy. We will first see what you can do. Perhaps, +after all, it may turn out that you are better as a cook." In his +heart Peter doubted this. + +But the seed had fallen upon good ground. It was Tommy herself +that manoeuvred her first essay in journalism. A great man had +come to London--was staying in apartments especially prepared for +him in St. James's Palace. Said every journalist in London to +himself: "If I could obtain an interview with this Big Man, what a +big thing it would be for me!" For a week past, Peter had carried +everywhere about with him a paper headed: "Interview of Our +Special Correspondent with Prince Blank," questions down left-hand +column, very narrow; space for answers right-hand side, very wide. +But the Big Man was experienced. + +"I wonder," said Peter, spreading the neatly folded paper on the +desk before him, "I wonder if there can be any way of getting at +him--any dodge or trick, any piece of low cunning, any plausible +lie that I haven't thought of." + +"Old Man Martin--called himself Martini--was just such another," +commented Tommy. "Come pay time, Saturday afternoon, you just +couldn't get at him--simply wasn't any way. I was a bit too good +for him once, though," remembered Tommy, with a touch of pride in +her voice; "got half a quid out of him that time. It did surprise +him." + +"No," communed Peter to himself aloud, "I don't honestly think +there can be any method, creditable or discreditable, that I +haven't tried." Peter flung the one-sided interview into the +wastepaper-basket, and slipping his notebook into his pocket, +departed to drink tea with a lady novelist, whose great desire, as +stated in a postscript to her invitation, was to avoid publicity, +if possible. + +Tommy, as soon as Peter's back was turned, fished it out again. + +An hour later in the fog around St. James's Palace stood an Imp, +clad in patched trousers and a pepper-and-salt jacket turned up +about the neck, gazing with admiring eyes upon the sentry. + +"Now, then, young seventeen-and-sixpence the soot," said the +sentry, "what do you want?" + +"Makes you a bit anxious, don't it," suggested the Imp, "having a +big pot like him to look after?" + +"Does get a bit on yer mind, if yer thinks about it," agreed the +sentry. + +"How do you find him to talk to, like?" + +"Well," said the sentry, bringing his right leg into action for the +purpose of relieving his left, "ain't 'ad much to do with 'im +myself, not person'ly, as yet. Oh, 'e ain't a bad sort when yer +know 'im." + +"That's his shake-down, ain't it?" asked the Imp, "where the lights +are." + +"That's it," admitted sentry. "You ain't an Anarchist? Tell me if +you are." + +"I'll let you know if I feel it coming on," the Imp assured him. + +Had the sentry been a man of swift and penetrating observation-- +which he wasn't--he might have asked the question in more serious a +tone. For he would have remarked that the Imp's black eyes were +resting lovingly upon a rain-water-pipe, giving to a skilful +climber easy access to the terrace underneath the Prince's windows. + +"I would like to see him," said the Imp. + +"Friend o' yours?" asked the sentry. + +"Well, not exactly," admitted the Imp. "But there, you know, +everybody's talking about him down our street." + +"Well, yer'll 'ave to be quick about it," said the sentry. 'E's +off to-night." + +Tommy's face fell. "I thought it wasn't till Friday morning." + +"Ah!" said the sentry, "that's what the papers say, is it?" The +sentry's voice took unconsciously the accent of those from whom no +secret is hid. "I'll tell yer what yer can do," continued the +sentry, enjoying an unaccustomed sense of importance. The sentry +glanced left, then right. "'E's a slipping off all by 'imself down +to Osborne by the 6.40 from Waterloo. Nobody knows it--'cept, o' +course, just a few of us. That's 'is way all over. 'E just 'ates- +-" + +A footstep sounded down the corridor. The sentry became +statuesque. + +At Waterloo, Tommy inspected the 6.40 train. Only one compartment +indicated possibilities, an extra large one at the end of the coach +next the guard's van. It was labelled "Reserved," and in the place +of the usual fittings was furnished with a table and four easy- +chairs. Having noticed its position, Tommy took a walk up the +platform and disappeared into the fog. + +Twenty minutes later, Prince Blank stepped hurriedly across the +platform, unnoticed save by half a dozen obsequious officials, and +entered the compartment reserved for him. The obsequious officials +bowed. Prince Blank, in military fashion, raised his hand. The +6.40 steamed out slowly. + +Prince Blank, who was a stout gentleman, though he tried to +disguise the fact, seldom found himself alone. When he did, he +generally indulged himself in a little healthy relaxation. With +two hours' run to Southampton before him, free from all possibility +of intrusion, Prince Blank let loose the buttons of his powerfully +built waistcoat, rested his bald head on the top of his chair, +stretched his great legs across another, and closed his terrible, +small eyes. + +For an instant it seemed to Prince Blank that a draught had entered +into the carriage. As, however, the sensation immediately passed +away, he did not trouble to wake up. Then the Prince dreamed that +somebody was in the carriage with him--was sitting opposite to him. +This being an annoying sort of dream, the Prince opened his eyes +for the purpose of dispelling it. There was somebody sitting +opposite to him--a very grimy little person, wiping blood off its +face and hands with a dingy handkerchief. Had the Prince been a +man capable of surprise, he would have been surprised. + +"It's all right," assured him Tommy. "I ain't here to do any harm. +I ain't an Anarchist." + +The Prince, by a muscular effort, retired some four or five inches +and commenced to rebutton his waistcoat. + +"How did you get here?" asked the Prince. + +"'Twas a bigger job than I'd reckoned on," admitted Tommy, seeking +a dry inch in the smeared handkerchief, and finding none. "But +that don't matter," added Tommy cheerfully, "now I'm here." + +"If you do not wish me to hand you over to the police at +Southampton, you had better answer my questions," remarked the +Prince drily. + +Tommy was not afraid of princes, but in the lexicon of her harassed +youth "Police" had always been a word of dread. + +"I wanted to get at you." + +"I gather that." + +"There didn't seem any other way. It's jolly difficult to get at +you. You're so jolly artful." + +"Tell me how you managed it." + +"There's a little bridge for signals just outside Waterloo. I +could see that the train would have to pass under it. So I climbed +up and waited. It being a foggy night, you see, nobody twigged me. +I say, you are Prince Blank, ain't you?" + +"I am Prince Blank." + +"Should have been mad if I'd landed the wrong man." + +"Go on." + +"I knew which was your carriage--leastways, I guessed it; and as it +came along, I did a drop." Tommy spread out her arms and legs to +illustrate the action. "The lamps, you know," explained Tommy, +still dabbing at her face--"one of them caught me." + +"And from the roof?" + +"Oh, well, it was easy after that. There's an iron thing at the +back, and steps. You've only got to walk downstairs and round the +corner, and there you are. Bit of luck your other door not being +locked. I hadn't thought of that. Haven't got such a thing as a +handkerchief about you, have you?" + +The Prince drew one from his sleeve and passed it to her. "You +mean to tell me, boy--" + +"Ain't a boy," explained Tommy. "I'm a girl!" + +She said it sadly. Deeming her new friends such as could be +trusted, Tommy had accepted their statement that she really was a +girl. But for many a long year to come the thought of her lost +manhood tinged her voice with bitterness. + +"A girl!" + +Tommy nodded her head. + +"Umph!" said the Prince; "I have heard a good deal about the +English girl. I was beginning to think it exaggerated. Stand up." + +Tommy obeyed. It was not altogether her way; but with those eyes +beneath their shaggy brows bent upon her, it seemed the simplest +thing to do. + +"So. And now that you are here, what do you want?" + +"To interview you." + +Tommy drew forth her list of questions. + +The shaggy brows contracted. + +"Who put you up to this absurdity? Who was it? Tell me at once." + +"Nobody." + +"Don't lie to me. His name?" + +The terrible, small eyes flashed fire. But Tommy also had a pair +of eyes. Before their blaze of indignation the great man +positively quailed. This type of opponent was new to him. + +"I'm not lying." + +"I beg your pardon," said the Prince. + +And at this point it occurred to the Prince, who being really a +great man, had naturally a sense of humour, that a conference +conducted on these lines between the leading statesman of an Empire +and an impertinent hussy of, say, twelve years old at the outside, +might end by becoming ridiculous. So the Prince took up his chair +and put it down again beside Tommy's, and employing skilfully his +undoubted diplomatic gifts, drew from her bit by bit the whole +story. + +"I'm inclined, Miss Jane," said the Great Man, the story ended, "to +agree with our friend Mr. Hope. I should say your metier was +journalism." + +"And you'll let me interview you?" asked Tommy, showing her white +teeth. + +The Great Man, laying a hand heavier than he guessed on Tommy's +shoulder, rose. "I think you are entitled to it." + +"What's your views?" demanded Tommy, reading, "of the future +political and social relationships--" + +"Perhaps," suggested the Great Man, "it will be simpler if I write +it myself." + +"Well," concurred Tommy; "my spelling is a bit rocky." + +The Great Man drew a chair to the table. + +"You won't miss out anything--will you?" insisted Tommy. + +"I shall endeavour, Miss Jane, to give you no cause for complaint," +gravely he assured her, and sat down to write. + +Not till the train began to slacken speed had the Prince finished. +Then, blotting and refolding the paper, he stood up. + +"I have added some instructions on the back of the last page," +explained the Prince, "to which you will draw Mr. Hope's particular +attention. I would wish you to promise me, Miss Jane, never again +to have recourse to dangerous acrobatic tricks, not even in the +sacred cause of journalism." + +"Of course, if you hadn't been so jolly difficult to get at--" + +"My fault, I know," agreed the Prince. "There is not the least +doubt as to which sex you belong to. Nevertheless, I want you to +promise me. Come," urged the Prince, "I have done a good deal for +you--more than you know." + +"All right," consented Tommy a little sulkily. Tommy hated making +promises, because she always kept them. "I promise." + +"There is your Interview." The first Southampton platform lamp +shone in upon the Prince and Tommy as they stood facing one +another. The Prince, who had acquired the reputation, not +altogether unjustly, of an ill-tempered and savage old gentleman, +did a strange thing: taking the little, blood-smeared face between +his paws, he kissed it. Tommy always remembered the smoky flavour +of the bristly grey moustache. + +"One thing more," said the Prince sternly--"not a word of all this. +Don't open your mouth to speak of it till you are back in Gough +Square." + +"Do you take me for a mug?" answered Tommy. + +They behaved very oddly to Tommy after the Prince had disappeared. +Everybody took a deal of trouble for her, but none of them seemed +to know why they were doing it. They looked at her and went away, +and came again and looked at her. And the more they thought about +it, the more puzzled they became. Some of them asked her +questions, but what Tommy really didn't know, added to what she +didn't mean to tell, was so prodigious that Curiosity itself paled +at contemplation of it. + +They washed and brushed her up and gave her an excellent supper; +and putting her into a first-class compartment labelled "Reserved," +sent her back to Waterloo, and thence in a cab to Gough Square, +where she arrived about midnight, suffering from a sense of self- +importance, traces of which to this day are still discernible. + +Such and thus was the beginning of all things. Tommy, having +talked for half an hour at the rate of two hundred words a minute, +had suddenly dropped her head upon the table, had been aroused with +difficulty and persuaded to go to bed. Peter, in the deep easy- +chair before the fire, sat long into the night. Elizabeth, liking +quiet company, purred softly. Out of the shadows crept to Peter +Hope an old forgotten dream--the dream of a wonderful new Journal, +price one penny weekly, of which the Editor should come to be one +Thomas Hope, son of Peter Hope, its honoured Founder and +Originator: a powerful Journal that should supply a long-felt +want, popular, but at the same time elevating--a pleasure to the +public, a profit to its owners. "Do you not remember me?" +whispered the Dream. "We had long talks together. The morning and +the noonday pass. The evening still is ours. The twilight also +brings its promise." + +Elizabeth stopped purring and looked up surprised. Peter was +laughing to himself. + + + +STORY THE SECOND--William Clodd appoints himself Managing Director + + + +Mrs. Postwhistle sat on a Windsor-chair in the centre of Rolls +Court. Mrs. Postwhistle, who, in the days of her Hebehood, had +been likened by admiring frequenters of the old Mitre in Chancery +Lane to the ladies, somewhat emaciated, that an English artist, +since become famous, was then commencing to popularise, had +developed with the passing years, yet still retained a face of +placid youthfulness. The two facts, taken in conjunction, had +resulted in an asset to her income not to be despised. The +wanderer through Rolls Court this summer's afternoon, presuming him +to be familiar with current journalism, would have retired haunted +by the sense that the restful-looking lady on the Windsor-chair was +someone that he ought to know. Glancing through almost any +illustrated paper of the period, the problem would have been solved +for him. A photograph of Mrs. Postwhistle, taken quite recently, +he would have encountered with this legend: "BEFORE use of +Professor Hardtop's certain cure for corpulency." Beside it a +photograph of Mrs. Postwhistle, then Arabella Higgins, taken twenty +years ago, the legend slightly varied: "AFTER use," etc. The face +was the same, the figure--there was no denying it--had undergone +decided alteration. + +Mrs. Postwhistle had reached with her chair the centre of Rolls +Court in course of following the sun. The little shop, over the +lintel of which ran: "Timothy Postwhistle, Grocer and Provision +Merchant," she had left behind her in the shadow. Old inhabitants +of St. Dunstan-in-the-West retained recollection of a gentlemanly +figure, always in a very gorgeous waistcoat, with Dundreary +whiskers, to be seen occasionally there behind the counter. All +customers it would refer, with the air of a Lord High Chamberlain +introducing debutantes, to Mrs. Postwhistle, evidently regarding +itself purely as ornamental. For the last ten years, however, no +one had noticed it there, and Mrs. Postwhistle had a facility +amounting almost to genius for ignoring or misunderstanding +questions it was not to her taste to answer. Most things were +suspected, nothing known. St. Dunstan-in-the-West had turned to +other problems. + +"If I wasn't wanting to see 'im," remarked to herself Mrs. +Postwhistle, who was knitting with one eye upon the shop, "'e'd a +been 'ere 'fore I'd 'ad time to clear the dinner things away; +certain to 'ave been. It's a strange world." + +Mrs. Postwhistle was desirous for the arrival of a gentleman not +usually awaited with impatience by the ladies of Rolls Court--to +wit, one William Clodd, rent-collector, whose day for St. Dunstan- +in-the-West was Tuesday. + +"At last," said Mrs. Postwhistle, though without hope that Mr. +Clodd, who had just appeared at the other end of the court, could +possibly hear her. "Was beginning to be afraid as you'd tumbled +over yerself in your 'urry and 'urt yerself." + +Mr. Clodd, perceiving Mrs. Postwhistle, decided to abandon method +and take No. 7 first. + +Mr. Clodd was a short, thick-set, bullet-headed young man, with +ways that were bustling, and eyes that, though kind, suggested +trickiness. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Clodd admiringly, as he pocketed the six half-crowns +that the lady handed up to him. "If only they were all like you, +Mrs. Postwhistle!" + +"Wouldn't be no need of chaps like you to worry 'em," pointed out +Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"It's an irony of fate, my being a rent-collector, when you come to +think of it," remarked Mr. Clodd, writing out the receipt. "If I +had my way, I'd put an end to landlordism, root and branch. Curse +of the country." + +"Just the very thing I wanted to talk to you about," returned the +lady--"that lodger o' mine." + +"Ah! don't pay, don't he? You just hand him over to me. I'll soon +have it out of him." + +"It's not that," explained Mrs. Postwhistle. "If a Saturday +morning 'appened to come round as 'e didn't pay up without me +asking, I should know I'd made a mistake--that it must be Friday. +If I don't 'appen to be in at 'alf-past ten, 'e puts it in an +envelope and leaves it on the table." + +"Wonder if his mother has got any more like him?" mused Mr. Clodd. +"Could do with a few about this neighbourhood. What is it you want +to say about him, then? Merely to brag about him?" + +"I wanted to ask you," continued Mrs. Postwhistle, "'ow I could get +rid of 'im. It was rather a curious agreement." + +"Why do you want to get rid of him? Too noisy?" + +"Noisy! Why, the cat makes more noise about the 'ouse than 'e +does. 'E'd make 'is fortune as a burglar." + +"Come home late?" + +"Never known 'im out after the shutters are up." + +"Gives you too much trouble then?" + +"I can't say that of 'im. Never know whether 'e's in the 'ouse or +isn't, without going upstairs and knocking at the door." + +"Here, you tell it your own way," suggested the bewildered Clodd. +"If it was anyone else but you, I should say you didn't know your +own business." + +"'E gets on my nerves," said Mrs. Postwhistle. "You ain't in a +'urry for five minutes?" + +Mr. Clodd was always in a hurry. "But I can forget it talking to +you," added the gallant Mr. Clodd. + +Mrs. Postwhistle led the way into the little parlour. + +"Just the name of it," consented Mr. Clodd. "Cheerfulness combined +with temperance; that's the ideal." + +"I'll tell you what 'appened only last night," commenced Mrs. +Postwhistle, seating herself the opposite side of the loo-table. +"A letter came for 'im by the seven o'clock post. I'd seen 'im go +out two hours before, and though I'd been sitting in the shop the +whole blessed time, I never saw or 'eard 'im pass through. E's +like that. It's like 'aving a ghost for a lodger. I opened 'is +door without knocking and went in. If you'll believe me, 'e was +clinging with 'is arms and legs to the top of the bedstead--it's +one of those old-fashioned, four-post things--'is 'ead touching the +ceiling. 'E 'adn't got too much clothes on, and was cracking nuts +with 'is teeth and eating 'em. 'E threw a 'andful of shells at me, +and making the most awful faces at me, started off gibbering softly +to himself." + +"All play, I suppose? No real vice?" commented the interested Mr. +Clodd. + +"It will go on for a week, that will," continued Mrs. Postwhistle-- +"'e fancying 'imself a monkey. Last week he was a tortoise, and +was crawling about on his stomach with a tea-tray tied on to 'is +back. 'E's as sensible as most men, if that's saying much, the +moment 'e's outside the front door; but in the 'ouse--well, I +suppose the fact is that 'e's a lunatic." + +"Don't seem no hiding anything from you," Mrs. Postwhistle remarked +Mr. Clodd in tones of admiration. "Does he ever get violent?" + +"Don't know what 'e would be like if 'e 'appened to fancy 'imself +something really dangerous," answered Mrs. Postwhistle. "I am a +bit nervous of this new monkey game, I don't mind confessing to +you--the things that they do according to the picture-books. Up to +now, except for imagining 'imself a mole, and taking all his meals +underneath the carpet, it's been mostly birds and cats and 'armless +sort o' things I 'aven't seemed to mind so much." + +"How did you get hold of him?" demanded Mr. Clodd. "Have much +trouble in finding him, or did somebody come and tell you about +him?" + +"Old Gladman, of Chancery Lane, the law stationer, brought 'im 'ere +one evening about two months ago--said 'e was a sort of distant +relative of 'is, a bit soft in the 'ead, but perfectly 'armless-- +wanted to put 'im with someone who wouldn't impose on 'im. Well, +what between 'aving been empty for over five weeks, the poor old +gaby 'imself looking as gentle as a lamb, and the figure being +reasonable, I rather jumped at the idea; and old Gladman, +explaining as 'ow 'e wanted the thing settled and done with, got me +to sign a letter." + +"Kept a copy of it?" asked the business-like Clodd. + +"No. But I can remember what it was. Gladman 'ad it all ready. +So long as the money was paid punctual and 'e didn't make no +disturbance and didn't fall sick, I was to go on boarding and +lodging 'im for seventeen-and-sixpence a week. It didn't strike me +as anything to be objected to at the time; but 'e payin' regular, +as I've explained to you, and be'aving, so far as disturbance is +concerned, more like a Christian martyr than a man, well, it looks +to me as if I'd got to live and die with 'im." + +"Give him rope, and possibly he'll have a week at being a howling +hyaena, or a laughing jackass, or something of that sort that will +lead to a disturbance," thought Mr. Clodd, "in which case, of +course, you would have your remedy." + +"Yes," thought Mrs. Postwhistle, "and possibly also 'e may take it +into what 'e calls is 'ead to be a tiger or a bull, and then +perhaps before 'e's through with it I'll be beyond the reach of +remedies." + +"Leave it to me," said Mr. Clodd, rising and searching for his hat. +"I know old Gladman; I'll have a talk with him." + +"You might get a look at that letter if you can," suggested Mrs. +Postwhistle, "and tell me what you think about it. I don't want to +spend the rest of my days in a lunatic asylum of my own if I can +'elp it." + +"You leave it to me," was Mr. Clodd's parting assurance. + +The July moon had thrown a silver veil over the grimness of Rolls +Court when, five hours later, Mr. Clodd's nailed boots echoed again +upon its uneven pavement; but Mr. Clodd had no eye for moon or +stars or such-like; always he had things more important to think +of. + +"Seen the old 'umbug?" asked Mrs. Postwhistle, who was partial to +the air, leading the way into the parlour. + +"First and foremost commenced," Mr. Clodd, as he laid aside his +hat, "it is quite understood that you really do want to get rid of +him? What's that?" demanded Mr. Clodd, a heavy thud upon the floor +above having caused him to start out of his chair. + +"'E came in an hour after you'd gone," explained Mrs. Postwhistle, +"bringing with him a curtain pole as 'e'd picked up for a shilling +in Clare Market. 'E's rested one end upon the mantelpiece and tied +the other to the back of the easy-chair--'is idea is to twine +'imself round it and go to sleep upon it. Yes, you've got it quite +right without a single blunder. I do want to get rid of 'im" + +"Then," said Mr. Clodd, reseating himself, "it can be done." + +"Thank God for that!" was Mrs. Postwhistle's pious ejaculation. + +"It is just as I thought," continued Mr. Clodd. "The old innocent- +-he's Gladman's brother-in-law, by the way--has got a small +annuity. I couldn't get the actual figure, but I guess it's about +sufficient to pay for his keep and leave old Gladman, who is +running him, a very decent profit. They don't want to send him to +an asylum. They can't say he's a pauper, and to put him into a +private establishment would swallow up, most likely, the whole of +his income. On the other hand, they don't want the bother of +looking after him themselves. I talked pretty straight to the old +man--let him see I understood the business; and--well, to cut a +long story short, I'm willing to take on the job, provided you +really want to have done with it, and Gladman is willing in that +case to let you off your contract." + +Mrs. Postwhistle went to the cupboard to get Mr. Clodd a drink. +Another thud upon the floor above--one suggestive of exceptional +velocity--arrived at the precise moment when Mrs. Postwhistle, the +tumbler level with her eye, was in the act of measuring. + +"I call this making a disturbance," said Mrs. Postwhistle, +regarding the broken fragments. + +"It's only for another night," comforted her Mr. Clodd. "I'll take +him away some time to-morrow. Meanwhile, if I were you, I should +spread a mattress underneath that perch of his before I went to +bed. I should like him handed over to me in reasonable repair." + +"It will deaden the sound a bit, any'ow," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"Success to temperance," drank Mr. Clodd, and rose to go. + +"I take it you've fixed things up all right for yourself," said +Mrs. Postwhistle; "and nobody can blame you if you 'ave. 'Eaven +bless you, is what I say." + +"We shall get on together," prophesied Mr. Clodd. "I'm fond of +animals." + +Early the next morning a four-wheeled cab drew up at the entrance +to Rolls Court, and in it and upon it went away Clodd and Clodd's +Lunatic (as afterwards he came to be known), together with all the +belongings of Clodd's Lunatic, the curtain-pole included; and there +appeared again behind the fanlight of the little grocer's shop the +intimation: "Lodgings for a Single Man," which caught the eye a +few days later of a weird-looking, lanky, rawboned laddie, whose +language Mrs. Postwhistle found difficulty for a time in +comprehending; and that is why one sometimes meets to-day +worshippers of Kail Yard literature wandering disconsolately about +St. Dunstan-in-the-West, seeking Rolls Court, discomforted because +it is no more. But that is the history of the "Wee Laddie," and +this of the beginnings of William Clodd, now Sir William Clodd, +Bart., M.P., proprietor of a quarter of a hundred newspapers, +magazines, and journals: "Truthful Billy" we called him then. + +No one can say of Clodd that he did not deserve whatever profit his +unlicensed lunatic asylum may have brought him. A kindly man was +William Clodd when indulgence in sentiment did not interfere with +business. + +"There's no harm in him," asserted Mr. Clodd, talking the matter +over with one Mr. Peter Hope, journalist, of Gough Square. "He's +just a bit dotty, same as you or I might get with nothing to do and +all day long to do it in. Kid's play, that's all it is. The best +plan, I find, is to treat it as a game and take a hand in it. Last +week he wanted to be a lion. I could see that was going to be +awkward, he roaring for raw meat and thinking to prowl about the +house at night. Well, I didn't nag him--that's no good. I just +got a gun and shot him. He's a duck now, and I'm trying to keep +him one: sits for an hour beside his bath on three china eggs I've +bought him. Wish some of the sane ones were as little trouble." + +The summer came again. Clodd and his Lunatic, a mild-looking +little old gentleman of somewhat clerical cut, one often met with +arm-in-arm, bustling about the streets and courts that were the +scene of Clodd's rent-collecting labours. Their evident attachment +to one another was curiously displayed; Clodd, the young and red- +haired, treating his white-haired, withered companion with fatherly +indulgence; the other glancing up from time to time into Clodd's +face with a winning expression of infantile affection. + +"We are getting much better," explained Clodd, the pair meeting +Peter Hope one day at the corner of Newcastle Street. "The more we +are out in the open air, and the more we have to do and think +about, the better for us--eh?" + +The mild-looking little old gentleman hanging on Clodd's arm smiled +and nodded. + +"Between ourselves," added Mr. Clodd, sinking his voice, "we are +not half as foolish as folks think we are." + +Peter Hope went his way down the Strand. + +"Clodd's a good sort--a good sort," said Peter Hope, who, having in +his time lived much alone, had fallen into the habit of speaking +his thoughts aloud; "but he's not the man to waste his time. I +wonder." + +With the winter Clodd's Lunatic fell ill. + +Clodd bustled round to Chancery Lane. + +"To tell you the truth," confessed Mr. Gladman, "we never thought +he would live so long as he has." + +"There's the annuity you've got to think of," said Clodd, whom his +admirers of to-day (and they are many, for he must be a millionaire +by this time) are fond of alluding to as "that frank, outspoken +Englishman." "Wouldn't it be worth your while to try what taking +him away from the fogs might do for him?" + +Old Gladman seemed inclined to consider the question, but Mrs. +Gladman, a brisk, cheerful little woman, had made up her mind. + +"We've had what there is to have," said Mrs. Gladman. "He's +seventy-three. What's the sense of risking good money? Be +content." + +No one could say--no one ever did say--that Clodd, under the +circumstances, did not do his best. Perhaps, after all, nothing +could have helped. The little old gentleman, at Clodd's +suggestion, played at being a dormouse and lay very still. If he +grew restless, thereby bringing on his cough, Clodd, as a terrible +black cat, was watching to pounce upon him. Only by keeping very +quiet and artfully pretending to be asleep could he hope to escape +the ruthless Clodd. + +Doctor William Smith (ne Wilhelm Schmidt) shrugged his fat +shoulders. "We can do noding. Dese fogs of ours: id is de one +ting dat enables the foreigner to crow over us. Keep him quiet. +De dormouse--id is a goot idea." + +That evening William Clodd mounted to the second floor of 16, Gough +Square, where dwelt his friend, Peter Hope, and knocked briskly at +the door. + +"Come in," said a decided voice, which was not Peter Hope's. + +Mr. William Clodd's ambition was, and always had been, to be the +owner or part-owner of a paper. To-day, as I have said, he owns a +quarter of a hundred, and is in negotiation, so rumour goes, for +seven more. But twenty years ago "Clodd and Co., Limited," was but +in embryo. And Peter Hope, journalist, had likewise and for many a +long year cherished the ambition to be, before he died, the owner +or part-owner of a paper. Peter Hope to-day owns nothing, except +perhaps the knowledge, if such things be permitted, that whenever +and wherever his name is mentioned, kind thoughts arise unbidden-- +that someone of the party will surely say: "Dear old Peter! What +a good fellow he was!" Which also may be in its way a valuable +possession: who knows? But twenty years ago Peter's horizon was +limited by Fleet Street. + +Peter Hope was forty-seven, so he said, a dreamer and a scholar. +William Clodd was three-and-twenty, a born hustler, very wide +awake. Meeting one day by accident upon an omnibus, when Clodd +lent Peter, who had come out without his purse, threepence to pay +his fare with; drifting into acquaintanceship, each had come to +acquire a liking and respect for the other. The dreamer thought +with wonder of Clodd's shrewd practicability; the cute young man of +business was lost in admiration of what seemed to him his old +friend's marvellous learning. Both had arrived at the conclusion +that a weekly journal with Peter Hope as editor, and William Clodd +as manager, would be bound to be successful. + +"If only we could scrape together a thousand pounds!" had sighed +Peter. + +"The moment we lay our hands upon the coin, we'll start that paper. +Remember, it's a bargain," had answered William Clodd. + +Mr. William Clodd turned the handle and walked in. With the door +still in his hand he paused to look round the room. It was the +first time he had seen it. His meetings hitherto with Peter Hope +had been chance rencontres in street or restaurant. Always had he +been curious to view the sanctuary of so much erudition. + +A large, oak-panelled room, its three high windows, each with a +low, cushioned seat beneath it, giving on to Gough Square. Thirty- +five years before, Peter Hope, then a young dandy with side +whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below the ear; with +wavy, brown hair, giving to his fresh-complexioned face an +appearance almost girlish; in cut-away blue coat, flowered +waistcoat, black silk cravat secured by two gold pins chained +together, and tightly strapped grey trouserings, had, aided and +abetted by a fragile little lady in crinoline and much-flounced +skirt, and bodice somewhat low, with corkscrew curls each movement +of her head set ringing, planned and furnished it in accordance +with the sober canons then in vogue, spending thereupon more than +they should, as is to be expected from the young to whom the future +promises all things. The fine Brussels carpet! A little too +bright, had thought the shaking curls. "The colours will tone +down, miss--ma'am." The shopman knew. Only by the help of the +round island underneath the massive Empire table, by excursions +into untrodden corners, could Peter recollect the rainbow floor his +feet had pressed when he was twenty-one. The noble bookcase, +surmounted by Minerva's bust. Really it was too expensive. But +the nodding curls had been so obstinate. Peter's silly books and +papers must be put away in order; the curls did not intend to +permit any excuse for untidiness. So, too, the handsome, brass- +bound desk; it must be worthy of the beautiful thoughts Peter would +pen upon it. The great sideboard, supported by two such angry- +looking mahogany lions; it must be strong to support the weight of +silver clever Peter would one day purchase to place upon it. The +few oil paintings in their heavy frames. A solidly furnished, +sober apartment; about it that subtle atmosphere of dignity one +finds but in old rooms long undisturbed, where one seems to read +upon the walls: "I, Joy and Sorrow, twain in one, have dwelt +here." One item only there was that seemed out of place among its +grave surroundings--a guitar, hanging from the wall, ornamented +with a ridiculous blue bow, somewhat faded. + +"Mr. William Clodd?" demanded the decided voice. + +Clodd started and closed the door. + +"Guessed it in once," admitted Mr. Clodd. + +"I thought so," said the decided voice. "We got your note this +afternoon. Mr. Hope will be back at eight. Will you kindly hang +up your hat and coat in the hall? You will find a box of cigars on +the mantelpiece. Excuse my being busy. I must finish this, then +I'll talk to you." + +The owner of the decided voice went on writing. Clodd, having done +as he was bid, sat himself in the easy-chair before the fire and +smoked. Of the person behind the desk Mr. Clodd could see but the +head and shoulders. It had black, curly hair, cut short. It's +only garment visible below the white collar and red tie might have +been a boy's jacket designed more like a girl's, or a girl's +designed more like a boy's; partaking of the genius of English +statesmanship, it appeared to be a compromise. Mr. Clodd remarked +the long, drooping lashes over the bright, black eyes. + +"It's a girl," said Mr. Clodd to himself; "rather a pretty girl." + +Mr. Clodd, continuing downward, arrived at the nose. + +"No," said Mr. Clodd to himself, "it's a boy--a cheeky young +beggar, I should say." + +The person at the desk, giving a grunt of satisfaction, gathered +together sheets of manuscript and arranged them; then, resting its +elbows on the desk and taking its head between its hands, regarded +Mr. Clodd. + +"Don't you hurry yourself," said Mr. Clodd; "but when you really +have finished, tell me what you think of me." + +"I beg your pardon," apologised the person at the desk. "I have +got into a habit of staring at people. I know it's rude. I'm +trying to break myself of it." + +"Tell me your name," suggested Mr. Clodd, "and I'll forgive you." + +"Tommy," was the answer--"I mean Jane." + +"Make up your mind," advised Mr. Clodd; "don't let me influence +you. I only want the truth." + +"You see," explained the person at the desk, "everybody calls me +Tommy, because that used to be my name. But now it's Jane." + +"I see," said Mr. Clodd. "And which am I to call you?" + +The person at the desk pondered. "Well, if this scheme you and Mr. +Hope have been talking about really comes to anything, we shall be +a good deal thrown together, you see, and then I expect you'll call +me Tommy--most people do." + +"You've heard about the scheme? Mr. Hope has told you?" + +"Why, of course," replied Tommy. "I'm Mr. Hope's devil." + +For the moment Clodd doubted whether his old friend had not started +a rival establishment to his own. + +"I help him in his work," Tommy relieved his mind by explaining. +"In journalistic circles we call it devilling." + +"I understand," said Mr. Clodd. "And what do you think, Tommy, of +the scheme? I may as well start calling you Tommy, because, +between you and me, I think the idea will come to something." + +Tommy fixed her black eyes upon him. She seemed to be looking him +right through. + +"You are staring again, Tommy," Clodd reminded her. "You'll have +trouble breaking yourself of that habit, I can see." + +"I was trying to make up my mind about you. Everything depends +upon the business man." + +"Glad to hear you say so," replied the self-satisfied Clodd. + +"If you are very clever-- Do you mind coming nearer to the lamp? I +can't quite see you over there." + +Clodd never could understand why he did it--never could understand +why, from first to last, he always did what Tommy wished him to do; +his only consolation being that other folks seemed just as +helpless. He rose and, crossing the long room, stood at attention +before the large desk, nervousness, to which he was somewhat of a +stranger, taking possession of him. + +"You don't LOOK very clever." + +Clodd experienced another new sensation--that of falling in his own +estimation. + +"And yet one can see that you ARE clever." + +The mercury of Clodd's conceit shot upward to a point that in the +case of anyone less physically robust might have been dangerous to +health. + +Clodd held out his hand. "We'll pull it through, Tommy. The +Guv'nor shall find the literature; you and I will make it go. I +like you." + +And Peter Hope, entering at the moment, caught a spark from the +light that shone in the eyes of William Clodd and Tommy, whose +other name was Jane, as, gripping hands, they stood with the desk +between them, laughing they knew not why. And the years fell from +old Peter, and, again a boy, he also laughed he knew not why. He +had sipped from the wine-cup of youth. + +"It's all settled, Guv'nor!" cried Clodd. "Tommy and I have fixed +things up. We'll start with the New Year." + +"You've got the money?" + +"I'm reckoning on it. I don't see very well how I can miss it." + +"Sufficient?" + +"Just about. You get to work." + +"I've saved a little," began Peter. "It ought to have been more, +but somehow it isn't." + +"Perhaps we shall want it," Clodd replied; "perhaps we shan't. You +are supplying the brains." + +The three for a few moments remained silent. + +"I think, Tommy," said Peter, "I think a bottle of the old Madeira- +-" + +"Not to-night," said Clodd; "next time." + +"To drink success," urged Peter. + +"One man's success generally means some other poor devil's +misfortune," answered Clodd. + +"Can't be helped, of course, but don't want to think about it to- +night. Must be getting back to my dormouse. Good night." + +Clodd shook hands and bustled out. + +"I thought as much," mused Peter aloud. + +"What an odd mixture the man is! Kind--no one could have been +kinder to the poor old fellow. Yet all the while-- We are an odd +mixture, Tommy," said Peter Hope, "an odd mixture, we men and +women." Peter was a philosopher. + +The white-whiskered old dormouse soon coughed himself to sleep for +ever. + +"I shall want you and the missis to come to the funeral, Gladman," +said Mr. Clodd, as he swung into the stationer's shop; "and bring +Pincer with you. I'm writing to him." + +"Don't see what good we can do," demurred Gladman. + +"Well, you three are his only relatives; it's only decent you +should be present," urged Clodd. "Besides, there's the will to be +read. You may care to hear it." + +The dry old law stationer opened wide his watery eyes. + +"His will! Why, what had he got to leave? There was nothing but +the annuity." + +"You turn up at the funeral," Clodd told him, "and you'll learn all +about it. Bonner's clerk will be there and will bring it with him. +Everything is going to be done comme il faut, as the French say." + +"I ought to have known of this," began Mr. Gladman. + +"Glad to find you taking so much interest in the old chap," said +Clodd. "Pity he's dead and can't thank you." + +"I warn you," shouted old Gladman, whose voice was rising to a +scream, "he was a helpless imbecile, incapable of acting for +himself! If any undue influence--" + +"See you on Friday," broke in Clodd, who was busy. + +Friday's ceremony was not a sociable affair. Mrs. Gladman spoke +occasionally in a shrill whisper to Mr. Gladman, who replied with +grunts. Both employed the remainder of their time in scowling at +Clodd. Mr. Pincer, a stout, heavy gentleman connected with the +House of Commons, maintained a ministerial reserve. The +undertaker's foreman expressed himself as thankful when it was +over. He criticised it as the humpiest funeral he had ever known; +for a time he had serious thoughts of changing his profession. + +The solicitor's clerk was waiting for the party on its return from +Kensal Green. Clodd again offered hospitality. Mr. Pincer this +time allowed himself a glass of weak whisky-and-water, and sipped +it with an air of doing so without prejudice. The clerk had one a +little stronger, Mrs. Gladman, dispensing with consultation, +declined shrilly for self and partner. Clodd, explaining that he +always followed legal precedent, mixed himself one also and drank +"To our next happy meeting." Then the clerk read. + +It was a short and simple will, dated the previous August. It +appeared that the old gentleman, unknown to his relatives, had died +possessed of shares in a silver mine, once despaired of, now +prospering. Taking them at present value, they would produce a sum +well over two thousand pounds. The old gentleman had bequeathed +five hundred pounds to his brother-in-law, Mr. Gladman; five +hundred pounds to his only other living relative, his first cousin, +Mr. Pincer; the residue to his friend, William Clodd, as a return +for the many kindnesses that gentleman had shown him. + +Mr. Gladman rose, more amused than angry. + +"And you think you are going to pocket that one thousand to twelve +hundred pounds. You really do?" he asked Mr. Clodd, who, with legs +stretched out before him, sat with his hands deep in his trousers +pockets. + +"That's the idea," admitted Mr. Clodd. + +Mr. Gladman laughed, but without much lightening the atmosphere. +"Upon my word, Clodd, you amuse me--you quite amuse me," repeated +Mr. Gladman. + +"You always had a sense of humour," commented Mr. Clodd. + +"You villain! You double-dyed villain!" screamed Mr. Gladman, +suddenly changing his tone. "You think the law is going to allow +you to swindle honest men! You think we are going to sit still for +you to rob us! That will--" Mr. Gladman pointed a lank forefinger +dramatically towards the table. + +"You mean to dispute it?" inquired Mr. Clodd. + +For a moment Mr. Gladman stood aghast at the other's coolness, but +soon found his voice again. + +"Dispute it!" he shrieked. "Do you dispute that you influenced +him?--dictated it to him word for word, made the poor old helpless +idiot sign it, he utterly incapable of even understanding--" + +"Don't chatter so much," interrupted Mr. Clodd. "It's not a pretty +voice, yours. What I asked you was, do you intend to dispute it?" + +"If you will kindly excuse us," struck in Mrs. Gladman, addressing +Mr. Clodd with an air of much politeness, "we shall just have time, +if we go now, to catch our solicitor before he leaves his office." + +Mr. Gladman took up his hat from underneath his chair. + +"One moment," suggested Mr. Clodd. "I did influence him to make +that will. If you don't like it, there's an end of it." + +"Of course," commenced Mr. Gladman in a mollified tone. + +"Sit down," suggested Mr. Clodd. "Let's try another one." Mr. +Clodd turned to the clerk. "The previous one, Mr. Wright, if you +please; the one dated June the 10th." + +An equally short and simple document, it bequeathed three hundred +pounds to Mr. William Clodd in acknowledgment of kindnesses +received, the residue to the Royal Zoological Society of London, +the deceased having been always interested in and fond of animals. +The relatives, "Who have never shown me the slightest affection or +given themselves the slightest trouble concerning me, and who have +already received considerable sums out of my income," being by name +excluded. + +"I may mention," observed Mr. Clodd, no one else appearing inclined +to break the silence, "that in suggesting the Royal Zoological +Society to my poor old friend as a fitting object for his +benevolence, I had in mind a very similar case that occurred five +years ago. A bequest to them was disputed on the grounds that the +testator was of unsound mind. They had to take their case to the +House of Lords before they finally won it." + +"Anyhow," remarked Mr. Gladman, licking his lips, which were dry, +"you won't get anything, Mr. Clodd--no, not even your three-hundred +pounds, clever as you think yourself. My brother-in-law's money +will go to the lawyers." + +Then Mr. Pincer rose and spoke slowly and clearly. "If there must +be a lunatic connected with our family, which I don't see why there +should be, it seems to me to be you, Nathaniel Gladman." + +Mr. Gladman stared back with open mouth. Mr. Pincer went on +impressively. + +"As for my poor old cousin Joe, he had his eccentricities, but that +was all. I for one am prepared to swear that he was of sound mind +in August last and quite capable of making his own will. It seems +to me that the other thing, dated in June, is just waste paper." + +Mr. Pincer having delivered himself, sat down again. Mr. Gladman +showed signs of returning language. + +"Oh! what's the use of quarrelling?" chirped in cheery Mrs. +Gladman. "It's five hundred pounds we never expected. Live and +let live is what I always say." + +"It's the damned artfulness of the thing," said Mr. Gladman, still +very white about the gills. + +"Oh, you have a little something to thaw your face," suggested his +wife. + +Mr. and Mrs. Gladman, on the strength of the five hundred pounds, +went home in a cab. Mr. Pincer stayed behind and made a night of +it with Mr. Clodd and Bonner's clerk, at Clodd's expense. + +The residue worked out at eleven hundred and sixty-nine pounds and +a few shillings. The capital of the new company, "established for +the purpose of carrying on the business of newspaper publishers and +distributors, printers, advertising agents, and any other trade and +enterprise affiliated to the same," was one thousand pounds in one +pound shares, fully paid up; of which William Clodd, Esquire, was +registered proprietor of four hundred and sixty-three; Peter Hope, +M.A., of 16, Gough Square, of also four hundred and sixty-three; +Miss Jane Hope, adopted daughter of said Peter Hope (her real name +nobody, herself included, ever having known), and generally called +Tommy, of three, paid for by herself after a battle royal with +William Clodd; Mrs. Postwhistle, of Rolls Court, of ten, presented +by the promoter; Mr. Pincer, of the House of Commons, also of ten +(still owing for); Dr. Smith (ne Schmidt) of fifty; James Douglas +Alexander Calder McTear (otherwise the "Wee Laddie"), residing then +in Mrs. Postwhistle's first floor front, of one, paid for by poem +published in the first number: "The Song of the Pen." + +Choosing a title for the paper cost much thought. Driven to +despair, they called it Good Humour. + + + +STORY THE THIRD: Grindley Junior drops into the Position of +Publisher + + + +Few are the ways of the West Central district that have changed +less within the last half-century than Nevill's Court, leading from +Great New Street into Fetter Lane. Its north side still consists +of the same quaint row of small low shops that stood there--doing +perhaps a little brisker business--when George the Fourth was King; +its southern side of the same three substantial houses each behind +a strip of garden, pleasant by contrast with surrounding grimness, +built long ago--some say before Queen Anne was dead. + +Out of the largest of these, passing through the garden, then well +cared for, came one sunny Sunday morning, some fifteen years before +the commencement proper of this story, one Solomon Appleyard, +pushing in front of him a perambulator. At the brick wall +surmounted by wooden railings that divides the garden from the +court, Solomon paused, hearing behind him the voice of Mrs. +Appleyard speaking from the doorstep. + +"If I don't see you again until dinner-time, I'll try and get on +without you, understand. Don't think of nothing but your pipe and +forget the child. And be careful of the crossings." + +Mrs. Appleyard retired into the darkness. Solomon, steering the +perambulator carefully, emerged from Nevill's Court without +accident. The quiet streets drew Solomon westward. A vacant seat +beneath the shade overlooking the Long Water in Kensington Gardens +invited to rest. + +"Piper?" suggested a small boy to Solomon. "Sunday Times, +'Server?" + +"My boy," said Mr. Appleyard, speaking slowly, "when you've been +mewed up with newspapers eighteen hours a day for six days a week, +you can do without 'em for a morning. Take 'em away. I want to +forget the smell of 'em." + +Solomon, having assured himself that the party in the perambulator +was still breathing, crossed his legs and lit his pipe. + +"Hezekiah!" + +The exclamation had been wrung from Solomon Appleyard by the +approach of a stout, short man clad in a remarkably ill-fitting +broad-cloth suit. + +"What, Sol, my boy?" + +"It looked like you," said Solomon. "And then I said to myself: +'No; surely it can't be Hezekiah; he'll be at chapel.'" + +"You run about," said Hezekiah, addressing a youth of some four +summers he had been leading by the hand. "Don't you go out of my +sight; and whatever you do, don't you do injury to those new +clothes of yours, or you'll wish you'd never been put into them. +The truth is," continued Hezekiah to his friend, his sole surviving +son and heir being out of earshot, "the morning tempted me. +'Tain't often I get a bit of fresh air." + +"Doing well?" + +"The business," replied Hezekiah, "is going up by leaps and bounds- +-leaps and bounds. But, of course, all that means harder work for +me. It's from six in the morning till twelve o'clock at night." + +"There's nothing I know of," returned Solomon, who was something of +a pessimist, "that's given away free gratis for nothing except +misfortune." + +"Keeping yourself up to the mark ain't too easy," continued +Hezekiah; "and when it comes to other folks! play's all they think +of. Talk religion to them--why, they laugh at you! What the +world's coming to, I don't know. How's the printing business +doing?" + +"The printing business," responded the other, removing his pipe and +speaking somewhat sadly, "the printing business looks like being a +big thing. Capital, of course, is what hampers me--or, rather, the +want of it. But Janet, she's careful; she don't waste much, Janet +don't." + +"Now, with Anne," replied Hezekiah, "it's all the other way-- +pleasure, gaiety, a day at Rosherville or the Crystal Palace-- +anything to waste money." + +"Ah! she was always fond of her bit of fun," remembered Solomon. + +"Fun!" retorted Hezekiah. "I like a bit of fun myself. But not if +you've got to pay for it. Where's the fun in that?" + +"What I ask myself sometimes," said Solomon, looking straight in +front of him, "is what do we do it for?" + +"What do we do what for?" + +"Work like blessed slaves, depriving ourselves of all enjoyments. +What's the sense of it? What--" + +A voice from the perambulator beside him broke the thread of +Solomon Appleyard's discourse. The sole surviving son of Hezekiah +Grindley, seeking distraction and finding none, had crept back +unperceived. A perambulator! A thing his experience told him out +of which excitement in some form or another could generally be +obtained. You worried it and took your chance. Either it howled, +in which case you had to run for your life, followed--and, +unfortunately, overtaken nine times out of ten--by a whirlwind of +vengeance; or it gurgled: in which case the heavens smiled and +halos descended on your head. In either event you escaped the +deadly ennui that is the result of continuous virtue. Master +Grindley, his star having pointed out to him a peacock's feather +lying on the ground, had, with one eye upon his unobservant parent, +removed the complicated coverings sheltering Miss Helvetia +Appleyard from the world, and anticipating by a quarter of a +century the prime enjoyment of British youth, had set to work to +tickle that lady on the nose. Miss Helvetia Appleyard awakened, +did precisely what the tickled British maiden of to-day may be +relied upon to do under corresponding circumstances: she first of +all took swift and comprehensive survey of the male thing behind +the feather. Had he been displeasing in her eyes, she would, one +may rely upon it, have anteceded the behaviour in similar case of +her descendant of to-day--that is to say, have expressed resentment +in no uncertain terms. Master Nathaniel Grindley proving, however, +to her taste, that which might have been considered impertinence +became accepted as a fit and proper form of introduction. Miss +Appleyard smiled graciously--nay, further, intimated desire for +more. + +"That your only one?" asked the paternal Grindley. + +"She's the only one," replied Solomon, speaking in tones less +pessimistic. + +Miss Appleyard had with the help of Grindley junior wriggled +herself into a sitting posture. Grindley junior continued his +attentions, the lady indicating by signs the various points at +which she was most susceptible. + +"Pretty picture they make together, eh?" suggested Hezekiah in a +whisper to his friend. + +"Never saw her take to anyone like that before," returned Solomon, +likewise in a whisper. + +A neighbouring church clock chimed twelve. Solomon Appleyard, +knocking the ashes from his pipe, arose. + +"Don't know any reason myself why we shouldn't see a little more of +one another than we do," suggested Grindley senior, shaking hands. + +"Give us a look-up one Sunday afternoon," suggested Solomon. +"Bring the youngster with you." + +Solomon Appleyard and Hezekiah Grindley had started life within a +few months of one another some five-and-thirty years before. +Likewise within a few hundred yards of one another, Solomon at his +father's bookselling and printing establishment on the east side of +the High Street of a small Yorkshire town; Hezekiah at his father's +grocery shop upon the west side, opposite. Both had married +farmers' daughters. Solomon's natural bent towards gaiety Fate had +corrected by directing his affections to a partner instinct with +Yorkshire shrewdness; and with shrewdness go other qualities that +make for success rather than for happiness. Hezekiah, had +circumstances been equal, might have been his friend's rival for +Janet's capable and saving hand, had not sweet-tempered, laughing +Annie Glossop--directed by Providence to her moral welfare, one +must presume--fallen in love with him. Between Jane's virtues and +Annie's three hundred golden sovereigns Hezekiah had not hesitated +a moment. Golden sovereigns were solid facts; wifely virtues, by a +serious-minded and strong-willed husband, could be instilled--at +all events, light-heartedness suppressed. The two men, Hezekiah +urged by his own ambition, Solomon by his wife's, had arrived in +London within a year of one another: Hezekiah to open a grocer's +shop in Kensington, which those who should have known assured him +was a hopeless neighbourhood. But Hezekiah had the instinct of the +money-maker. Solomon, after looking about him, had fixed upon the +roomy, substantial house in Nevill's Court as a promising +foundation for a printer's business. + +That was ten years ago. The two friends, scorning delights, living +laborious days, had seen but little of one another. Light-hearted +Annie had borne to her dour partner two children who had died. +Nathaniel George, with the luck supposed to wait on number three, +had lived on, and, inheriting fortunately the temperament of his +mother, had brought sunshine into the gloomy rooms above the shop +in High Street, Kensington. Mrs. Grindley, grown weak and fretful, +had rested from her labours. + +Mrs. Appleyard's guardian angel, prudent like his protege, had +waited till Solomon's business was well established before +despatching the stork to Nevill's Court, with a little girl. Later +had sent a boy, who, not finding the close air of St. Dunstan to +his liking, had found his way back again; thus passing out of this +story and all others. And there remained to carry on the legend of +the Grindleys and the Appleyards only Nathaniel George, now aged +five, and Janet Helvetia, quite a beginner, who took lift +seriously. + +There are no such things as facts. Narrow-minded folk--surveyors, +auctioneers, and such like--would have insisted that the garden +between the old Georgian house and Nevill's Court was a strip of +land one hundred and eighteen feet by ninety-two, containing a +laburnum tree, six laurel bushes, and a dwarf deodora. To +Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia it was the land of Thule, "the +furthest boundaries of which no man has reached." On rainy Sunday +afternoons they played in the great, gloomy pressroom, where silent +ogres, standing motionless, stretched out iron arms to seize them +as they ran. Then just when Nathaniel George was eight, and Janet +Helvetia four and a half, Hezekiah launched the celebrated +"Grindley's Sauce." It added a relish to chops and steaks, +transformed cold mutton into a luxury, and swelled the head of +Hezekiah Grindley--which was big enough in all conscience as it +was--and shrivelled up his little hard heart. The Grindleys and +the Appleyards visited no more. As a sensible fellow ought to have +seen for himself, so thought Hezekiah, the Sauce had altered all +things. The possibility of a marriage between their children, +things having remained equal, might have been a pretty fancy; but +the son of the great Grindley, whose name in three-foot letters +faced the world from every hoarding, would have to look higher than +a printer's daughter. Solomon, a sudden and vehement convert to +the principles of mediaeval feudalism, would rather see his only +child, granddaughter of the author of The History of Kettlewell and +other works, dead and buried than married to a grocer's son, even +though he might inherit a fortune made out of poisoning the public +with a mixture of mustard and sour beer. It was many years before +Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia met one another again, and when +they did they had forgotten one another, + + +Hezekiah S. Grindley, a short, stout, and pompous gentleman, sat +under a palm in the gorgeously furnished drawing-room of his big +house at Notting Hill. Mrs. Grindley, a thin, faded woman, the +despair of her dressmaker, sat as near to the fire as its massive +and imposing copper outworks would permit, and shivered. Grindley +junior, a fair-haired, well-shaped youth, with eyes that the other +sex found attractive, leant with his hands in his pockets against a +scrupulously robed statue of Diana, and appeared uncomfortable. + +"I'm making the money--making it hand over fist. All you'll have +to do will be to spend it," Grindley senior was explaining to his +son and heir. + +"I'll do that all right, dad." + +"I'm not so sure of it," was his father's opinion. "You've got to +prove yourself worthy to spend it. Don't you think I shall be +content to have slaved all these years merely to provide a +brainless young idiot with the means of self-indulgence. I leave +my money to somebody worthy of me. Understand, sir?--somebody +worthy of me." + +Mrs. Grindley commenced a sentence; Mr. Grindley turned his small +eyes upon her. The sentence remained unfinished. + +"You were about to say something," her husband reminded her. + +Mrs. Grindley said it was nothing. + +"If it is anything worth hearing--if it is anything that will +assist the discussion, let's have it." Mr. Grindley waited. "If +not, if you yourself do not consider it worth finishing, why have +begun it?" + +Mr. Grindley returned to his son and heir. "You haven't done too +well at school--in fact, your school career has disappointed me." + +"I know I'm not clever," Grindley junior offered as an excuse. + +"Why not? Why aren't you clever?" + +His son and heir was unable to explain. + +"You are my son--why aren't you clever? It's laziness, sir; sheer +laziness!" + +"I'll try and do better at Oxford, sir--honour bright I will!" + +"You had better," advised him his father; "because I warn you, your +whole future depends upon it. You know me. You've got to be a +credit to me, to be worthy of the name of Grindley--or the name, my +boy, is all you'll have." + +Old Grindley meant it, and his son knew that he meant it. The old +Puritan principles and instincts were strong in the old gentleman-- +formed, perhaps, the better part of him. Idleness was an +abomination to him; devotion to pleasure, other than the pleasure +of money-making, a grievous sin in his eyes. Grindley junior fully +intended to do well at Oxford, and might have succeeded. In +accusing himself of lack of cleverness, he did himself an +injustice. He had brains, he had energy, he had character. Our +virtues can be our stumbling-blocks as well as our vices. Young +Grindley had one admirable virtue that needs, above all others, +careful controlling: he was amiability itself. Before the charm +and sweetness of it, Oxford snobbishness went down. The Sauce, +against the earnest counsel of its own advertisement, was +forgotten; the pickles passed by. To escape the natural result of +his popularity would have needed a stronger will than young +Grindley possessed. For a time the true state of affairs was +hidden from the eye of Grindley senior. To "slack" it this term, +with the full determination of "swotting" it the next, is always +easy; the difficulty beginning only with the new term. Possibly +with luck young Grindley might have retrieved his position and +covered up the traces of his folly, but for an unfortunate +accident. Returning to college with some other choice spirits at +two o'clock in the morning, it occurred to young Grindley that +trouble might be saved all round by cutting out a pane of glass +with a diamond ring and entering his rooms, which were on the +ground-floor, by the window. That, in mistake for his own, he +should have selected the bedroom of the College Rector was a +misfortune that might have occurred to anyone who had commenced the +evening on champagne and finished it on whisky. Young Grindley, +having been warned already twice before, was "sent down." And +then, of course, the whole history of the three wasted years came +out. Old Grindley in his study chair having talked for half an +hour at the top of his voice, chose, partly by reason of physical +necessity, partly by reason of dormant dramatic instinct, to speak +quietly and slowly. + +"I'll give you one chance more, my boy, and one only. I've tried +you as a gentleman--perhaps that was my mistake. Now I'll try you +as a grocer." + +"As a what?" + +"As a grocer, sir--g-r-o-c-e-r--grocer, a man who stands behind a +counter in a white apron and his shirt-sleeves; who sells tea and +sugar and candied peel and such-like things to customers--old +ladies, little girls; who rises at six in the morning, takes down +the shutters, sweeps out the shop, cleans the windows; who has half +an hour for his dinner of corned beef and bread; who puts up the +shutters at ten o'clock at night, tidies up the shop, has his +supper, and goes to bed, feeling his day has not been wasted. I +meant to spare you. I was wrong. You shall go through the mill as +I went through it. If at the end of two years you've done well +with your time, learned something--learned to be a man, at all +events--you can come to me and thank me." + +"I'm afraid, sir," suggested Grindley junior, whose handsome face +during the last few minutes had grown very white, "I might not make +a very satisfactory grocer. You see, sir, I've had no experience." + +"I am glad you have some sense," returned his father drily. "You +are quite right. Even a grocer's business requires learning. It +will cost me a little money; but it will be the last I shall ever +spend upon you. For the first year you will have to be +apprenticed, and I shall allow you something to live on. It shall +be more than I had at your age--we'll say a pound a week. After +that I shall expect you to keep yourself." + +Grindley senior rose. "You need not give me your answer till the +evening. You are of age. I have no control over you unless you +are willing to agree. You can go my way, or you can go your own." + +Young Grindley, who had inherited a good deal of his father's grit, +felt very much inclined to go his own; but, hampered on the other +hand by the sweetness of disposition he had inherited from his +mother, was unable to withstand the argument of that lady's tears, +so that evening accepted old Grindley's terms, asking only as a +favour that the scene of his probation might be in some out-of-the- +way neighbourhood where there would be little chance of his being +met by old friends. + +"I have thought of all that," answered his father. "My object +isn't to humiliate you more than is necessary for your good. The +shop I have already selected, on the assumption that you would +submit, is as quiet and out-of-the-way as you could wish. It is in +a turning off Fetter Lane, where you'll see few other people than +printers and caretakers. You'll lodge with a woman, a Mrs. +Postwhistle, who seems a very sensible person. She'll board you +and lodge you, and every Saturday you'll receive a post-office +order for six shillings, out of which you'll find yourself in +clothes. You can take with you sufficient to last you for the +first six months, but no more. At the end of the year you can +change if you like and go to another shop, or make your own +arrangements with Mrs. Postwhistle. If all is settled, you go +there to-morrow. You go out of this house to-morrow in any event." + +Mrs. Postwhistle was a large, placid lady of philosophic +temperament. Hitherto the little grocer's shop in Rolls Court, +Fetter Lane, had been easy of management by her own unaided +efforts; but the neighbourhood was rapidly changing. Other +grocers' shops were disappearing one by one, making way for huge +blocks of buildings, where hundreds of iron presses, singing day +and night, spread to the earth the song of the Mighty Pen. There +were hours when the little shop could hardly accommodate its crowd +of customers. Mrs. Postwhistle, of a bulk not to be moved quickly, +had, after mature consideration, conquering a natural +disinclination to change, decided to seek assistance. + +Young Grindley, alighting from a four-wheeled cab in Fetter Lane, +marched up the court, followed by a weak-kneed wastrel staggering +under the weight of a small box. In the doorway of the little +shop, young Grindley paused and raised his hat. + +"Mrs. Postwhistle?" + +The lady, from her chair behind the counter, rose slowly. + +"I am Mr. Nathaniel Grindley, the new assistant." + +The weak-kneed wastrel let fall the box with a thud upon the floor. +Mrs. Postwhistle looked her new assistant up and down. + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Postwhistle. "Well, I shouldn't 'ave felt +instinctively it must be you, not if I'd 'ad to pick you out of a +crowd. But if you tell me so, why, I suppose you are. Come in." + +The weak-kneed wastrel, receiving to his astonishment a shilling, +departed. + +Grindley senior had selected wisely. Mrs. Postwhistle's theory was +that although very few people in this world understood their own +business, they understood it better than anyone else could +understand it for them. If handsome, well-educated young +gentlemen, who gave shillings to wastrels, felt they wanted to +become smart and capable grocers' assistants, that was their +affair. Her business was to teach them their work, and, for her +own sake, to see that they did it. A month went by. Mrs. +Postwhistle found her new assistant hard-working, willing, somewhat +clumsy, but with a smile and a laugh that transformed mistakes, for +which another would have been soundly rated, into welcome +variations of the day's monotony. + +"If you were the sort of woman that cared to make your fortune," +said one William Clodd, an old friend of Mrs. Postwhistle's, young +Grindley having descended into the cellar to grind coffee, "I'd +tell you what to do. Take a bun-shop somewhere in the +neighbourhood of a girls' school, and put that assistant of yours +in the window. You'd do a roaring business." + +"There's a mystery about 'im," said Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"Know what it is?" + +"If I knew what it was, I shouldn't be calling it a mystery," +replied Mrs. Postwhistle, who was a stylist in her way. + +"How did you get him? Win him in a raffle?" + +"Jones, the agent, sent 'im to me all in a 'urry. An assistant is +what I really wanted, not an apprentice; but the premium was good, +and the references everything one could desire." + +"Grindley, Grindley," murmured Clodd. "Any relation to the Sauce, +I wonder?" + +"A bit more wholesome, I should say, from the look of him," thought +Mrs. Postwhistle. + +The question of a post office to meet its growing need had long +been under discussion by the neighbourhood. Mrs. Postwhistle was +approached upon the subject. Grindley junior, eager for anything +that might bring variety into his new, cramped existence, undertook +to qualify himself. + +Within two months the arrangements were complete. Grindley junior +divided his time between dispensing groceries and despatching +telegrams and letters, and was grateful for the change. + +Grindley junior's mind was fixed upon the fashioning of a +cornucopia to receive a quarter of a pound of moist. The customer, +an extremely young lady, was seeking to hasten his operations by +tapping incessantly with a penny on the counter. It did not hurry +him; it only worried him. Grindley junior had not acquired +facility in the fashioning of cornucopias--the vertex would +invariably become unrolled at the last moment, allowing the +contents to dribble out on to the floor or counter. Grindley +junior was sweet-tempered as a rule, but when engaged upon the +fashioning of a cornucopia, was irritable. + +"Hurry up, old man!" urged the extremely young lady. "I've got +another appointment in less than half an hour." + +"Oh, damn the thing!" said Grindley junior, as the paper for the +fourth time reverted to its original shape. + +An older lady, standing behind the extremely young lady and holding +a telegram-form in her hand, looked indignant. + +"Temper, temper," remarked the extremely young lady in reproving +tone. + +The fifth time was more successful. The extremely young lady went +out, commenting upon the waste of time always resulting when boys +were employed to do the work of men. The older lady, a haughty +person, handed across her telegram with the request that it should +be sent off at once. + +Grindley junior took his pencil from his pocket and commenced to +count. + +"Digniori, not digniorus," commented Grindley junior, correcting +the word, "datur digniori, dative singular." Grindley junior, +still irritable from the struggle with the cornucopia, spoke +sharply. + +The haughty lady withdrew her eyes from a spot some ten miles +beyond the back of the shop, where hitherto they had been resting, +and fixed them for the first time upon Grindley junior. + +"Thank you," said the haughty lady. + +Grindley junior looked up and immediately, to his annoyance, felt +that he was blushing. Grindley junior blushed easily--it annoyed +him very much. + +The haughty young lady also blushed. She did not often blush; when +she did, she felt angry with herself. + +"A shilling and a penny," demanded Grindley junior. + +The haughty young lady counted out the money and departed. +Grindley junior, peeping from behind a tin of Abernethy biscuits, +noticed that as she passed the window she turned and looked back. +She was a very pretty, haughty lady. Grindley junior rather +admired dark, level brows and finely cut, tremulous lips, +especially when combined with a mass of soft, brown hair, and a +rich olive complexion that flushed and paled as one looked at it. + +"Might send that telegram off if you've nothing else to do, and +there's no particular reason for keeping it back," suggested Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +"It's only just been handed in," explained Grindley junior, +somewhat hurt. + +"You've been looking at it for the last five minutes by the clock," +said Mrs. Postwhistle. + +Grindley junior sat down to the machine. The name and address of +the sender was Helvetia Appleyard, Nevill's Court. + +Three days passed--singularly empty days they appeared to Grindley +junior. On the fourth, Helvetia Appleyard had occasion to despatch +another telegram--this time entirely in English. + +"One-and-fourpence," sighed Grindley junior. + +Miss Appleyard drew forth her purse. The shop was empty. + +"How did you come to know Latin?" inquired Miss Appleyard in quite +a casual tone. + +"I picked up a little at school. It was a phrase I happened to +remember," confessed Grindley junior, wondering why he should be +feeling ashamed of himself. + +"I am always sorry," said Miss Appleyard, "when I see anyone +content with the lower life whose talents might, perhaps, fit him +for the higher." Something about the tone and manner of Miss +Appleyard reminded Grindley junior of his former Rector. Each +seemed to have arrived by different roads at the same philosophical +aloofness from the world, tempered by chastened interest in human +phenomena. "Would you like to try to raise yourself--to improve +yourself--to educate yourself?" + +An unseen little rogue, who was enjoying himself immensely, +whispered to Grindley junior to say nothing but "Yes," he should. + +"Will you let me help you?" asked Miss Appleyard. And the simple +and heartfelt gratitude with which Grindley junior closed upon the +offer proved to Miss Appleyard how true it is that to do good to +others is the highest joy. + +Miss Appleyard had come prepared for possible acceptance. "You had +better begin with this," thought Miss Appleyard. "I have marked +the passages that you should learn by heart. Make a note of +anything you do not understand, and I will explain it to you when-- +when next I happen to be passing." + +Grindley junior took the book--Bell's Introduction to the Study of +the Classics, for Use of Beginners--and held it between both hands. +Its price was ninepence, but Grindley junior appeared to regard it +as a volume of great value. + +"It will be hard work at first," Miss Appleyard warned him; "but +you must persevere. I have taken an interest in you; you must try +not to disappoint me." + +And Miss Appleyard, feeling all the sensations of a Hypatia, +departed, taking light with her and forgetting to pay for the +telegram. Miss Appleyard belonged to the class that young ladies +who pride themselves on being tiresomely ignorant and foolish sneer +at as "blue-stockings"; that is to say, possessing brains, she had +felt the necessity of using them. Solomon Appleyard, widower, a +sensible old gentleman, prospering in the printing business, and +seeing no necessity for a woman regarding herself as nothing but a +doll, a somewhat uninteresting plaything the newness once worn off, +thankfully encouraged her. Miss Appleyard had returned from Girton +wise in many things, but not in knowledge of the world, which +knowledge, too early acquired, does not always make for good in +young man or woman. A serious little virgin, Miss Appleyard's +ambition was to help the human race. What more useful work could +have come to her hand than the raising of this poor but intelligent +young grocer's assistant unto the knowledge and the love of higher +things. That Grindley junior happened to be an exceedingly good- +looking and charming young grocer's assistant had nothing to do +with the matter, so Miss Appleyard would have informed you. In her +own reasoning she was convinced that her interest in him would have +been the same had he been the least attractive of his sex. That +there could be danger in such relationship never occurred to her. + +Miss Appleyard, a convinced Radical, could not conceive the +possibility of a grocer's assistant regarding the daughter of a +well-to-do printer in any other light than that of a graciously +condescending patron. That there could be danger to herself! you +would have been sorry you had suggested the idea. The expression +of lofty scorn would have made you feel yourself contemptible. + +Miss Appleyard's judgment of mankind was justified; no more +promising pupil could have been selected. It was really marvellous +the progress made by Grindley junior, under the tutelage of +Helvetia Appleyard. His earnestness, his enthusiasm, it quite +touched the heart of Helvetia Appleyard. There were many points, +it is true, that puzzled Grindley junior. Each time the list of +them grew longer. But when Helvetia Appleyard explained them, all +became clear. She marvelled herself at her own wisdom, that in a +moment made darkness luminous to this young man; his rapt attention +while she talked, it was most encouraging. The boy must surely be +a genius. To think that but for her intuition he might have +remained wasted in a grocer's shop! To rescue such a gem from +oblivion, to polish it, was surely the duty of a conscientious +Hypatia. Two visits--three visits a week to the little shop in +Rolls Court were quite inadequate, so many passages there were +requiring elucidation. London in early morning became their +classroom: the great, wide, empty, silent streets; the mist- +curtained parks, the silence broken only by the blackbirds' amorous +whistle, the thrushes' invitation to delight; the old gardens, +hidden behind narrow ways. Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia +would rest upon a seat, no living creature within sight, save +perhaps a passing policeman or some dissipated cat. Janet Helvetia +would expound. Nathaniel George, his fine eyes fixed on hers, +seemed never to tire of drinking in her wisdom. + +There were times when Janet Helvetia, to reassure herself as to the +maidenly correctness of her behaviour, had to recall quite forcibly +the fact that she was the daughter of Solomon Appleyard, owner of +the big printing establishment; and he a simple grocer. One day, +raised a little in the social scale, thanks to her, Nathaniel +George would marry someone in his own rank of life. Reflecting +upon the future of Nathaniel George, Janet Helvetia could not +escape a shade of sadness. It was difficult to imagine precisely +the wife she would have chosen for Nathaniel George. She hoped he +would do nothing foolish. Rising young men so often marry wives +that hamper rather than help them. + +One Sunday morning in late autumn, they walked and talked in the +shady garden of Lincoln's Inn. Greek they thought it was they had +been talking; as a matter of fact, a much older language. A young +gardener was watering flowers, and as they passed him he grinned. +It was not an offensive grin, rather a sympathetic grin; but Miss +Appleyard didn't like being grinned at. What was there to grin at? +Her personal appearance? some gaucherie in her dress? Impossible. +No lady in all St. Dunstan was ever more precise. She glanced at +her companion: a clean-looking, well-groomed, well-dressed youth. +Suddenly it occurred to Miss Appleyard that she and Grindley junior +were holding each other's hand. Miss Appleyard was justly +indignant. + +"How dare you!" said Miss Appleyard. "I am exceedingly angry with +you. How dare you!" + +The olive skin was scarlet. There were tears in the hazel eyes. + +"Leave me this minute!" commanded Miss Appleyard. + +Instead of which, Grindley junior seized both her hands. + +"I love you! I adore you! I worship you!" poured forth young +Grindley, forgetful of all Miss Appleyard had ever told him +concerning the folly of tautology. + +"You had no right," said Miss Appleyard. + +"I couldn't help it," pleaded young Grindley. "And that isn't the +worst." + +Miss Appleyard paled visibly. For a grocer's assistant to dare to +fall in love with her, especially after all the trouble she had +taken with him! What could be worse? + +"I'm not a grocer," continued young Grindley, deeply conscious of +crime. "I mean, not a real grocer." + +And Grindley junior then and there made a clean breast of the whole +sad, terrible tale of shameless deceit, practised by the greatest +villain the world had ever produced, upon the noblest and most +beautiful maiden that ever turned grim London town into a fairy +city of enchanted ways. + +Not at first could Miss Appleyard entirely grasp it; not till hours +later, when she sat alone in her own room, where, fortunately for +himself, Grindley junior was not, did the whole force and meaning +of the thing come home to her. It was a large room, taking up half +of the top story of the big Georgian house in Nevill's Court; but +even as it was, Miss Appleyard felt cramped. + +"For a year--for nearly a whole year," said Miss Appleyard, +addressing the bust of William Shakespeare, "have I been slaving my +life out, teaching him elementary Latin and the first five books of +Euclid!" + +As it has been remarked, it was fortunate for Grindley junior he +was out of reach. The bust of William Shakespeare maintained its +irritating aspect of benign philosophy. + +"I suppose I should," mused Miss Appleyard, "if he had told me at +first--as he ought to have told me--of course I should naturally +have had nothing more to do with him. I suppose," mused Miss +Appleyard, "a man in love, if he is really in love, doesn't quite +know what he's doing. I suppose one ought to make allowances. +But, oh! when I think of it--" + +And then Grindley junior's guardian angel must surely have slipped +into the room, for Miss Appleyard, irritated beyond endurance at +the philosophical indifference of the bust of William Shakespeare, +turned away from it, and as she did so, caught sight of herself in +the looking-glass. Miss Appleyard approached the glass a little +nearer. A woman's hair is never quite as it should be. Miss +Appleyard, standing before the glass, began, she knew not why, to +find reasons excusing Grindley junior. After all, was not +forgiveness an excellent thing in woman? None of us are quite +perfect. The guardian angel of Grindley junior seized the +opportunity. + +That evening Solomon Appleyard sat upright in his chair, feeling +confused. So far as he could understand it, a certain young man, a +grocer's assistant, but not a grocer's assistant--but that, of +course, was not his fault, his father being an old brute--had +behaved most abominably; but not, on reflection, as badly as he +might have done, and had acted on the whole very honourably, taking +into consideration the fact that one supposed he could hardly help +it. Helvetia was, of course, very indignant with him, but on the +other hand, did not quite see what else she could have done, she +being not at all sure whether she really cared for him or whether +she didn't; that everything had been quite proper and would not +have happened if she had known it; that everything was her fault, +except most things, which weren't; but that of the two she blamed +herself entirely, seeing that she could not have guessed anything +of the kind. And did he, Solomon Appleyard, think that she ought +to be very angry and never marry anybody else, or was she justified +in overlooking it and engaging herself to the only man she felt she +could ever love? + +"You mustn't think, Dad, that I meant to deceive you. I should +have told you at the beginning--you know I would--if it hadn't all +happened so suddenly." + +"Let me see," said Solomon Appleyard, "did you tell me his name, or +didn't you?" + +"Nathaniel," said Miss Appleyard. "Didn't I mention it?" + +"Don't happen to know his surname, do you," inquired her father. + +"Grindley," explained Miss Appleyard--"the son of Grindley, the +Sauce man." + +Miss Appleyard experienced one of the surprises of her life. Never +before to her recollection had her father thwarted a single wish of +her life. A widower for the last twelve years, his chief delight +had been to humour her. His voice, as he passionately swore that +never with his consent should his daughter marry the son of +Hezekiah Grindley, sounded strange to her. Pleadings, even tears, +for the first time in her life proved fruitless. + +Here was a pretty kettle of fish! That Grindley junior should defy +his own parent, risk possibly the loss of his inheritance, had +seemed to both a not improper proceeding. When Nathaniel George +had said with fine enthusiasm: "Let him keep his money if he will; +I'll make my own way; there isn't enough money in the world to pay +for losing you!" Janet Helvetia, though she had expressed +disapproval of such unfilial attitude, had in secret sympathised. +But for her to disregard the wishes of her own doting father was +not to be thought of. What was to be done? + +Perhaps one Peter Hope, residing in Gough Square hard by, might +help young folks in sore dilemma with wise counsel. Peter Hope, +editor and part proprietor of Good Humour, one penny weekly, was +much esteemed by Solomon Appleyard, printer and publisher of +aforesaid paper. + +"A good fellow, old Hope," Solomon would often impress upon his +managing clerk. "Don't worry him more than you can help; things +will improve. We can trust him." + +Peter Hope sat at his desk, facing Miss Appleyard. Grindley junior +sat on the cushioned seat beneath the middle window. Good Humour's +sub-editor stood before the fire, her hands behind her back. + +The case appeared to Peter Hope to be one of exceeding difficulty. + +"Of course," explained Miss Appleyard, "I shall never marry without +my father's consent." + +Peter Hope thought the resolution most proper. + +"On the other hand," continued Miss Appleyard, "nothing shall +induce me to marry a man I do not love." Miss Appleyard thought +the probabilities were that she would end by becoming a female +missionary. + +Peter Hope's experience had led him to the conclusion that young +people sometimes changed their mind. + +The opinion of the House, clearly though silently expressed, was +that Peter Hope's experience, as regarded this particular case, +counted for nothing. + +"I shall go straight to the Governor," explained Grindley junior, +"and tell him that I consider myself engaged for life to Miss +Appleyard. I know what will happen--I know the sort of idea he has +got into his head. He will disown me, and I shall go off to +Africa." + +Peter Hope was unable to see how Grindley junior's disappearance +into the wilds of Africa was going to assist the matter under +discussion. + +Grindley junior's view was that the wilds of Africa would afford a +fitting background to the passing away of a blighted existence. + +Peter Hope had a suspicion that Grindley junior had for the moment +parted company with that sweet reasonableness that otherwise, so +Peter Hope felt sure, was Grindley junior's guiding star. + +"I mean it, sir," reasserted Grindley junior. "I am--" Grindley +junior was about to add "well educated"; but divining that +education was a topic not pleasing at the moment to the ears of +Helvetia Appleyard, had tact enough to substitute "not a fool. I +can earn my own living; and I should like to get away." + +"It seems to me--" said the sub-editor. + +"Now, Tommy--I mean Jane," warned her Peter Hope. He always called +her Jane in company, unless he was excited. "I know what you are +going to say. I won't have it." + +"I was only going to say--" urged the sub-editor in tone of one +suffering injustice. + +"I quite know what you were going to say," retorted Peter hotly. +"I can see it by your chin. You are going to take their part--and +suggest their acting undutifully towards their parents." + +"I wasn't," returned the sub-editor. "I was only--" + +"You were," persisted Peter. "I ought not to have allowed you to +be present. I might have known you would interfere." + +"--going to say we are in want of some help in the office. You +know we are. And that if Mr. Grindley would be content with a +small salary--" + +"Small salary be hanged!" snarled Peter. + +"--there would be no need for his going to Africa." + +"And how would that help us?" demanded Peter. "Even if the boy +were so--so headstrong, so unfilial as to defy his father, who has +worked for him all these years, how would that remove the obstacle +of Mr. Appleyard's refusal?" + +"Why, don't you see--" explained the sub-editor. + +"No, I don't," snapped Peter. + +"If, on his declaring to his father that nothing will ever induce +him to marry any other woman but Miss Appleyard, his father disowns +him, as he thinks it likely--" + +"A dead cert!" was Grindley junior's conviction. + +"Very well; he is no longer old Grindley's son, and what possible +objection can Mr. Appleyard have to him then?" + +Peter Hope arose and expounded at length and in suitable language +the folly and uselessness of the scheme. + +But what chance had ever the wisdom of Age against the enthusiasm +of Youth, reaching for its object. Poor Peter, expostulating, was +swept into the conspiracy. Grindley junior the next morning stood +before his father in the private office in High Holborn. + +"I am sorry, sir," said Grindley junior, "if I have proved a +disappointment to you." + +"Damn your sympathy!" said Grindley senior. "Keep it till you are +asked for it." + +"I hope we part friends, sir," said Grindley junior, holding out +his hand. + +"Why do you irate me?" asked Grindley senior. "I have thought of +nothing but you these five-and-twenty years." + +"I don't, sir," answered Grindley junior. "I can't say I love you. +It did not seem to me you--you wanted it. But I like you, sir, and +I respect you. And--and I'm sorry to have to hurt you, sir." + +"And you are determined to give up all your prospects, all the +money, for the sake of this--this girl?" + +"It doesn't seem like giving up anything, sir," replied Grindley +junior, simply. + +"It isn't so much as I thought it was going to be," said the old +man, after a pause. "Perhaps it is for the best. I might have +been more obstinate if things had been going all right. The Lord +has chastened me." + +"Isn't the business doing well, Dad?" asked the young man, with +sorrow in his voice. + +"What's it got to do with you?" snapped his father. "You've cut +yourself adrift from it. You leave me now I am going down." + +Grindley junior, not knowing what to say, put his arms round the +little old man. + +And in this way Tommy's brilliant scheme fell through and came to +naught. Instead, old Grindley visited once again the big house in +Nevill's Court, and remained long closeted with old Solomon in the +office on the second floor. It was late in the evening when +Solomon opened the door and called upstairs to Janet Helvetia to +come down. + +"I used to know you long ago," said Hezekiah Grindley, rising. +"You were quite a little girl then." + +Later, the troublesome Sauce disappeared entirely, cut out by newer +flavours. Grindley junior studied the printing business. It +almost seemed as if old Appleyard had been waiting but for this. +Some six months later they found him dead in his counting-house. +Grindley junior became the printer and publisher of Good Humour. + + + +STORY THE FOURTH: Miss Ramsbotham gives her Services + + + +To regard Miss Ramsbotham as a marriageable quantity would have +occurred to few men. Endowed by Nature with every feminine quality +calculated to inspire liking, she had, on the other hand, been +disinherited of every attribute calculated to excite passion. An +ugly woman has for some men an attraction; the proof is ever +present to our eyes. Miss Ramsbotham was plain but pleasant +looking. Large, healthy in mind and body, capable, self-reliant, +and cheerful, blessed with a happy disposition together with a keen +sense of humour, there was about her absolutely nothing for +tenderness to lay hold of. An ideal wife, she was an impossible +sweetheart. Every man was her friend. The suggestion that any man +could be her lover she herself would have greeted with a clear, +ringing laugh. + +Not that she held love in despite; for such folly she was possessed +of far too much sound sense. "To have somebody in love with you-- +somebody strong and good," so she would confess to her few close +intimates, a dreamy expression clouding for an instant her broad, +sunny face, "why, it must be just lovely!" For Miss Ramsbotham was +prone to American phraseology, and had even been at some pains, +during a six months' journey through the States (whither she had +been commissioned by a conscientious trade journal seeking reliable +information concerning the condition of female textile workers) to +acquire a slight but decided American accent. It was her one +affectation, but assumed, as one might feel certain, for a +practical and legitimate object. + +"You can have no conception," she would explain, laughing, "what a +help I find it. 'I'm 'Muriken' is the 'Civis Romanus sum' of the +modern woman's world. It opens every door to us. If I ring the +bell and say, 'Oh, if you please, I have come to interview Mr. So- +and-So for such-and-such a paper,' the footman looks through me at +the opposite side of the street, and tells me to wait in the hall +while he inquires if Mr. So-and-So will see me or not. But if I +say, 'That's my keerd, young man. You tell your master Miss +Ramsbotham is waiting for him in the showroom, and will take it +real kind if he'll just bustle himself,' the poor fellow walks +backwards till he stumbles against the bottom stair, and my +gentleman comes down with profuse apologies for having kept me +waiting three minutes and a half. + +"'And to be in love with someone," she would continue, "someone +great that one could look up to and honour and worship--someone +that would fill one's whole life, make it beautiful, make every day +worth living, I think that would be better still. To work merely +for one's self, to think merely for one's self, it is so much less +interesting." + +Then, at some such point of the argument, Miss Ramsbotham would +jump up from her chair and shake herself indignantly. + +"Why, what nonsense I'm talking," she would tell herself, and her +listeners. "I make a very fair income, have a host of friends, and +enjoy every hour of my life. I should like to have been pretty or +handsome, of course; but no one can have all the good things of +this world, and I have my brains. At one time, perhaps, yes; but +now--no, honestly I would not change myself." + +Miss Ramsbotham was sorry that no man had ever fallen in love with +her, but that she could understand. + +"It is quite clear to me." So she had once unburdened herself to +her bosom friend. "Man for the purposes of the race has been given +two kinds of love, between which, according to his opportunities +and temperament, he is free to choose: he can fall down upon his +knees and adore physical beauty (for Nature ignores entirely our +mental side), or he can take delight in circling with his +protecting arm the weak and helpless. Now, I make no appeal to +either instinct. I possess neither the charm nor beauty to +attract--" + +"Beauty," reminded her the bosom friend, consolingly, "dwells in +the beholder's eye." + +"My dear," cheerfully replied Miss Ramsbotham, "it would have to be +an eye of the range and capacity Sam Weller frankly owned up to not +possessing--a patent double-million magnifying, capable of seeing +through a deal board and round the corner sort of eye--to detect +any beauty in me. And I am much too big and sensible for any man +not a fool ever to think of wanting to take care of me. + +"I believe," remembered Miss Ramsbotham, "if it does not sound like +idle boasting, I might have had a husband, of a kind, if Fate had +not compelled me to save his life. I met him one year at Huyst, a +small, quiet watering-place on the Dutch coast. He would walk +always half a step behind me, regarding me out of the corner of his +eye quite approvingly at times. He was a widower--a good little +man, devoted to his three charming children. They took an immense +fancy to me, and I really think I could have got on with him. I am +very adaptable, as you know. But it was not to be. He got out of +his depth one morning, and unfortunately there was no one within +distance but myself who could swim. I knew what the result would +be. You remember Labiche's comedy, Les Voyage de Monsieur +Perrichon? Of course, every man hates having had his life saved, +after it is over; and you can imagine how he must hate having it +saved by a woman. But what was I to do? In either case he would +be lost to me, whether I let him drown or whether I rescued him. +So, as it really made no difference, I rescued him. He was very +grateful, and left the next morning. + +"It is my destiny. No man has ever fallen in love with me, and no +man ever will. I used to worry myself about it when I was younger. +As a child I hugged to my bosom for years an observation I had +overheard an aunt of mine whisper to my mother one afternoon as +they sat knitting and talking, not thinking I was listening. 'You +never can tell,' murmured my aunt, keeping her eyes carefully fixed +upon her needles; 'children change so. I have known the plainest +girls grow up into quite beautiful women. I should not worry about +it if I were you--not yet awhile.' My mother was not at all a bad- +looking woman, and my father was decidedly handsome; so there +seemed no reason why I should not hope. I pictured myself the ugly +duckling of Andersen's fairy-tale, and every morning on waking I +would run straight to my glass and try to persuade myself that the +feathers of the swan were beginning at last to show themselves." +Miss Ramsbotham laughed, a genuine laugh of amusement, for of self- +pity not a trace was now remaining to her. + +"Later I plucked hope again," continued Miss Ramsbotham her +confession, "from the reading of a certain school of fiction more +popular twenty years ago than now. In these romances the heroine +was never what you would call beautiful, unless in common with the +hero you happened to possess exceptional powers of observation. +But she was better than that, she was good. I do not regard as +time wasted the hours I spent studying this quaint literature. It +helped me, I am sure, to form habits that have since been of +service to me. I made a point, when any young man visitor happened +to be staying with us, of rising exceptionally early in the +morning, so that I always appeared at the breakfast-table fresh, +cheerful, and carefully dressed, with, when possible, a dew- +besprinkled flower in my hair to prove that I had already been out +in the garden. The effort, as far as the young man visitor was +concerned, was always thrown away; as a general rule, he came down +late himself, and generally too drowsy to notice anything much. +But it was excellent practice for me. I wake now at seven o'clock +as a matter of course, whatever time I go to bed. I made my own +dresses and most of our cakes, and took care to let everybody know +it. Though I say it who should not, I play and sing rather well. +I certainly was never a fool. I had no little brothers and sisters +to whom to be exceptionally devoted, but I had my cousins about the +house as much as possible, and damaged their characters, if +anything, by over-indulgence. My dear, it never caught even a +curate! I am not one of those women to run down men; I think them +delightful creatures, and in a general way I find them very +intelligent. But where their hearts are concerned it is the girl +with the frizzy hair, who wants two people to help her over the +stile, that is their idea of an angel. No man could fall in love +with me; he couldn't if he tried. That I can understand; but"-- +Miss Ramsbotham sunk her voice to a more confidential tone--"what I +cannot understand is that I have never fallen in love with any man, +because I like them all." + +"You have given the explanation yourself," suggested the bosom +friend--one Susan Fossett, the "Aunt Emma" of The Ladies' Journal, +a nice woman, but talkative. "You are too sensible." + +Miss Ramsbotham shook her head, "I should just love to fall in +love. When I think about it, I feel quite ashamed of myself for +not having done so." + +Whether it was this idea, namely, that it was her duty, or whether +it was that passion came to her, unsought, somewhat late in life, +and therefore all the stronger, she herself would perhaps have been +unable to declare. Certain only it is that at over thirty years of +age this clever, sensible, clear-seeing woman fell to sighing and +blushing, starting and stammering at the sounding of a name, as +though for all the world she had been a love-sick girl in her +teens. + +Susan Fossett, her bosom friend, brought the strange tidings to +Bohemia one foggy November afternoon, her opportunity being a tea- +party given by Peter Hope to commemorate the birthday of his +adopted daughter and sub-editor, Jane Helen, commonly called Tommy. +The actual date of Tommy's birthday was known only to the gods; but +out of the London mist to wifeless, childless Peter she had come +the evening of a certain November the eighteenth, and therefore by +Peter and his friends November the eighteenth had been marked upon +the calendar as a day on which they should rejoice together. + +"It is bound to leak out sooner or later," Susan Fossett was +convinced, "so I may as well tell you: that gaby Mary Ramsbotham +has got herself engaged." + +"Nonsense!" was Peter Hope's involuntary ejaculation. + +"Precisely what I mean to tell her the very next time I see her," +added Susan. + +"Who to?" demanded Tommy. + +"You mean 'to whom.' The preeposition governs the objective case," +corrected her James Douglas McTear, commonly called "The Wee +Laddie," who himself wrote English better than he spoke it. + +"I meant 'to whom,'" explained Tommy. + +"Ye didna say it," persisted the Wee Laddie. + +"I don't know to whom," replied Miss Ramsbotham's bosom friend, +sipping tea and breathing indignation. "To something idiotic and +incongruous that will make her life a misery to her." + +Somerville, the briefless, held that in the absence of all data +such conclusion was unjustifiable. + +"If it had been to anything sensible," was Miss Fossett's opinion, +"she would not have kept me in the dark about it, to spring it upon +me like a bombshell. I've never had so much as a hint from her +until I received this absurd scrawl an hour ago." + +Miss Fossett produced from her bag a letter written in pencil. + +"There can be no harm in your hearing it," was Miss Fossett's +excuse; "it will give you an idea of the state of the poor thing's +mind." + +The tea-drinkers left their cups and gathered round her. "Dear +Susan," read Miss Fossett, "I shall not be able to be with you to- +morrow. Please get me out of it nicely. I can't remember at the +moment what it is. You'll be surprised to hear that I'm ENGAGED-- +to be married, I mean, I can hardly REALISE it. I hardly seem to +know where I am. Have just made up my mind to run down to +Yorkshire and see grandmamma. I must do SOMETHING. I must TALK to +SOMEBODY and--forgive me, dear--but you ARE so sensible, and just +now--well I don't FEEL sensible. Will tell you all about it when I +see you--next week, perhaps. You must TRY to like him. He is SO +handsome and REALLY clever--in his own way. Don't scold me. I +never thought it possible that ANYONE could be so happy. It's +quite a different sort of happiness to ANY other sort of happiness. +I don't know how to describe it. Please ask Burcot to let me off +the antequarian congress. I feel I should do it badly. I am so +thankful he has NO relatives--in England. I should have been so +TERRIBLY nervous. Twelve hours ago I could not have DREAMT of it, +and now I walk on tiptoe for fear of waking up. Did I leave my +chinchilla at your rooms? Don't be angry with me. I should have +told you if I had known. In haste. Yours, Mary." + +"It's dated from Marylebone Road, and yesterday afternoon she did +leave her chinchilla in my rooms, which makes me think it really +must be from Mary Ramsbotham. Otherwise I should have my doubts," +added Miss Fossett, as she folded up the letter and replaced it in +her bag. + +"Id is love!" was the explanation of Dr. William Smith, his round, +red face illuminated with poetic ecstasy. "Love has gone to her-- +has dransformed her once again into the leedle maid." + +"Love," retorted Susan Fossett, "doesn't transform an intelligent, +educated woman into a person who writes a letter all in jerks, +underlines every other word, spells antiquarian with an 'e,' and +Burcott's name, whom she has known for the last eight years, with +only one 't.' The woman has gone stark, staring mad!" + +"We must wait until we have seen him," was Peter's judicious view. +"I should be so glad to think that the dear lady was happy." + +"So should I," added Miss Fossett drily. + +"One of the most sensible women I have ever met," commented William +Clodd. "Lucky man, whoever he is. Half wish I'd thought of it +myself." + +"I am not saying that he isn't," retorted Miss Fossett. "It isn't +him I'm worrying about." + +"I preesume you mean 'he,'" suggested the Wee Laddie. "The verb +'to be'--" + +"For goodness' sake," suggested Miss Fossett to Tommy, "give that +man something to eat or drink. That's the worst of people who take +up grammar late in life. Like all converts, they become +fanatical." + +"She's a ripping good sort, is Mary Ramsbotham," exclaimed Grindley +junior, printer and publisher of Good Humour. "The marvel to me is +that no man hitherto has ever had the sense to want her." + +"Oh, you men!" cried Miss Fossett. "A pretty face and an empty +head is all you want." + +"Must they always go together?" laughed Mrs. Grindley junior, nee +Helvetia Appleyard. + +"Exceptions prove the rule," grunted Miss Fossett. + +"What a happy saying that is," smiled Mrs. Grindley junior. "I +wonder sometimes how conversation was ever carried on before it was +invented." + +"De man who would fall in love wid our dear frent Mary," thought +Dr. Smith, "he must be quite egsceptional." + +"You needn't talk about her as if she was a monster--I mean were," +corrected herself Miss Fossett, with a hasty glance towards the Wee +Laddie. "There isn't a man I know that's worthy of her." + +"I mean," explained the doctor, "dat he must be a man of character- +-of brain. Id is de noble man dat is attracted by de noble woman." + +"By the chorus-girl more often," suggested Miss Fossett. + +"We must hope for the best," counselled Peter. "I cannot believe +that a clever, capable woman like Mary Ramsbotham would make a fool +of herself." + +"From what I have seen," replied Miss Fossett, "it's just the +clever people--as regards this particular matter--who do make fools +of themselves." + +Unfortunately Miss Fossett's judgment proved to be correct. On +being introduced a fortnight later to Miss Ramsbotham's fiance, the +impulse of Bohemia was to exclaim, "Great Scott! Whatever in the +name of--" Then on catching sight of Miss Ramsbotham's +transfigured face and trembling hands Bohemia recollected itself in +time to murmur instead: "Delighted, I'm sure!" and to offer +mechanical congratulations. Reginald Peters was a pretty but +remarkably foolish-looking lad of about two-and-twenty, with curly +hair and receding chin; but to Miss Ramsbotham evidently a +promising Apollo. Her first meeting with him had taken place at +one of the many political debating societies then in fashion, +attendance at which Miss Ramsbotham found useful for purposes of +journalistic "copy." Miss Ramsbotham, hitherto a Radical of +pronounced views, he had succeeded under three months in converting +into a strong supporter of the Gentlemanly Party. His feeble +political platitudes, which a little while before she would have +seized upon merrily to ridicule, she now sat drinking in, her plain +face suffused with admiration. Away from him and in connection +with those subjects--somewhat numerous--about which he knew little +and cared less, she retained her sense and humour; but in his +presence she remained comparatively speechless, gazing up into his +somewhat watery eyes with the grateful expression of one learning +wisdom from a master. + +Her absurd adoration--irritating beyond measure to her friends, and +which even to her lover, had he possessed a grain of sense, would +have appeared ridiculous--to Master Peters was evidently a +gratification. Of selfish, exacting nature, he must have found the +services of this brilliant woman of the world of much practical +advantage. Knowing all the most interesting people in London, it +was her pride and pleasure to introduce him everywhere. Her +friends put up with him for her sake; to please her made him +welcome, did their best to like him, and disguised their failure. +The free entry to a places of amusement saved his limited purse. +Her influence, he had instinct enough to perceive, could not fail +to be of use to him in his profession: that of a barrister. She +praised him to prominent solicitors, took him to tea with judges' +wives, interested examiners on his behalf. In return he overlooked +her many disadvantages, and did not fail to let her know it. Miss +Ramsbotham's gratitude was boundless. + +"I do so wish I were younger and better looking," she sighed to the +bosom friend. "For myself, I don't mind; I have got used to it. +But it is so hard on Reggie. He feels it, I know he does, though +he never openly complains." + +"He would be a cad if he did," answered Susan Fossett, who having +tried conscientiously for a month to tolerate the fellow, had in +the end declared her inability even to do more than avoid open +expression of cordial dislike. "Added to which I don't quite see +of what use it would be. You never told him you were young and +pretty, did you?" + +"I told him, my dear," replied Miss Ramsbotham, "the actual truth. +I don't want to take any credit for doing so; it seemed the best +course. You see, unfortunately, I look my age. With most men it +would have made a difference. You have no idea how good he is. He +assured me he had engaged himself to me with his eyes open, and +that there was no need to dwell upon unpleasant topics. It is so +wonderful to me that he should care for me--he who could have half +the women in London at his feet." + +"Yes, he's the type that would attract them, I daresay," agreed +Susan Fossett. "But are you quite sure that he does?--care for +you, I mean." + +"My dear," returned Miss Ramsbotham, "you remember Rochefoucauld's +definition. 'One loves, the other consents to be loved.' If he +will only let me do that I shall be content. It is more than I had +any right to expect." + +"Oh, you are a fool," told her bluntly her bosom friend. + +"I know I am," admitted Miss Ramsbotham; "but I had no idea that +being a fool was so delightful." + +Bohemia grew day by day more indignant and amazed. Young Peters +was not even a gentleman. All the little offices of courtship he +left to her. It was she who helped him on with his coat, and +afterwards adjusted her own cloak; she who carried the parcel, she +who followed into and out of the restaurant. Only when he thought +anyone was watching would he make any attempt to behave to her with +even ordinary courtesy. He bullied her, contradicted her in +public, ignored her openly. Bohemia fumed with impotent rage, yet +was bound to confess that so far as Miss Ramsbotham herself was +concerned he had done more to make her happy than had ever all +Bohemia put together. A tender light took up its dwelling in her +eyes, which for the first time it was noticed were singularly deep +and expressive. The blood, of which she possessed if anything too +much, now came and went, so that her cheeks, in place of their +insistent red, took on a varied pink and white. Life had entered +her thick dark hair, giving to it shade and shadow. + +The woman began to grow younger. She put on flesh. Sex, hitherto +dormant, began to show itself; femininities peeped out. New tones, +suggesting possibilities, crept into her voice. Bohemia +congratulated itself that the affair, after all, might turn out +well. + +Then Master Peters spoiled everything by showing a better side to +his nature, and, careless of all worldly considerations, falling in +love himself, honestly, with a girl at the bun shop. He did the +best thing under the circumstances that he could have done: told +Miss Ramsbotham the plain truth, and left the decision in her +hands. + +Miss Ramsbotham acted as anyone who knew her would have foretold. +Possibly, in the silence of her delightful little four-roomed flat +over the tailor's shop in Marylebone Road, her sober, worthy maid +dismissed for a holiday, she may have shed some tears; but, if so, +no trace of them was allowed to mar the peace of mind of Mr. +Peters. She merely thanked him for being frank with her, and by a +little present pain saving them both a future of disaster. It was +quite understandable; she knew he had never really been in love +with her. She had thought him the type of man that never does fall +in love, as the word is generally understood--Miss Ramsbotham did +not add, with anyone except himself--and had that been the case, +and he content merely to be loved, they might have been happy +together. As it was--well, it was fortunate he had found out the +truth before it was too late. Now, would he take her advice? + +Mr. Peters was genuinely grateful, as well he might be, and would +consent to any suggestion that Miss Ramsbotham might make; felt he +had behaved shabbily, was very much ashamed of himself, would be +guided in all things by Miss Ramsbotham, whom he should always +regard as the truest of friends, and so on. + +Miss Ramsbotham's suggestion was this: Mr. Peters, no more robust +of body than of mind, had been speaking for some time past of +travel. Having nothing to do now but to wait for briefs, why not +take this opportunity of visiting his only well-to-do relative, a +Canadian farmer. Meanwhile, let Miss Peggy leave the bun shop and +take up her residence in Miss Ramsbotham's flat. Let there be no +engagement--merely an understanding. The girl was pretty, +charming, good, Miss Ramsbotham felt sure; but--well, a little +education, a little training in manners and behaviour would not be +amiss, would it? If, on returning at the end of six months or a +year, Mr. Peters was still of the same mind, and Peggy also +wishful, the affair would be easier, would it not? + +There followed further expressions of eternal gratitude. Miss +Ramsbotham swept all such aside. It would be pleasant to have a +bright young girl to live with her; teaching, moulding such an one +would be a pleasant occupation. + +And thus it came to pass that Mr. Reginald Peters disappeared for a +while from Bohemia, to the regret of but few, and there entered +into it one Peggy Nutcombe, as pretty a child as ever gladdened the +eye of man. She had wavy, flaxen hair, a complexion that might +have been manufactured from the essence of wild roses, the nose +that Tennyson bestows upon his miller's daughter, and a mouth +worthy of the Lowther Arcade in its days of glory. Add to this the +quick grace of a kitten, with the appealing helplessness of a baby +in its first short frock, and you will be able to forgive Mr. +Reginald Peters his faithlessness. Bohemia looked from one to the +other--from the fairy to the woman--and ceased to blame. That the +fairy was as stupid as a camel, as selfish as a pig, and as lazy as +a nigger Bohemia did not know; nor--so long as her figure and +complexion remained what it was--would its judgment have been +influenced, even if it had. I speak of the Bohemian male. + +But that is just what her figure and complexion did not do. Mr. +Reginald Peters, finding his uncle old, feeble, and inclined to be +fond, deemed it to his advantage to stay longer than he had +intended. Twelve months went by. Miss Peggy was losing her +kittenish grace, was becoming lumpy. A couple of pimples--one near +the right-hand corner of her rosebud mouth, and another on the +left-hand side of her tip-tilted nose--marred her baby face. At +the end of another six months the men called her plump, and the +women fat. Her walk was degenerating into a waddle; stairs caused +her to grunt. She took to breathing with her mouth, and Bohemia +noticed that her teeth were small, badly coloured, and uneven. The +pimples grew in size and number. The cream and white of her +complexion was merging into a general yellow. A certain greasiness +of skin was manifesting itself. Babyish ways in connection with a +woman who must have weighed about eleven stone struck Bohemia as +incongruous. Her manners, judged alone, had improved. But they +had not improved her. They did not belong to her; they did not fit +her. They sat on her as Sunday broadcloth on a yokel. She had +learned to employ her "h's" correctly, and to speak good grammar. +This gave to her conversation a painfully artificial air. The +little learning she had absorbed was sufficient to bestow upon her +an angry consciousness of her own invincible ignorance. + +Meanwhile, Miss Ramsbotham had continued upon her course of +rejuvenation. At twenty-nine she had looked thirty-five; at +thirty-two she looked not a day older than five-and-twenty. +Bohemia felt that should she retrograde further at the same rate +she would soon have to shorten her frocks and let down her hair. A +nervous excitability had taken possession of her that was playing +strange freaks not only with her body, but with her mind. What it +gave to the one it seemed to take from the other. Old friends, +accustomed to enjoy with her the luxury of plain speech, wondered +in vain what they had done to offend her. Her desire was now +towards new friends, new faces. Her sense of humour appeared to be +departing from her; it became unsafe to jest with her. On the +other hand, she showed herself greedy for admiration and flattery. +Her former chums stepped back astonished to watch brainless young +fops making their way with her by complimenting her upon her +blouse, or whispering to her some trite nonsense about her +eyelashes. From her work she took a good percentage of her brain +power to bestow it on her clothes. Of course, she was successful. +Her dresses suited her, showed her to the best advantage. +Beautiful she could never be, and had sense enough to know it; but +a charming, distinguished-looking woman she had already become. +Also, she was on the high road to becoming a vain, egotistical, +commonplace woman. + +It was during the process of this, her metamorphosis, that Peter +Hope one evening received a note from her announcing her intention +of visiting him the next morning at the editorial office of Good +Humour. She added in a postscript that she would prefer the +interview to be private. + +Punctually to the time appointed Miss Ramsbotham arrived. Miss +Ramsbotham, contrary to her custom, opened conversation with the +weather. Miss Ramsbotham was of opinion that there was every +possibility of rain. Peter Hope's experience was that there was +always possibility of rain. + +"How is the Paper doing?" demanded Miss Ramsbotham. + +The Paper--for a paper not yet two years old--was doing well. "We +expect very shortly--very shortly indeed," explained Peter Hope, +"to turn the corner." + +"Ah! that 'corner,'" sympathised Miss Ramsbotham. + +"I confess," smiled Peter Hope, "it doesn't seem to be exactly a +right-angled corner. One reaches it as one thinks. But it takes +some getting round--what I should describe as a cornery corner." + +"What you want," thought Miss Ramsbotham, "are one or two popular +features." + +"Popular features," agreed Peter guardedly, scenting temptation, +"are not to be despised, provided one steers clear of the vulgar +and the commonplace." + +"A Ladies' Page!" suggested Miss Ramsbotham--"a page that should +make the woman buy it. The women, believe me, are going to be of +more and more importance to the weekly press." + +"But why should she want a special page to herself?" demanded Peter +Hope. "Why should not the paper as a whole appeal to her?" + +"It doesn't," was all Miss Ramsbotham could offer in explanation. + +"We give her literature and the drama, poetry, fiction, the higher +politics, the--" + +"I know, I know," interrupted Miss Ramsbotham, who of late, among +other failings new to her, had developed a tendency towards +impatience; "but she gets all that in half a dozen other papers. I +have thought it out." Miss Ramsbotham leaned further across the +editorial desk and sunk her voice unconsciously to a confidential +whisper. "Tell her the coming fashions. Discuss the question +whether hat or bonnet makes you look the younger. Tell her whether +red hair or black is to be the new colour, what size waist is being +worn by the best people. Oh, come!" laughed Miss Ramsbotham in +answer to Peter's shocked expression; "one cannot reform the world +and human nature all at once. You must appeal to people's folly in +order to get them to listen to your wisdom. Make your paper a +success first. You can make it a power afterwards." + +"But," argued Peter, "there are already such papers--papers devoted +to--to that sort of thing, and to nothing else." + +"At sixpence!" replied the practical Miss Ramsbotham. "I am +thinking of the lower middle-class woman who has twenty pounds a +year to spend on dress, and who takes twelve hours a day to think +about it, poor creature. My dear friend, there is a fortune in it. +Think of the advertisements." + +Poor Peter groaned--old Peter, the dreamer of dreams. But for +thought of Tommy! one day to be left alone to battle with a stony- +eyed, deaf world, Peter most assuredly would have risen in his +wrath, would have said to his distinguished-looking temptress, "Get +thee behind me, Miss Ramsbotham. My journalistic instinct whispers +to me that your scheme, judged by the mammon of unrighteousness, is +good. It is a new departure. Ten years hence half the London +journals will have adopted it. There is money in it. But what of +that? Shall I for mere dross sell my editorial soul, turn the +temple of the Mighty Pen into a den of--of milliners! Good +morning, Miss Ramsbotham. I grieve for you. I grieve for you as +for a fellow-worker once inspired by devotion to a noble calling, +who has fallen from her high estate. Good morning, madam." + +So Peter thought as he sat tattooing with his finger-tips upon the +desk; but only said - + +"It would have to be well done." + +"Everything would depend upon how it was done," agreed Miss +Ramsbotham. "Badly done, the idea would be wasted. You would be +merely giving it away to some other paper." + +"Do you know of anyone?" queried Peter. + +"I was thinking of myself," answered Miss Ramsbotham. + +"I am sorry," said Peter Hope. + +"Why?" demanded Miss Ramsbotham. "Don't you think I could do it?" + +"I think," said Peter, "no one could do it better. I am sorry you +should wish to do it--that is all." + +"I want to do it," replied Miss Ramsbotham, a note of doggedness in +her voice. + +"How much do you propose to charge me?" Peter smiled. + +"Nothing." + +"My dear lady--" + +"I could not in conscience," explained Miss Ramsbotham, "take +payment from both sides. I am going to make a good deal out of it. +I am going to make out of it at least three hundred a year, and +they will be glad to pay it." + +"Who will?" + +"The dressmakers. I shall be one of the most stylish women in +London," laughed Miss Ramsbotham. + +"You used to be a sensible woman," Peter reminded her. + +"I want to live." + +"Can't you manage to do it without--without being a fool, my dear." + +"No," answered Miss Ramsbotham, "a woman can't. I've tried it." + +"Very well," agreed Peter, "be it so." + +Peter had risen. He laid his shapely, white old hand upon the +woman's shoulder. "Tell me when you want to give it up. I shall +be glad." + +Thus it was arranged. Good Humour gained circulation and--of more +importance yet--advertisements; and Miss Ramsbotham, as she had +predicted, the reputation of being one of the best-dressed women in +London. Her reason for desiring such reputation Peter Hope had +shrewdly guessed. Two months later his suspicions were confirmed. +Mr. Reginald Peters, his uncle being dead, was on his way back to +England. + +His return was awaited with impatience only by the occupants of the +little flat in the Marylebone Road; and between these two the +difference of symptom was marked. Mistress Peggy, too stupid to +comprehend the change that had been taking place in her, looked +forward to her lover's arrival with delight. Mr. Reginald Peters, +independently of his profession, was in consequence of his uncle's +death a man of means. Miss Ramsbotham's tutelage, which had always +been distasteful to her, would now be at an end. She would be a +"lady" in the true sense of the word--according to Miss Peggy's +definition, a woman with nothing to do but eat and drink, and +nothing to think of but dress. Miss Ramsbotham, on the other hand, +who might have anticipated the home-coming of her quondam admirer +with hope, exhibited a strange condition of alarmed misery, which +increased from day to day as the date drew nearer. + +The meeting--whether by design or accident was never known--took +place at an evening party given by the proprietors of a new +journal. The circumstance was certainly unfortunate for poor +Peggy, whom Bohemia began to pity. Mr. Peters, knowing both women +would be there and so on the look-out, saw in the distance among +the crowd of notabilities a superbly millinered, tall, graceful +woman, whose face recalled sensations he could not for the moment +place. Chiefly noticeable about her were her exquisite neck and +arms, and the air of perfect breeding with which she moved, talking +and laughing, through the distinguished, fashionable throng. +Beside her strutted, nervously aggressive, a vulgar, fat, pimply, +shapeless young woman, attracting universal attention by the +incongruity of her presence in the room. On being greeted by the +graceful lady of the neck and arms, the conviction forced itself +upon him that this could be no other than the once Miss Ramsbotham, +plain of face and indifferent of dress, whose very appearance he +had almost forgotten. On being greeted gushingly as "Reggie" by +the sallow-complexioned, over-dressed young woman he bowed with +evident astonishment, and apologised for a memory that, so he +assured the lady, had always been to him a source of despair. + +Of course, he thanked his stars--and Miss Ramsbotham--that the +engagement had never been formal. So far as Mr. Peters was +concerned, there was an end to Mistress Peggy's dream of an +existence of everlasting breakfasts in bed. Leaving the Ramsbotham +flat, she returned to the maternal roof, and there a course of hard +work and plain living tended greatly to improve her figure and +complexion; so that in course of time, the gods smiling again upon +her, she married a foreman printer, and passes out of this story. + +Meanwhile, Mr. Reginald Peters--older, and the possessor, perhaps, +of more sense--looked at Miss Ramsbotham with new eyes, and now not +tolerated but desired her. Bohemia waited to assist at the happy +termination of a pretty and somewhat novel romance. Miss +Ramsbotham had shown no sign of being attracted elsewhere. +Flattery, compliment, she continued to welcome; but merely, so it +seemed, as favourable criticism. Suitors more fit and proper were +now not lacking, for Miss Ramsbotham, though a woman less desirable +when won, came readily to the thought of wooing. But to all such +she turned a laughing face. + +"I like her for it," declared Susan Fossett; "and he has improved-- +there was room for it--though I wish it could have been some other. +There was Jack Herring--it would have been so much more suitable. +Or even Joe, in spite of his size. But it's her wedding, not ours; +and she will never care for anyone else." + +And Bohemia bought its presents, and had them ready, but never gave +them. A few months later Mr. Reginald Peters returned to Canada, a +bachelor. Miss Ramsbotham expressed her desire for another private +interview with Peter Hope. + +"I may as well keep on the Letter to Clorinda," thought Miss +Ramsbotham. "I have got into the knack of it. But I will get you +to pay me for it in the ordinary way." + +"I would rather have done so from the beginning," explained Peter. + +"I know. I could not in conscience, as I told you, take from both +sides. For the future--well, they have said nothing; but I expect +they are beginning to get tired of it." + +"And you!" questioned Peter. + +"Yes. I am tired of it myself," laughed Miss Ramsbotham. "Life +isn't long enough to be a well-dressed woman." + +"You have done with all that?" + +"I hope so," answered Miss Ramsbotham. + +"And don't want to talk any more about it?" suggested Peter. + +"Not just at present. I should find it so difficult to explain." + +By others, less sympathetic than old Peter, vigorous attempts were +made to solve the mystery. Miss Ramsbotham took enjoyment in +cleverly evading these tormentors. Thwarted at every point, the +gossips turned to other themes. Miss Ramsbotham found interest +once again in the higher branches of her calling; became again, by +slow degrees, the sensible, frank, 'good sort' that Bohemia had +known, liked, respected--everything but loved. + +Years later, to Susan Fossett, the case was made clear; and through +Susan Fossett, a nice enough woman but talkative, those few still +interested learned the explanation. + +"Love," said Miss Ramsbotham to the bosom friend, "is not regulated +by reason. As you say, there were many men I might have married +with much more hope of happiness. But I never cared for any other +man. He was not intellectual, was egotistical, possibly enough +selfish. The man should always be older than the woman; he was +younger, and he was a weak character. Yet I loved him." + +"I am glad you didn't marry him," said the bosom friend. + +"So am I," agreed Miss Ramsbotham. + +"If you can't trust me," had said the bosom friend at this point, +"don't." + +"I meant to do right," said Miss Ramsbotham, "upon my word of +honour I did, in the beginning." + +"I don't understand," said the bosom friend. + +"If she had been my own child," continued Miss Ramsbotham, "I could +not have done more--in the beginning. I tried to teach her, to put +some sense into her. Lord! the hours I wasted on that little +idiot! I marvel at my own patience. She was nothing but an +animal. An animal! she had only an animal's vices. To eat and +drink and sleep was her idea of happiness; her one ambition male +admiration, and she hadn't character enough to put sufficient curb +upon her stomach to retain it. I reasoned with her, I pleaded with +her, I bullied her. Had I persisted I might have succeeded by +sheer physical and mental strength in restraining her from ruining +herself. I was winning. I had made her frightened of me. Had I +gone on, I might have won. By dragging her out of bed in the +morning, by insisting upon her taking exercise, by regulating every +particle of food and drink she put into her mouth, I kept the +little beast in good condition for nearly three months. Then, I +had to go away into the country for a few days; she swore she would +obey my instructions. When I came back I found she had been in bed +most of the time, and had been living chiefly on chocolate and +cakes. She was curled up asleep in an easy-chair, snoring with her +mouth wide open, when I opened the door. And at sight of that +picture the devil came to me and tempted me. Why should I waste my +time, wear myself out in mind and body, that the man I loved should +marry a pig because it looked like an angel? 'Six months' +wallowing according to its own desires would reveal it in its true +shape. So from that day I left it to itself. No, worse than that- +-I don't want to spare myself--I encouraged her. I let her have a +fire in her bedroom, and half her meals in bed. I let her have +chocolate with tablespoonfuls of cream floating on the top: she +loved it. She was never really happy except when eating. I let +her order her own meals. I took a fiendish delight watching the +dainty limbs turning to shapeless fat, the pink-and-white +complexion growing blotchy. It is flesh that man loves; brain and +mind and heart and soul! he never thinks of them. This little +pink-and-white sow could have cut me out with Solomon himself. Why +should such creatures have the world arranged for them, and we not +be allowed to use our brains in our own defence? But for my +looking-glass I might have resisted the temptation, but I always +had something of the man in me: the sport of the thing appealed to +me. I suppose it was the nervous excitement under which I was +living that was changing me. All my sap was going into my body. +Given sufficient time, I might meet her with her own weapons, +animal against animal. Well, you know the result: I won. There +was no doubt about his being in love with me. His eyes would +follow me round the room, feasting on me. I had become a fine +animal. Men desired me, Do you know why I refused him? He was in +every way a better man than the silly boy I had fallen in love +with; but he came back with a couple of false teeth: I saw the +gold setting one day when he opened his mouth to laugh. I don't +say for a moment, my dear, there is no such thing as love--love +pure, ennobling, worthy of men and women, its roots in the heart +and nowhere else. But that love I had missed; and the other! I +saw it in its true light. I had fallen in love with him because he +was a pretty, curly-headed boy. He had fallen in love with Peggy +when she was pink-and-white and slim. I shall always see the look +that came into his eyes when she spoke to him at the hotel, the +look of disgust and loathing. The girl was the same; it was only +her body that had grown older. I could see his eyes fixed upon my +arms and neck. I had got to grow old in time, brown skinned, and +wrinkled. I thought of him, growing bald, fat--" + +"If you had fallen in love with the right man," had said Susan +Fossett, "those ideas would not have come to you." + +"I know," said Miss Ramsbotham. "He will have to like me thin and +in these clothes, just because I am nice, and good company, and +helpful. That is the man I am waiting for." + +He never came along. A charming, bright-eyed, white-haired lady +occupies alone a little flat in the Marylebone Road, looks in +occasionally at the Writers' Club. She is still Miss Ramsbotham. + +Bald-headed gentlemen feel young again talking to her: she is so +sympathetic, so big-minded, so understanding. Then, hearing the +clock strike, tear themselves from her with a sigh, and return +home--some of them--to stupid shrewish wives. + + + +STORY THE FIFTH: Joey Loveredge agrees--on certain terms--to join +the Company + + + +The most popular member of the Autolycus Club was undoubtedly +Joseph Loveredge. Small, chubby, clean-shaven, his somewhat +longish, soft, brown hair parted in the middle, strangers fell into +the error of assuming him to be younger than he really was. It is +on record that a leading lady novelist--accepting her at her own +estimate--irritated by his polite but firm refusal to allow her +entrance into his own editorial office without appointment, had +once boxed his ears, under the impression that he was his own +office-boy. Guests to the Autolycus Club, on being introduced to +him, would give to him kind messages to take home to his father, +with whom they remembered having been at school together. This +sort of thing might have annoyed anyone with less sense of humour. +Joseph Loveredge would tell such stories himself, keenly enjoying +the jest--was even suspected of inventing some of the more +improbable. Another fact tending to the popularity of Joseph +Loveredge among all classes, over and above his amiability, his +wit, his genuine kindliness, and his never-failing fund of good +stories, was that by care and inclination he had succeeded in +remaining a bachelor. Many had been the attempts to capture him; +nor with the passing of the years had interest in the sport shown +any sign of diminution. Well over the frailties and distempers so +dangerous to youth, of staid and sober habits, with an ever- +increasing capital invested in sound securities, together with an +ever-increasing income from his pen, with a tastefully furnished +house overlooking Regent's Park, an excellent and devoted cook and +house-keeper, and relatives mostly settled in the Colonies, Joseph +Loveredge, though inexperienced girls might pass him by with a +contemptuous sniff, was recognised by ladies of maturer judgment as +a prize not too often dangled before the eyes of spinsterhood. Old +foxes--so we are assured by kind-hearted country gentlemen-- rather +enjoy than otherwise a day with the hounds. However that may be, +certain it is that Joseph Loveredge, confident of himself, one +presumes, showed no particular disinclination to the chase. +Perhaps on the whole he preferred the society of his own sex, with +whom he could laugh and jest with more freedom, to whom he could +tell his stories as they came to him without the trouble of having +to turn them over first in his own mind; but, on the other hand, +Joey made no attempt to avoid female company whenever it came his +way; and then no cavalier could render himself more agreeable, more +unobtrusively attentive. Younger men stood by, in envious +admiration of the ease with which in five minutes he would +establish himself on terms of cosy friendship with the brilliant +beauty before whose gracious coldness they had stood shivering for +months; the daring with which he would tuck under his arm, so to +speak, the prettiest girl in the room, smooth down as if by magic +her hundred prickles, and tease her out of her overwhelming sense +of her own self-importance. The secret of his success was, +probably, that he was not afraid of them. Desiring nothing from +them beyond companionableness, a reasonable amount of appreciation +for his jokes--which without being exceptionally stupid they would +have found it difficult to withhold--with just sufficient +information and intelligence to make conversation interesting, +there was nothing about him by which they could lay hold of him. +Of course, that rendered them particularly anxious to lay hold of +him. Joseph's lady friends might, roughly speaking, be divided +into two groups: the unmarried, who wanted to marry him to +themselves; and the married, who wanted to marry him to somebody +else. It would be a social disaster, the latter had agreed among +themselves, if Joseph Loveredge should never wed. + +"He would make such an excellent husband for poor Bridget." + +"Or Gladys. I wonder how old Gladys really is?" + +"Such a nice, kind little man." + +"And when one thinks of the sort of men that ARE married, it does +seem such a pity!" + +"I wonder why he never has married, because he's just the sort of +man you'd think WOULD have married." + +"I wonder if he ever was in love." + +"Oh, my dear, you don't mean to tell me that a man has reached the +age of forty without ever being in love!" + +The ladies would sigh. + +"I do hope if ever he does marry, it will be somebody nice. Men +are so easily deceived." + +"I shouldn't be surprised myself a bit if something came of it with +Bridget. She's a dear girl, Bridget--so genuine." + +"Well, I think myself, dear, if it's anyone, it's Gladys. I should +be so glad to see poor dear Gladys settled." + +The unmarried kept their thoughts more to themselves. Each one, +upon reflection, saw ground for thinking that Joseph Loveredge had +given proof of feeling preference for herself. The irritating +thing was that, on further reflection, it was equally clear that +Joseph Loveredge had shown signs of preferring most of the others. + +Meanwhile Joseph Loveredge went undisturbed upon his way. At eight +o'clock in the morning Joseph's housekeeper entered the room with a +cup of tea and a dry biscuit. At eight-fifteen Joseph Loveredge +arose and performed complicated exercises on an indiarubber pulley, +warranted, if persevered in, to bestow grace upon the figure and +elasticity upon the limbs. Joseph Loveredge persevered steadily, +and had done so for years, and was himself contented with the +result, which, seeing it concerned nobody else, was all that could +be desired. At half-past eight on Mondays, Wednesdays, and +Fridays, Joseph Loveredge breakfasted on one cup of tea, brewed by +himself; one egg, boiled by himself; and two pieces of toast, the +first one spread with marmalade, the second with butter. On +Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Joseph Loveredge discarded eggs +and ate a rasher of bacon. On Sundays Joseph Loveredge had both +eggs and bacon, but then allowed himself half an hour longer for +reading the paper. At nine-thirty Joseph Loveredge left the house +for the office of the old-established journal of which he was the +incorruptible and honoured City editor. At one-forty-five, having +left his office at one-thirty, Joseph Loveredge entered the +Autolycus Club and sat down to lunch. Everything else in Joseph's +life was arranged with similar preciseness, so far as was possible +with the duties of a City editor. Monday evening Joseph spent with +musical friends at Brixton. Friday was Joseph's theatre night. On +Tuesdays and Thursdays he was open to receive invitations out to +dinner; on Wednesdays and Saturdays he invited four friends to dine +with him at Regent's Park. On Sundays, whatever the season, Joseph +Loveredge took an excursion into the country. He had his regular +hours for reading, his regular hours for thinking. Whether in +Fleet Street, or the Tyrol, on the Thames, or in the Vatican, you +might recognise him from afar by his grey frock-coat, his patent- +leather boots, his brown felt hat, his lavender tie. The man was a +born bachelor. When the news of his engagement crept through the +smoky portals of the Autolycus Club nobody believed it. + +"Impossible!" asserted Jack Herring. "I've known Joey's life for +fifteen years. Every five minutes is arranged for. He could never +have found the time to do it." + +"He doesn't like women, not in that way; I've heard him say so," +explained Alexander the Poet. "His opinion is that women are the +artists of Society--delightful as entertainers, but troublesome to +live with." + +"I call to mind," said the Wee Laddie, "a story he told me in this +verra room, barely three months agone: Some half a dozen of them +were gong home together from the Devonshire. They had had a joyous +evening, and one of them--Joey did not notice which--suggested +their dropping in at his place just for a final whisky. They were +laughing and talking in the dining-room, when their hostess +suddenly appeared upon the scene in a costume--so Joey described +it--the charm of which was its variety. She was a nice-looking +woman, Joey said, but talked too much; and when the first lull +occurred, Joey turned to the man sitting nighest to him, and who +looked bored, and suggested in a whisper that it was about time +they went. + +"'Perhaps you had better go,' assented the bored-looking man. +'Wish I could come with you; but, you see, I live here.'" + +"I don't believe it," said Somerville the Briefless. "He's been +cracking his jokes, and some silly woman has taken him seriously." + +But the rumour grew into report, developed detail, lost all charm, +expanded into plain recital of fact. Joey had not been seen within +the Club for more than a week--in itself a deadly confirmation. +The question became: Who was she--what was she like? + +"It's none of our set, or we should have heard something from her +side before now," argued acutely Somerville the Briefless. + +"Some beastly kid who will invite us to dances and forget the +supper," feared Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called the Babe. "Old +men always fall in love with young girls." + +"Forty," explained severely Peter Hope, editor and part proprietor +of Good Humour, "is not old." + +"Well, it isn't young," persisted Johnny. + +"Good thing for you, Johnny, if it is a girl," thought Jack +Herring. "Somebody for you to play with. I often feel sorry for +you, having nobody but grown-up people to talk to." + +"They do get a bit stodgy after a certain age," agreed the Babe. + +"I am hoping," said Peter, "it will be some sensible, pleasant +woman, a little over thirty. He is a dear fellow, Loveredge; and +forty is a very good age for a man to marry." + +"Well, if I'm not married before I'm forty--" said the Babe. + +"Oh, don't you fret," Jack Herring interrupted him--"a pretty boy +like you! We will give a ball next season, and bring you out, if +you're good--get you off our hands in no time." + +It was August. Joey went away for his holiday without again +entering the Club. The lady's name was Henrietta Elizabeth Doone. +It was said by the Morning Post that she was connected with the +Doones of Gloucestershire. + +Doones of Gloucestershire--Doones of Gloucestershire mused Miss +Ramsbotham, Society journalist, who wrote the weekly Letter to +Clorinda, discussing the matter with Peter Hope in the editorial +office of Good Humour. "Knew a Doon who kept a big second-hand +store in Euston Road and called himself an auctioneer. He bought a +small place in Gloucestershire and added an 'e' to his name. +Wonder if it's the same?" + +"I had a cat called Elizabeth once," said Peter Hope. + +"I don't see what that's got to do with it." + +"No, of course not," agreed Peter. "But I was rather fond of it. +It was a quaint sort of animal, considered as a cat--would never +speak to another cat, and hated being out after ten o'clock at +night." + +"What happened to it?" demanded Miss Ramsbotham. + +"Fell off a roof," sighed Peter Hope. "Wasn't used to them." + +The marriage took place abroad, at the English Church at Montreux. +Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge returned at the end of September. The +Autolycus Club subscribed to send a present of a punch-bowl, left +cards, and waited with curiosity to see the bride. But no +invitation arrived. Nor for a month was Joey himself seen within +the Club. Then, one foggy afternoon, waking after a doze, with a +cold cigar in his mouth, Jack Herring noticed he was not the only +occupant of the smoking-room. In a far corner, near a window, sat +Joseph Loveredge reading a magazine. Jack Herring rubbed his eyes, +then rose and crossed the room. + +"I thought at first," explained Jack Herring, recounting the +incident later in the evening, "that I must be dreaming. There he +sat, drinking his five o'clock whisky-and-soda, the same Joey +Loveredge I had known for fifteen years; yet not the same. Not a +feature altered, not a hair on his head changed, yet the whole face +was different; the same body, the same clothes, but another man. +We talked for half an hour; he remembered everything that Joey +Loveredge had known. I couldn't understand it. Then, as the clock +struck, and he rose, saying he must be home at half-past five, the +explanation suddenly occurred to me: JOEY LOVEREDGE WAS DEAD; THIS +WAS A MARRIED MAN." + +"We don't want your feeble efforts at psychological romance," told +him Somerville the Briefless. "We want to know what you talked +about. Dead or married, the man who can drink whisky-and-soda must +be held responsible for his actions. What's the little beggar mean +by cutting us all in this way? Did he ask after any of us? Did he +leave any message for any of us? Did he invite any of us to come +an see him?" + +"Yes, he did ask after nearly everybody; I was coming to that. But +he didn't leave any message. I didn't gather that he was pining +for old relationships with any of us." + +"Well, I shall go round to the office to-morrow morning," said +Somerville the Briefless, "and force my way in if necessary. This +is getting mysterious." + +But Somerville returned only to puzzle the Autolycus Club still +further. Joey had talked about the weather, the state of political +parties, had received with unfeigned interest all gossip concerning +his old friends; but about himself, his wife, nothing had been +gleaned. Mrs. Loveredge was well; Mrs. Loveredge's relations were +also well. But at present Mrs. Loveredge was not receiving. + +Members of the Autolycus Club with time upon their hands took up +the business of private detectives. Mrs. Loveredge turned out to +be a handsome, well-dressed lady of about thirty, as Peter Hope had +desired. At eleven in the morning, Mrs. Loveredge shopped in the +neighbourhood of the Hampstead Road. In the afternoon, Mrs. +Loveredge, in a hired carriage, would slowly promenade the Park, +looking, it was noticed, with intense interest at the occupants of +other carriages as they passed, but evidently having no +acquaintances among them. The carriage, as a general rule, would +call at Joey's office at five, and Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge would +drive home. Jack Herring, as the oldest friend, urged by the other +members, took the bull by the horns and called boldly. On neither +occasion was Mrs. Loveredge at home. + +"I'm damned if I go again!" said Jack. "She was in the second +time, I know. I watched her into the house. Confound the stuck-up +pair of them!" + +Bewilderment gave place to indignation. Now and again Joey would +creep, a mental shadow of his former self, into the Club where once +every member would have risen with a smile to greet him. They gave +him curt answers and turned away from him. Peter Hope one +afternoon found him there alone, standing with his hands in his +pockets looking out of window. Peter was fifty, so he said, maybe +a little older; men of forty were to him mere boys. So Peter, who +hated mysteries, stepped forward with a determined air and clapped +Joey on the shoulder. + +"I want to know, Joey," said Peter, "I want to know whether I am to +go on liking you, or whether I've got to think poorly of you. Out +with it." + +Joey turned to him a face so full of misery that Peter's heart was +touched. "You can't tell how wretched it makes me," said Joey. "I +didn't know it was possible to feel so uncomfortable as I have felt +during these last three months." + +"It's the wife, I suppose?" suggested Peter. + +"She's a dear girl. She only has one fault." + +"It's a pretty big one," returned Peter. "I should try and break +her of it if I were you." + +"Break her of it!" cried the little man. "You might as well advise +me to break a brick wall with my head. I had no idea what they +were like. I never dreamt it." + +"But what is her objection to us? We are clean, we are fairly +intelligent--" + +"My dear Peter, do you think I haven't said all that, and a hundred +things more? A woman! she gets an idea into her head, and every +argument against it hammers it in further. She has gained her +notion of what she calls Bohemia from the comic journals. It's our +own fault, we have done it ourselves. There's no persuading her +that it's a libel." + +"Won't she see a few of us--judge for herself? There's Porson--why +Porson might have been a bishop. Or Somerville--Somerville's +Oxford accent is wasted here. It has no chance." + +"It isn't only that," explained Joey; "she has ambitions, social +ambitions. She thinks that if we begin with the wrong set, we'll +never get into the right. We have three friends at present, and, +so far as I can see, are never likely to have any more. My dear +boy, you'd never believe there could exist such bores. There's a +man and his wife named Holyoake. They dine with us on Thursdays, +and we dine with them on Tuesdays. Their only title to existence +consists in their having a cousin in the House of Lords; they claim +no other right themselves. He is a widower, getting on for eighty. +Apparently he's the only relative they have, and when he dies, they +talk of retiring into the country. There's a fellow named Cutler, +who visited once at Marlborough House in connection with a charity. +You'd think to listen to him that he had designs upon the throne. +The most tiresome of them all is a noisy woman who, as far as I can +make out, hasn't any name at all. 'Miss Montgomery' is on her +cards, but that is only what she calls herself. Who she really is! +It would shake the foundations of European society if known. We +sit and talk about the aristocracy; we don't seem to know anybody +else. I tried on one occasion a little sarcasm as a corrective-- +recounted conversations between myself and the Prince of Wales, in +which I invariably addressed him as 'Teddy.' It sounds tall, I +know, but those people took it in. I was too astonished to +undeceive them at the time, the consequence is I am a sort of +little god to them. They come round me and ask for more. What am +I to do? I am helpless among them. I've never had anything to do +before with the really first-prize idiot; the usual type, of +course, one knows, but these, if you haven't met them, are +inconceivable. I try insulting them; they don't even know I am +insulting them. Short of dragging them out of their chairs and +kicking them round the room, I don't see how to make them +understand it." + +"And Mrs. Loveredge?" asked the sympathetic Peter, "is she--" + +"Between ourselves," said Joey, sinking his voice to a needless +whisper, seeing he and Peter were the sole occupants of the +smoking-room--"I couldn't, of course, say it to a younger man--but +between ourselves, my wife is a charming woman. You don't know +her." + +"Doesn't seem much chance of my ever doing so," laughed Peter. + +"So graceful, so dignified, so--so queenly," continued the little +man, with rising enthusiasm. "She has only one fault--she has no +sense of humour." + +To Peter, as it has been said, men of forty were mere boys. + +"My dear fellow, whatever could have induced you--" + +"I know--I know all that," interrupted the mere boy. "Nature +arranges it on purpose. Tall and solemn prigs marry little women +with turned-up noses. Cheerful little fellows like myself--we +marry serious, stately women. If it were otherwise, the human race +would be split up into species." + +"Of course, if you were actuated by a sense of public duty--" + +"Don't be a fool, Peter Hope," returned the little man. "I'm in +love with my wife just as she is, and always shall be. I know the +woman with a sense of humour, and of the two I prefer the one +without. The Juno type is my ideal. I must take the rough with +the smooth. One can't have a jolly, chirpy Juno, and wouldn't care +for her if one could." + +"Then are you going to give up all your old friends?" + +"Don't suggest it," pleaded the little man. "You don't know how +miserable it makes me--the mere idea. Tell them to be patient. +The secret of dealing with women, I have found, is to do nothing +rashly." The clock struck five. "I must go now," said Joey. +"Don't misjudge her, Peter, and don't let the others. She's a dear +girl. You'll like her, all of you, when you know her. A dear +girl! She only has that one fault." + +Joey went out. + +Peter did his best that evening to explain the true position of +affairs without imputing snobbery to Mrs. Loveredge. It was a +difficult task, and Peter cannot be said to have accomplished it +successfully. Anger and indignation against Joey gave place to +pity. The members of the Autolycus Club also experienced a little +irritation on their own account. + +"What does the woman take us for?" demanded Somerville the +Briefless. "Doesn't she know that we lunch with real actors and +actresses, that once a year we are invited to dine at the Mansion +House?" + +"Has she never heard of the aristocracy of genius?" demanded +Alexander the Poet. + +"The explanation may be that possibly she has seen it," feared the +Wee Laddie. + +"One of us ought to waylay the woman," argued the Babe--"insist +upon her talking to him for ten minutes. I've half a mind to do it +myself." + +Jack Herring said nothing--seemed thoughtful. + +The next morning Jack Herring, still thoughtful, called at the +editorial offices of Good Humour, in Crane Court, and borrowed Miss +Ramsbotham's Debrett. Three days later Jack Herring informed the +Club casually that he had dined the night before with Mr. and Mrs. +Loveredge. The Club gave Jack Herring politely to understand that +they regarded him as a liar, and proceeded to demand particulars. + +"If I wasn't there," explained Jack Herring, with unanswerable +logic, "how can I tell you anything about it?" + +This annoyed the Club, whose curiosity had been whetted. Three +members, acting in the interests of the whole, solemnly undertook +to believe whatever he might tell them. But Jack Herring's +feelings had been wounded. + +"When gentlemen cast a doubt upon another gentleman's veracity--" + +"We didn't cast a doubt," explained Somerville the Briefless. "We +merely said that we personally did not believe you. We didn't say +we couldn't believe you; it is a case for individual effort. If +you give us particulars bearing the impress of reality, supported +by details that do not unduly contradict each other, we are +prepared to put aside our natural suspicions and face the +possibility of your statement being correct." + +"It was foolish of me," said Jack Herring. "I thought perhaps it +would amuse you to hear what sort of a woman Mrs. Loveredge was +like--some description of Mrs. Loveredge's uncle. Miss Montgomery, +friend of Mrs. Loveredge, is certainly one of the most remarkable +women I have ever met. Of course, that isn't her real name. But, +as I have said, it was foolish of me. These people--you will never +meet them, you will never see them; of what interest can they be to +you?" + +"They had forgotten to draw down the blinds, and he climbed up a +lamp-post and looked through the window," was the solution of the +problem put forward by the Wee Laddie. + +"I'm dining there again on Saturday," volunteered Jack Herring. +"If any of you will promise not to make a disturbance, you can hang +about on the Park side, underneath the shadow of the fence, and +watch me go in. My hansom will draw up at the door within a few +minutes of eight." + +The Babe and the Poet agreed to undertake the test. + +"You won't mind our hanging round a little while, in case you're +thrown out again?" asked the Babe. + +"Not in the least, so far as I am concerned," replied Jack Herring. +"Don't leave it too late and make your mother anxious." + +"It's true enough," the Babe recounted afterwards. "The door was +opened by a manservant and he went straight in. We walked up and +down for half an hour, and unless they put him out the back way, +he's telling the truth." + +"Did you hear him give his name?" asked Somerville, who was +stroking his moustache. + +"No, we were too far off," explained the Babe. "But--I'll swear it +was Jack--there couldn't be any mistake about that." + +"Perhaps not," agreed Somerville the Briefless. + +Somerville the Briefless called at the offices of Good Humour, in +Crane Court, the following morning, and he also borrowed Miss +Ramsbotham's Debrett. + +"What's the meaning of it?" demanded the sub-editor. + +"Meaning of what?" + +"This sudden interest of all you fellows in the British Peerage." + +"All of us?" + +"Well, Herring was here last week, poring over that book for half +an hour, with the Morning Post spread out before him. Now you're +doing the same thing." + +"Ah! Jack Herring, was he? I thought as much. Don't talk about +it, Tommy. I'll tell you later on." + +On the following Monday, the Briefless one announced to the Club +that he had received an invitation to dine at the Loveredges' on +the following Wednesday. On Tuesday, the Briefless one entered the +Club with a slow and stately step. Halting opposite old Goslin the +porter, who had emerged from his box with the idea of discussing +the Oxford and Cambridge boat race, Somerville, removing his hat +with a sweep of the arm, held it out in silence. Old Goslin, much +astonished, took it mechanically, whereupon the Briefless one, +shaking himself free from his Inverness cape, flung it lightly +after the hat, and strolled on, not noticing that old Goslin, +unaccustomed to coats lightly and elegantly thrown at him, dropping +the hat, had caught it on his head, and had been, in the language +of the prompt-book, "left struggling." The Briefless one, entering +the smoking-room, lifted a chair and let it fall again with a +crash, and sitting down upon it, crossed his legs and rang the +bell. + +"Ye're doing it verra weel," remarked approvingly the Wee Laddie. +"Ye're just fitted for it by nature." + +"Fitted for what?" demanded the Briefless one, waking up apparently +from a dream. + +"For an Adelphi guest at eighteenpence the night," assured him the +Wee Laddie. "Ye're just splendid at it." + +The Briefless one, muttering that the worst of mixing with +journalists was that if you did not watch yourself, you fell into +their ways, drank his whisky in silence. Later, the Babe swore on +a copy of Sell's Advertising Guide that, crossing the Park, he had +seen the Briefless one leaning over the railings of Rotten Row, +clad in a pair of new kid gloves, swinging a silver-headed cane. + +One morning towards the end of the week, Joseph Loveredge, looking +twenty years younger than when Peter had last seen him, dropped in +at the editorial office of Good Humour and demanded of Peter Hope +how he felt and what he thought of the present price of Emma Mines. + +Peter Hope's fear was that the gambling fever was spreading to all +classes of society. + +"I want you to dine with us on Sunday," said Joseph Loveredge. +"Jack Herring will be there. You might bring Tommy with you." + +Peter Hope gulped down his astonishment and said he should be +delighted; he thought that Tommy also was disengaged. "Mrs. +Loveredge out of town, I presume?" questioned Peter Hope. + +"On the contrary," replied Joseph Loveredge, "I want you to meet +her." + +Joseph Loveredge removed a pile of books from one chair and placed +them carefully upon another, after which he went and stood before +the fire. + +"Don't if you don't like," said Joseph Loveredge; "but if you don't +mind, you might call yourself, just for the evening--say, the Duke +of Warrington." + +"Say the what?" demanded Peter Hope. + +"The Duke of Warrington," repeated Joey. "We are rather short of +dukes. Tommy can be the Lady Adelaide, your daughter." + +"Don't be an ass!" said Peter Hope. + +"I'm not an ass," assured him Joseph Loveredge. "He is wintering +in Egypt. You have run back for a week to attend to business. +There is no Lady Adelaide, so that's quite simple." + +"But what in the name of--" began Peter Hope. + +"Don't you see what I'm driving at?" persisted Joey. "It was +Jack's idea at the beginning. I was frightened myself at first, +but it is working to perfection. She sees you, and sees that you +are a gentleman. When the truth comes out--as, of course, it must +later on--the laugh will be against her." + +"You think--you think that'll comfort her?" suggested Peter Hope. + +"It's the only way, and it is really wonderfully simple. We never +mention the aristocracy now--it would be like talking shop. We +just enjoy ourselves. You, by the way, I met in connection with +the movement for rational dress. You are a bit of a crank, fond of +frequenting Bohemian circles." + +"I am risking something, I know," continued Joey; "but it's worth +it. I couldn't have existed much longer. We go slowly, and are +very careful. Jack is Lord Mount-Primrose, who has taken up with +anti-vaccination and who never goes out into Society. Somerville +is Sir Francis Baldwin, the great authority on centipedes. The Wee +Laddie is coming next week as Lord Garrick, who married that +dancing-girl, Prissy Something, and started a furniture shop in +Bond Street. I had some difficulty at first. She wanted to send +out paragraphs, but I explained that was only done by vulgar +persons--that when the nobility came to you as friends, it was +considered bad taste. She is a dear girl, as I have always told +you, with only one fault. A woman easier to deceive one could not +wish for. I don't myself see why the truth ever need come out-- +provided we keep our heads." + +"Seems to me you've lost them already," commented Peter; "you're +overdoing it." + +"The more of us the better," explained Joey; "we help each other. +Besides, I particularly want you in it. There's a sort of superior +Pickwickian atmosphere surrounding you that disarms suspicion." + +"You leave me out of it," growled Peter. + +"See here," laughed Joey; "you come as the Duke of Warrington, and +bring Tommy with you, and I'll write your City article." + +"For how long?" snapped Peter. Incorruptible City editors are not +easily picked up. + +"Oh, well, for as long as you like." + +"On that understanding," agreed Peter, "I'm willing to make a fool +of myself in your company." + +"You'll soon get used to it," Joey told him; "eight o'clock, then, +on Sunday; plain evening dress. If you like to wear a bit of red +ribbon in your buttonhole, why, do so. You can get it at Evans', +in Covent Garden." + +"And Tommy is the Lady--" + +"Adelaide. Let her have a taste for literature, then she needn't +wear gloves. I know she hates them." Joey turned to go. + +"Am I married?" asked Peter. + +Joey paused. "I should avoid all reference to your matrimonial +affairs if I were you," was Joey's advice. "You didn't come out of +that business too well." + +"Oh! as bad as that, was I? You don't think Mrs. Loveredge will +object to me?" + +"I have asked her that. She's a dear, broad-minded girl. I've +promised not to leave you alone with Miss Montgomery, and Willis +has had instructions not to let you mix your drinks." + +"I'd have liked to have been someone a trifle more respectable," +grumbled Peter. + +"We rather wanted a duke," explained Joey, "and he was the only one +that fitted in all round." + +The dinner a was a complete success. Tommy, entering into the +spirit of the thing, bought a new pair of open-work stockings and +assumed a languid drawl. Peter, who was growing forgetful, +introduced her as the Lady Alexandra; it did not seem to matter, +both beginning with an A. She greeted Lord Mount-Primrose as +"Billy," and asked affectionately after his mother. Joey told his +raciest stories. The Duke of Warrington called everybody by their +Christian names, and seemed well acquainted with Bohemian society-- +a more amiable nobleman it would have been impossible to discover. +The lady whose real name was not Miss Montgomery sat in speechless +admiration. The hostess was the personification of gracious +devotion. + +Other little dinners, equally successful, followed. Joey's +acquaintanceship appeared to be confined exclusively to the higher +circles of the British aristocracy--with one exception: that of a +German baron, a short, stout gentleman, who talked English well, +but with an accent, and who, when he desired to be impressive, laid +his right forefinger on the right side of his nose and thrust his +whole face forward. Mrs. Loveredge wondered why her husband had +not introduced them sooner, but was too blissful to be suspicious. +The Autolycus Club was gradually changing its tone. Friends could +no longer recognise one another by the voice. Every corner had its +solitary student practising high-class intonation. Members dropped +into the habit of addressing one another as "dear chappie," and, +discarding pipes, took to cheap cigars. Many of the older habitues +resigned. + +All might have gone well to the end of time if only Mrs. Loveredge +had left all social arrangements in the hands of her husband--had +not sought to aid his efforts. To a certain political garden- +party, one day in the height of the season, were invited Joseph +Loveredge and Mrs. Joseph Loveredge, his wife. Mr. Joseph +Loveredge at the last moment found himself unable to attend. Mrs. +Joseph Loveredge went alone, met there various members of the +British aristocracy. Mrs. Joseph Loveredge, accustomed to +friendship with the aristocracy, felt at her ease and was natural +and agreeable. The wife of an eminent peer talked to her and liked +her. It occurred to Mrs. Joseph Loveredge that this lady might be +induced to visit her house in Regent's Park, there to mingle with +those of her own class. + +"Lord Mount-Primrose, the Duke of Warrington, and a few others will +be dining with us on Sunday next," suggested Mrs. Loveredge. "Will +not you do us the honour of coming? We are, of course, only simple +folk ourselves, but somehow people seem to like us." + +The wife of the eminent peer looked at Mrs. Loveredge, looked round +the grounds, looked at Mrs. Loveredge again, and said she would +like to come. Mrs. Joseph Loveredge intended at first to tell her +husband of her success, but a little devil entering into her head +and whispering to her that it would be amusing, she resolved to +keep it as a surprise, to be sprung upon him at eight o'clock on +Sunday. The surprise proved all she could have hoped for. + +The Duke of Warrington, having journalistic matters to discuss with +Joseph Loveredge, arrived at half-past seven, wearing on his shirt- +front a silver star, purchased in Eagle Street the day before for +eight-and-six. There accompanied him the Lady Alexandra, wearing +the identical ruby necklace that every night for the past six +months, and twice on Saturdays, "John Strongheart" had been falsely +accused of stealing. Lord Garrick, having picked up his wife (Miss +Ramsbotham) outside the Mother Redcap, arrived with her on foot at +a quarter to eight. Lord Mount-Primrose, together with Sir Francis +Baldwin, dashed up in a hansom at seven-fifty. His Lordship, +having lost the toss, paid the fare. The Hon. Harry Sykes +(commonly called "the Babe") was ushered in five minutes later. +The noble company assembled in the drawing-room chatted blithely +while waiting for dinner to be announced. The Duke of Warrington +was telling an anecdote about a cat, which nobody appeared to +believe. Lord Mount-Primrose desired to know whether by any chance +it might be the same animal that every night at half-past nine had +been in the habit of climbing up his Grace's railings and knocking +at his Grace's door. The Honourable Harry was saying that, +speaking of cats, he once had a sort of terrier--when the door was +thrown open and Willis announced the Lady Mary Sutton. + +Mr. Joseph Loveredge, who was sitting near the fire, rose up. Lord +Mount-Primrose, who was standing near the piano, sat down. The +Lady Mary Sutton paused in the doorway. Mrs. Loveredge crossed the +room to greet her. + +"Let me introduce you to my husband," said Mrs. Loveredge. "Joey, +my dear, the Lady Mary Sutton. I met the Lady Mary at the +O'Meyers' the other day, and she was good enough to accept my +invitation. I forgot to tell you." + +Mr. Loveredge said he was delighted; after which, although as a +rule a chatty man, he seemed to have nothing else to say. And a +silence fell. + +Somerville the Briefless--till then. That evening has always been +reckoned the starting-point of his career. Up till then nobody +thought he had much in him--walked up and held out his hand. + +"You don't remember me, Lady Mary," said the Briefless one. "I met +you some years ago; we had a most interesting conversation--Sir +Francis Baldwin." + +The Lady Mary stood for a moment trying apparently to recollect. +She was a handsome, fresh-complexioned woman of about forty, with +frank, agreeable eyes. The Lady Mary glanced at Lord Garrick, who +was talking rapidly to Lord Mount-Primrose, who was not listening, +and who could not have understood even if he had been, Lord +Garrick, without being aware of it, having dropped into broad +Scotch. From him the Lady Mary glanced at her hostess, and from +her hostess to her host. + +The Lady Mary took the hand held out to her. "Of course," said the +Lady Mary; "how stupid of me! It was the day of my own wedding, +too. You really must forgive me. We talked of quite a lot of +things. I remember now." + +Mrs. Loveredge, who prided herself upon maintaining old-fashioned +courtesies, proceeded to introduce the Lady Mary to her fellow- +guests, a little surprised that her ladyship appeared to know so +few of them. Her ladyship's greeting of the Duke of Warrington was +accompanied, it was remarked, by a somewhat curious smile. To the +Duke of Warrington's daughter alone did the Lady Mary address +remark. + +"My dear," said the Lady Mary, "how you have grown since last we +met!" + +The announcement of dinner, as everybody felt, came none too soon. + +It was not a merry feast. Joey told but one story; he told it +three times, and twice left out the point. Lord Mount-Primrose +took sifted sugar with pate de foie gras and ate it with a spoon. +Lord Garrick, talking a mixture of Scotch and English, urged his +wife to give up housekeeping and take a flat in Gower Street, +which, as he pointed out, was central. She could have her meals +sent in to her and so avoid all trouble. The Lady Alexandra's +behaviour appeared to Mrs. Loveredge not altogether well-bred. An +eccentric young noblewoman Mrs. Loveredge had always found her, but +wished on this occasion that she had been a little less eccentric. +Every few minutes the Lady Alexandra buried her face in her +serviette, and shook and rocked, emitting stifled sounds, +apparently those of acute physical pain. Mrs. Loveredge hoped she +was not feeling ill, but the Lady Alexandra appeared incapable of +coherent reply. Twice during the meal the Duke of Warrington rose +from the table and began wandering round the room; on each +occasion, asked what he wanted, had replied meekly that he was +merely looking for his snuff-box, and had sat down again. The only +person who seemed to enjoy the dinner was the Lady Mary Sutton. + +The ladies retired upstairs into the drawing-room. Mrs. Loveredge, +breaking a long silence, remarked it as unusual that no sound of +merriment reached them from the dining-room. The explanation was +that the entire male portion of the party, on being left to +themselves, had immediately and in a body crept on tiptoe into +Joey's study, which, fortunately, happened to be on the ground +floor. Joey, unlocking the bookcase, had taken out his Debrett, +but appeared incapable of understanding it. Sir Francis Baldwin +had taken it from his unresisting hands; the remaining aristocracy +huddled themselves into a corner and waited in silence. + +"I think I've got it all clearly," announced Sir Francis Baldwin, +after five minutes, which to the others had been an hour. "Yes, I +don't think I'm making any mistake. She's the daughter of the Duke +of Truro, married in '53 the Duke of Warrington, at St. Peter's, +Eaton Square; gave birth in '55 to a daughter, the Lady Grace +Alexandra Warberton Sutton, which makes the child just thirteen. +In '63 divorced the Duke of Warrington. Lord Mount-Primrose, so +far as I can make out, must be her second cousin. I appear to have +married her in '66 at Hastings. It doesn't seem to me that we +could have got together a homelier little party to meet her even if +we had wanted to." + +Nobody spoke; nobody had anything particularly worth saying. The +door opened, and the Lady Alexandra (otherwise Tommy) entered the +room. + +"Isn't it time," suggested the Lady Alexandra, "that some of you +came upstairs?" + +"I was thinking myself," explained Joey, the host, with a grim +smile, "it was about time that I went out and drowned myself. The +canal is handy." + +"Put it off till to-morrow," Tommy advised him. "I have asked her +ladyship to give me a lift home, and she has promised to do so. +She is evidently a woman with a sense of humour. Wait till after I +have had a talk with her." + +Six men, whispering at the same time, were prepared with advice; +but Tommy was not taking advice. + +"Come upstairs, all of you," insisted Tommy, "and make yourselves +agreeable. She's going in a quarter of an hour." + +Six silent men, the host leading, the two husbands bringing up the +rear, ascended the stairs, each with the sensation of being twice +his usual weight. Six silent men entered the drawing-room and sat +down on chairs. Six silent men tried to think of something +interesting to say. + +Miss Ramsbotham--it was that or hysterics, as she afterwards +explained--stifling a sob, opened the piano. But the only thing +she could remember was "Champagne Charlie is my Name," a song then +popular in the halls. Five men, when she had finished, begged her +to go on. Miss Ramsbotham, speaking in a shrill falsetto, +explained it was the only tune she knew. Four of them begged her +to play it again. Miss Ramsbotham played it a second time with +involuntary variations. + +The Lady Mary's carriage was announced by the imperturbable Willis. +The party, with the exception of the Lady Mary and the hostess, +suppressed with difficulty an inclination to burst into a cheer. +The Lady Mary thanked Mrs. Loveredge for a most interesting +evening, and beckoned Tommy to accompany her. With her +disappearance, a wild hilarity, uncanny in its suddenness, took +possession of the remaining guests. + +A few days later, the Lady Mary's carriage again drew up before the +little house in Regent's Park. Mrs. Loveredge, fortunately, was at +home. The carriage remained waiting for quite a long time. Mrs. +Loveredge, after it was gone, locked herself in her own room. The +under-housemaid reported to the kitchen that, passing the door, she +had detected sounds indicative of strong emotion. + +Through what ordeal Joseph Loveredge passed was never known. For a +few weeks the Autolycus Club missed him. Then gradually, as aided +by Time they have a habit of doing, things righted themselves. +Joseph Loveredge received his old friends; his friends received +Joseph Loveredge. Mrs. Loveredge, as a hostess, came to have only +one failing--a marked coldness of demeanour towards all people with +titles, whenever introduced to her. + + + +STORY THE SIXTH: "The Babe" applies for Shares + + + +People said of the new journal, Good Humour--people of taste and +judgment, that it was the brightest, the cleverest, the most +literary penny weekly that ever had been offered to the public. +This made Peter Hope, editor and part-proprietor, very happy. +William Clodd, business manager, and also part-proprietor, it left +less elated. + +"Must be careful," said William Clodd, "that we don't make it too +clever. Happy medium, that's the ideal." + +People said--people of taste and judgment, that Good Humour was +more worthy of support than all the other penny weeklies put +together. People of taste and judgment even went so far, some of +them, as to buy it. Peter Hope, looking forward, saw fame and +fortune coming to him. + +William Clodd, looking round about him, said - + +"Doesn't it occur to you, Guv'nor, that we're getting this thing +just a trifle too high class?" + +"What makes you think that?" demanded Peter Hope. + +"Our circulation, for one thing," explained Clodd. "The returns +for last month--" + +"I'd rather you didn't mention them, if you don't mind," +interrupted Peter Hope; "somehow, hearing the actual figures always +depresses me." + +"Can't say I feel inspired by them myself," admitted Clodd. + +"It will come," said Peter Hope, "it will come in time. We must +educate the public up to our level." + +"If there is one thing, so far as I have noticed," said William +Clodd, "that the public are inclined to pay less for than another, +it is for being educated." + +"What are we to do?" asked Peter Hope. + +"What you want," answered William Clodd, "is an office-boy." + +"How will our having an office-boy increase our circulation?" +demanded Peter Hope. "Besides, it was agreed that we could do +without one for the first year. Why suggest more expense?" + +"I don't mean an ordinary office-boy," explained Clodd. "I mean +the sort of boy that I rode with in the train going down to +Stratford yesterday." + +"What was there remarkable about him?" + +"Nothing. He was reading the current number of the Penny Novelist. +Over two hundred thousand people buy it. He is one of them. He +told me so. When he had done with it, he drew from his pocket a +copy of the Halfpenny Joker--they guarantee a circulation of +seventy thousand. He sat and chuckled over it until we got to +Bow." + +"But--" + +"You wait a minute. I'm coming to the explanation. That boy +represents the reading public. I talked to him. The papers he +likes best are the papers that have the largest sales. He never +made a single mistake. The others--those of them he had seen--he +dismissed as 'rot.' What he likes is what the great mass of the +journal-buying public likes. Please him--I took his name and +address, and he is willing to come to us for eight shillings a +week--and you please the people that buy. Not the people that +glance through a paper when it is lying on the smoking-room table, +and tell you it is damned good, but the people that plank down +their penny. That's the sort we want." + +Peter Hope, able editor, with ideals, was shocked--indignant. +William Clodd, business man, without ideals, talked figures. + +"There's the advertiser to be thought of," persisted Clodd. "I +don't pretend to be a George Washington, but what's the use of +telling lies that sound like lies, even to one's self while one's +telling them? Give me a genuine sale of twenty thousand, and I'll +undertake, without committing myself, to convey an impression of +forty. But when the actual figures are under eight thousand--well, +it hampers you, if you happen to have a conscience. + +"Give them every week a dozen columns of good, sound literature," +continued Clodd insinuatingly, "but wrap it up in twenty-four +columns of jam. It's the only way they'll take it, and you will be +doing them good--educating them without their knowing it. All +powder and no jam! Well, they don't open their mouths, that's +all." + +Clodd was a man who knew how to get his way. Flipp--spelled +Philip--Tweetel arrived in due course of time at 23, Crane Court, +ostensibly to take up the position of Good Humour's office-boy; in +reality, and without his being aware of it, to act as its literary +taster. Stories in which Flipp became absorbed were accepted. +Peter groaned, but contented himself with correcting only their +grosser grammatical blunders; the experiment should be tried in all +good faith. Humour at which Flipp laughed was printed. Peter +tried to ease his conscience by increasing his subscription to the +fund for destitute compositors, but only partially succeeded. +Poetry that brought a tear to the eye of Flipp was given leaded +type. People of taste and judgment said Good Humour had +disappointed them. Its circulation, slowly but steadily, +increased. + +"See!" cried the delighted Clodd; "told you so!" + +"It's sad to think--" began Peter. + +"Always is," interrupted Clodd cheerfully. "Moral--don't think too +much." + +"Tell you what we'll do," added Clodd. "We'll make a fortune out +of this paper. Then when we can afford to lose a little money, +we'll launch a paper that shall appeal only to the intellectual +portion of the public. Meanwhile--" + +A squat black bottle with a label attached, standing on the desk, +arrested Clodd's attention. + +"When did this come?" asked Clodd. + +"About an hour ago," Peter told him. + +"Any order with it?" + +"I think so." Peter searched for and found a letter addressed to +"William Clodd, Esq., Advertising Manager, Good Humour." Clodd +tore it open, hastily devoured it. + +"Not closed up yet, are you?" + +"No, not till eight o'clock." + +"Good! I want you to write me a par. Do it now, then you won't +forget it. For the 'Walnuts and Wine' column." + +Peter sat down, headed a sheet of paper: 'For W. and W. Col.' + +"What is it?" questioned Peter--"something to drink?" + +"It's a sort of port," explained Clodd, "that doesn't get into your +head." + +"You consider that an advantage?" queried Peter. + +"Of course. You can drink more of it." + +Peter continued to write: 'Possesses all the qualities of an old +vintage port, without those deleterious properties--' "I haven't +tasted it, Clodd," hinted Peter. + +"That's all right--I have." + +"And was it good?" + +"Splendid stuff. Say it's 'delicious and invigorating.' They'll +be sure to quote that." + +Peter wrote on: 'Personally I have found it delicious and--' Peter +left off writing. "I really think, Clodd, I ought to taste it. +You see, I am personally recommending it." + +"Finish that par. Let me have it to take round to the printers. +Then put the bottle in your pocket. Take it home and make a night +of it." + +Clodd appeared to be in a mighty hurry. Now, this made Peter only +the more suspicious. The bottle was close to his hand. Clodd +tried to intercept him, but was not quick enough. + +"You're not used to temperance drinks," urged Clodd. "Your palate +is not accustomed to them." + +"I can tell whether it's 'delicious' or not, surely?" pleaded +Peter, who had pulled out the cork. + +"It's a quarter-page advertisement for thirteen weeks. Put it down +and don't be a fool!" urged Clodd. + +"I'm going to put it down," laughed Peter, who was fond of his +joke. Peter poured out half a tumblerful, and drank--some of it. + +"Like it?" demanded Clodd, with a savage grin. + +"You are sure--you are sure it was the right bottle?" gasped Peter. + +"Bottle's all right," Clodd assured him. "Try some more. Judge it +fairly." + +Peter ventured on another sip. "You don't think they would be +satisfied if I recommended it as a medicine?" insinuated Peter-- +"something to have about the house in case of accidental +poisoning?" + +"Better go round and suggest the idea to them yourself. I've done +with it." Clodd took up his hat. + +"I'm sorry--I'm very sorry," sighed Peter. "But I couldn't +conscientiously--" + +Clodd put down his hat again with a bang. "Oh! confound that +conscience of yours! Don't it ever think of your creditors? +What's the use of my working out my lungs for you, when all you do +is to hamper me at every step?" + +"Wouldn't it be better policy," urged Peter, "to go for the better +class of advertiser, who doesn't ask you for this sort of thing?" + +"Go for him!" snorted Clodd. "Do you think I don't go for him? +They are just sheep. Get one, you get the lot. Until you've got +the one, the others won't listen to you." + +"That's true," mused Peter. "I spoke to Wilkinson, of Kingsley's, +myself. He advised me to try and get Landor's. He thought that if +I could get an advertisement out of Landor, he might persuade his +people to give us theirs." + +"And if you had gone to Landor, he would have promised you theirs +provided you got Kingsley's." + +"They will come," thought hopeful Peter. "We are going up +steadily. They will come with a rush." + +"They had better come soon," thought Clodd. "The only things +coming with a rush just now are bills." + +"Those articles of young McTear's attracted a good deal of +attention," expounded Peter. "He has promised to write me another +series." + +"Jowett is the one to get hold of," mused Clodd. "Jowett, all the +others follow like a flock of geese waddling after the old gander. +If only we could get hold of Jowett, the rest would be easy." + +Jowett was the proprietor of the famous Marble Soap. Jowett spent +on advertising every year a quarter of a million, it was said. +Jowett was the stay and prop of periodical literature. New papers +that secured the Marble Soap advertisement lived and prospered; the +new paper to which it was denied languished and died. Jowett, and +how to get hold of him; Jowett, and how to get round him, formed +the chief topic of discussion at the council-board of most new +papers, Good Humour amongst the number. + +"I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham, who wrote the Letter to +Clorinda that filled each week the last two pages of Good Humour, +and that told Clorinda, who lived secluded in the country, the +daily history of the highest class society, among whom Miss +Ramsbotham appeared to live and have her being; who they were, and +what they wore, the wise and otherwise things they did--"I have +heard," said Miss Ramsbotham one morning, Jowett being as usual the +subject under debate, "that the old man is susceptible to female +influence." + +"What I have always thought," said Clodd. "A lady advertising- +agent might do well. At all events, they couldn't kick her out." + +"They might in the end," thought Peter. "Female door-porters would +become a profession for muscular ladies if ever the idea took +root." + +"The first one would get a good start, anyhow," thought Clodd. + +The sub-editor had pricked up her ears. Once upon a time, long +ago, the sub-editor had succeeded, when all other London +journalists had failed, in securing an interview with a certain +great statesman. The sub-editor had never forgotten this--nor +allowed anyone else to forget it, + +"I believe I could get it for you," said the sub-editor. + +The editor and the business-manager both spoke together. They +spoke with decision and with emphasis. + +"Why not?" said the sub-editor. "When nobody else could get at +him, it was I who interviewed Prince--" + +"We've heard all about that," interrupted the business-manager. +"If I had been your father at the time, you would never have done +it." + +"How could I have stopped her?" retorted Peter Hope. "She never +said a word to me." + +"You could have kept an eye on her." + +"Kept an eye on her! When you've got a girl of your own, you'll +know more about them." + +"When I have," asserted Clodd, "I'll manage her." + +"We know all about bachelor's children," sneered Peter Hope, the +editor. + +"You leave it to me. I'll have it for you before the end of the +week," crowed the sub-editor. + +"If you do get it," returned Clodd, "I shall throw it out, that's +all." + +"You said yourself a lady advertising-agent would be a good idea," +the sub-editor reminded him. + +"So she might be," returned Clodd; "but she isn't going to be you." + +"Why not?" + +"Because she isn't, that's why." + +"But if--" + +"See you at the printer's at twelve," said Clodd to Peter, and went +out suddenly. + +"Well, I think he's an idiot," said the sub-editor. + +"I do not often," said the editor, "but on this point I agree with +him. Cadging for advertisements isn't a woman's work." + +"But what is the difference between--" + +"All the difference in the world," thought the editor. + +"You don't know what I was going to say," returned his sub. + +"I know the drift of it," asserted the editor. + +"But you let me--" + +"I know I do--a good deal too much. I'm going to turn over a new +leaf." + +"All I propose to do --" + +"Whatever it is, you're not going to do it," declared the chief. +"Shall be back at half-past twelve, if anybody comes." + +"It seems to me--" But Peter was gone. + +"Just like them all," wailed the sub-editor. "They can't argue; +when you explain things to them, they go out. It does make me so +mad!" + +Miss Ramsbotham laughed. "You are a downtrodden little girl, +Tommy." + + "As if I couldn't take care of myself!" Tommy's chin was high up +in the air. + +"Cheer up," suggested Miss Ramsbotham. "Nobody ever tells me not +to do anything. I would change with you if I could." + +"I'd have walked into that office and have had that advertisement +out of old Jowett in five minutes, I know I would," bragged Tommy. +"I can always get on with old men." + +"Only with the old ones?" queried Miss Ramsbotham. + +The door opened. "Anybody in?" asked the face of Johnny Bulstrode, +appearing in the jar. + +"Can't you see they are?" snapped Tommy. + +"Figure of speech," explained Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called +"the Babe," entering and closing the door behind him. + +"What do you want?" demanded the sub-editor. + +"Nothing in particular," replied the Babe. + +"Wrong time of the day to come for it, half-past eleven in the +morning," explained the sub-editor. + +"What's the matter with you?" asked the Babe. + +"Feeling very cross," confessed the sub-editor. + +The childlike face of the Babe expressed sympathetic inquiry. + +"We are very indignant," explained Miss Ramsbotham, "because we are +not allowed to rush off to Cannon Street and coax an advertisement +out of old Jowett, the soap man. We feel sure that if we only put +on our best hat, he couldn't possibly refuse us." + +"No coaxing required," thought the sub-editor. "Once get in to see +the old fellow and put the actual figures before him, he would +clamour to come in." + +"Won't he see Clodd?" asked the Babe. + +"Won't see anybody on behalf of anything new just at present, +apparently," answered Miss Ramsbotham. "It was my fault. I was +foolish enough to repeat that I had heard he was susceptible to +female charm. They say it was Mrs. Sarkitt that got the +advertisement for The Lamp out of him. But, of course, it may not +be true." + +"Wish I was a soap man and had got advertisements to give away," +sighed the Babe. + +"Wish you were," agreed the sub-editor. + +"You should have them all, Tommy." + +"My name," corrected him the sub-editor, "is Miss Hope." + +"I beg your pardon," said the Babe. "I don't know how it is, but +one gets into the way of calling you Tommy." + +"I will thank you," said the sub-editor, "to get out of it." + +"I am sorry," said the Babe. + +"Don't let it occur again," said the sub-editor. + +The Babe stood first on one leg and then on the other, but nothing +seemed to come of it. "Well," said the Babe, "I just looked in, +that's all. Nothing I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," thanked him the sub-editor. + +"Good morning," said the Babe. + +"Good morning," said the sub-editor. + +The childlike face of the Babe wore a chastened expression as it +slowly descended the stairs. Most of the members of the Autolycus +Club looked in about once a day to see if they could do anything +for Tommy. Some of them had luck. Only the day before, Porson--a +heavy, most uninteresting man--had been sent down all the way to +Plaistow to inquire after the wounded hand of a machine-boy. Young +Alexander, whose poetry some people could not even understand, had +been commissioned to search London for a second-hand edition of +Maitland's Architecture. Since a fortnight nearly now, when he had +been sent out to drive away an organ that would not go, Johnny had +been given nothing. + +Johnny turned the corner into Fleet Street feeling bitter with his +lot. A boy carrying a parcel stumbled against him. + +"Beg yer pardon--" the small boy looked up into Johnny's face, +"miss," added the small boy, dodging the blow and disappearing into +the crowd. + +The Babe, by reason of his childlike face, was accustomed to +insults of this character, but to-day it especially irritated him. +Why at twenty-two could he not grow even a moustache? Why was he +only five feet five and a half? Why had Fate cursed him with a +pink-and-white complexion, so that the members of his own club had +nicknamed him "the Babe," while street-boys as they passed pleaded +with him for a kiss? Why was his very voice, a flute-like alto, +more suitable-- Suddenly an idea sprang to life within his brain. +The idea grew. Passing a barber's shop, Johnny went in. + +"'Air cut, sir?" remarked the barber, fitting a sheet round +Johnny's neck. + +"No, shave," corrected Johnny. + +"Beg pardon," said the barber, substituting a towel for the sheet. +"Do you shave up, sir?" later demanded the barber. + +"Yes," answered Johnny. + +"Pleasant weather we are having," said the barber. + +"Very," assented Johnny. + +From the barber's, Johnny went to Stinchcombe's, the costumier's, +in Drury Lane. + +"I am playing in a burlesque," explained the Babe. "I want you to +rig me out completely as a modern girl." + +"Peeth o' luck!" said the shopman. "Goth the very bundle for you. +Juth come in." + +"I shall want everything," explained the Babe, "from the boots to +the hat; stays, petticoats--the whole bag of tricks." + +"Regular troutheau there," said the shopman, emptying out the +canvas bag upon the counter. "Thry 'em on." + +The Babe contented himself with trying on the costume and the +boots. + +"Juth made for you!" said the shopman. + +A little loose about the chest, suggested the Babe. + +"Thath's all right," said the shopman. "Couple o' thmall towelths, +all thath's wanted." + +"You don't think it too showy?" queried the Babe. + +"Thowy? Sthylish, thath's all." + +"You are sure everything's here?" + +"Everythinkth there. 'Thept the bit o' meat inthide," assured him +the shopman. + +The Babe left a deposit, and gave his name and address. The +shopman promised the things should be sent round within an hour. +The Babe, who had entered into the spirit of the thing, bought a +pair of gloves and a small reticule, and made his way to Bow +Street. + +"I want a woman's light brown wig," said the Babe to Mr. Cox, the +perruquier. + +Mr. Cox tried on two. The deceptive appearance of the second Mr. +Cox pronounced as perfect. + +"Looks more natural on you than your own hair, blessed if it +doesn't!" said Mr. Cox. + +The wig also was promised within the hour. The spirit of +completeness descended upon the Babe. On his way back to his +lodgings in Great Queen Street, he purchased a ladylike umbrella +and a veil. + +Now, a quarter of an hour after Johnny Bulstrode had made his exit +by the door of Mr. Stinchcombe's shop, one, Harry Bennett, actor +and member of the Autolycus Club, pushed it open and entered. The +shop was empty. Harry Bennett hammered with his stick and waited. +A piled-up bundle of clothes lay upon the counter; a sheet of +paper, with a name and address scrawled across it, rested on the +bundle. Harry Bennett, given to idle curiosity, approached and +read the same. Harry Bennett, with his stick, poked the bundle, +scattering its items over the counter. + +"Donth do thath!" said the shopman, coming up. "Juth been putting +'em together." + +"What the devil," said Harry Bennett, "is Johnny Bulstrode going to +do with that rig-out?" + +"How thoud I know?" answered the shopman. "Private theathricals, I +suppoth. Friend o' yourth?" + +"Yes," replied Harry Bennett. "By Jove! he ought to make a good +girl. Should like to see it!" + +"Well arthk him for a ticket. Donth make 'em dirty," suggested the +shopman. + +"I must," said Harry Bennett, and talked about his own affairs. + +The rig-out and the wig did not arrive at Johnny's lodgings within +the hour as promised, but arrived there within three hours, which +was as much as Johnny had expected. It took Johnny nearly an hour +to dress, but at last he stood before the plate-glass panel of the +wardrobe transformed. Johnny had reason to be pleased with the +result. A tall, handsome girl looked back at him out of the glass- +-a little showily dressed, perhaps, but decidedly chic. + +"Wonder if I ought to have a cloak," mused Johnny, as a ray of +sunshine, streaming through the window, fell upon the image in the +glass. "Well, anyhow, I haven't," thought Johnny, as the sunlight +died away again, "so it's no good thinking about it." + +Johnny seized his reticule and his umbrella and opened cautiously +the door. Outside all was silent. Johnny stealthily descended; in +the passage paused again. Voices sounded from the basement. +Feeling like an escaped burglar, Johnny slipped the latch of the +big door and peeped out. A policeman, pasting, turned and looked +at him. Johnny hastily drew back and closed the door again. +Somebody was ascending from the kitchen. Johnny, caught between +two terrors, nearer to the front door than to the stairs, having no +time, chose the street. It seemed to Johnny that the street was +making for him. A woman came hurriedly towards him. What was she +going to say to him? What should he answer her? To his surprise +she passed him, hardly noticing him. Wondering what miracle had +saved him, he took a few steps forward. A couple of young clerks +coming up from behind turned to look at him, but on encountering +his answering stare of angry alarm, appeared confused and went +their way. It began to dawn upon him that mankind was less +discerning than he had feared. Gaining courage as he proceeded, he +reached Holborn. Here the larger crowd swept around him +indifferent. + +"I beg your pardon," said Johnny, coming into collision with a +stout gentleman. + +"My fault," replied the stout gentleman, as, smiling, he picked up +his damaged hat. + +"I beg your pardon," repeated Johnny again two minutes later, +colliding with a tall young lady. + +"Should advise you to take something for that squint of yours," +remarked the tall young lady with severity. + +"What's the matter with me?" thought Johnny. "Seems to be a sort +of mist--" The explanation flashed across him. "Of course," said +Johnny to himself, "it's this confounded veil!" + +Johnny decided to walk to the Marble Soap offices. "I'll be more +used to the hang of things by the time I get there if I walk," +thought Johnny. "Hope the old beggar's in." + +In Newgate Street, Johnny paused and pressed his hands against his +chest. "Funny sort of pain I've got," thought Johnny. "Wonder if +I should shock them if I went in somewhere for a drop of brandy?" + +"It don't get any better," reflected Johnny, with some alarm, on +reaching the corner of Cheapside. "Hope I'm not going to be ill. +Whatever--" The explanation came to him. "Of course, it's these +damned stays! No wonder girls are short-tempered, at times." + +At the offices of the Marble Soap, Johnny was treated with marked +courtesy. Mr. Jowett was out, was not expected back till five +o'clock. Would the lady wait, or would she call again? The lady +decided, now she was there, to wait. Would the lady take the easy- +chair? Would the lady have the window open or would she have it +shut? Had the lady seen The Times? + +"Or the Ha'penny Joker?" suggested a junior clerk, who thereupon +was promptly sent back to his work. + +Many of the senior clerks had occasion to pass through the waiting- +room. Two of the senior clerks held views about the weather which +they appeared wishful to express at length. Johnny began to enjoy +himself. This thing was going to be good fun. By the time the +slamming of doors and the hurrying of feet announced the advent of +the chief, Johnny was looking forward to his interview. + +It was briefer and less satisfactory than he had anticipated. Mr. +Jowett was very busy--did not as a rule see anybody in the +afternoon; but of course, a lady-- Would Miss--" + +"Montgomery." + +"Would Miss Montgomery inform Mr. Jowett what it was he might have +the pleasure of doing for her?" + +Miss Montgomery explained. + +Mr. Jowett seemed half angry, half amused. + +"Really," said Mr. Jowett, "this is hardly playing the game. +Against our fellow-men we can protect ourselves, but if the ladies +are going to attack us--really it isn't fair." + +Miss Montgomery pleaded. + +"I'll think it over," was all that Mr. Jowett could be made to +promise. "Look me up again." + +"When?" asked Miss Montgomery. + +"What's to-day?--Thursday. Say Monday." Mr. Jowett rang the bell. +"Take my advice," said the old gentleman, laying a fatherly hand on +Johnny's shoulder, "leave business to us men. You are a handsome +girl. You can do better for yourself than this." + +A clerk entered, Johnny rose. + +"On Monday next, then," Johnny reminded him. + +"At four o'clock," agreed Mr. Jowett. "Good afternoon." + +Johnny went out feeling disappointed, and yet, as he told himself, +he hadn't done so badly. Anyhow, there was nothing for it but to +wait till Monday. Now he would go home, change his clothes, and +get some dinner. He hailed a hansom. + +"Number twenty-eight--no. Stop at the Queen's Street corner of +Lincoln's Inn Fields," Johnny directed the man. + +"Quite right, miss," commented the cabman pleasantly. "Corner's +best--saves all talk." + +"What do you mean?" demanded Johnny. + +"No offence, miss," answered the man. "We was all young once." + +Johnny climbed in. At the corner of Queen Street and Lincoln's Inn +Fields, Johnny got out. Johnny, who had been pondering other +matters, put his hand instinctively to where, speaking generally, +his pocket should have been; then recollected himself. + +"Let me see, did I think to bring any money out with me, or did I +not?" mused Johnny, as he stood upon the kerb. + +"Look in the ridicule, miss," suggested the cabman. + +Johnny looked. It was empty. + +"Perhaps I put it in my pocket," thought Johnny. + +The cabman hitched his reins to the whip-socket and leant back. + +"It's somewhere about here, I know, I saw it," Johnny told himself. +"Sorry to keep you waiting," Johnny added aloud to the cabman. + +"Don't you worry about that, miss," replied the cabman civilly; "we +are used to it. A shilling a quarter of an hour is what we +charge." + +"Of all the damned silly tricks!" muttered Johnny to himself. + +Two small boys and a girl carrying a baby paused, interested. + +"Go away," told them the cabman. "You'll have troubles of your own +one day." + +The urchins moved a few steps further, then halted again and were +joined by a slatternly woman and another boy. + +"Got it!" cried Johnny, unable to suppress his delight as his hand +slipped through a fold. The lady with the baby, without precisely +knowing why, set up a shrill cheer. Johnny's delight died away; it +wasn't the pocket-hole. Short of taking the skirt off and turning +it inside out, it didn't seem to Johnny that he ever would find +that pocket. + +Then in that moment of despair he came across it accidentally. It +was as empty as the reticule! + +"I am sorry," said Johnny to the cabman, "but I appear to have come +out without my purse." + +The cabman said he had heard that tale before, and was making +preparations to descend. The crowd, now numbering eleven, looked +hopeful. It occurred to Johnny later that he might have offered +his umbrella to the cabman; at least it would have fetched the +eighteenpence. One thinks of these things afterwards. The only +idea that occurred to him at the moment was that of getting home. + +"'Ere, 'old my 'orse a minute, one of yer," shouted the cabman. + +Half a dozen willing hands seized the dozing steed and roused it +into madness. + +"Hi! stop 'er!" roared the cabman. + +"She's down!" shouted the excited crowd. + +"Tripped over 'er skirt," explained the slatternly woman. "They do +'amper you." + +" No, she's not. She's up again!" vociferated a delighted plumber, +with a sounding slap on his own leg. "Gor blimy, if she ain't a +good 'un!" + +Fortunately the Square was tolerably clear and Johnny a good +runner. Holding now his skirt and petticoat high in his left hand, +Johnny moved across the Square at the rate of fifteen miles an +hour. A butcher's boy sprang in front of him with arms held out to +stop him. The thing that for the next three months annoyed that +butcher boy most was hearing shouted out after him "Yah! who was +knocked down and run over by a lidy?" By the time Johnny reached +the Strand, via Clement's Inn, the hue and cry was far behind. +Johnny dropped his skirts and assumed a more girlish pace. Through +Bow Street and Long Acre he reached Great Queen Street in safety. +Upon his own doorstep he began to laugh. His afternoon's +experience had been amusing; still, on the whole, he wasn't sorry +it was over. One can have too much even of the best of jokes. +Johnny rang the bell. + +The door opened. Johnny would have walked in had not a big, raw- +boned woman barred his progress. + +"What do you want?" demanded the raw-boned woman. + +"Want to come in," explained Johnny. + +"What do you want to come in for?" + +This appeared to Johnny a foolish question. On reflection he saw +the sense of it. This raw-boned woman was not Mrs. Pegg, his +landlady. Some friend of hers, he supposed. + +"It's all right," said Johnny, "I live here. Left my latchkey at +home, that's all." + +"There's no females lodging here," declared the raw-boned lady. +"And what's more, there's going to be none." + +All this was very vexing. Johnny, in his joy at reaching his own +doorstep, had not foreseen these complications. Now it would be +necessary to explain things. He only hoped the story would not get +round to the fellows at the club. + +"Ask Mrs. Pegg to step up for a minute," requested Johnny. + +"Not at 'ome," explained the raw-boned lady. + +"Not--not at home?" + +"Gone to Romford, if you wish to know, to see her mother." + +"Gone to Romford?" + +"I said Romford, didn't I?" retorted the raw-boned lady, tartly. + +"What--what time do you expect her in?" + +"Sunday evening, six o'clock," replied the raw-boned lady. + +Johnny looked at the raw-boned lady, imagined himself telling the +raw-boned lady the simple, unvarnished truth, and the raw-boned +lady's utter disbelief of every word of it. An inspiration came to +his aid. + +"I am Mr. Bulstrode's sister," said Johnny meekly; "he's expecting +me." + +"Thought you said you lived here?" reminded him the raw-boned lady. + +"I meant that he lived here," replied poor Johnny still more +meekly. "He has the second floor, you know." + +"I know," replied the raw-boned lady. "Not in just at present." + +"Not in?" + +"Went out at three o'clock." + +"I'll go up to his room and wait for him," said Johnny. + +"No, you won't," said the raw-boned lady. + +For an instant it occurred to Johnny to make a dash for it, but the +raw-boned lady looked both formidable and determined. There would +be a big disturbance--perhaps the police called in. Johnny had +often wanted to see his name in print: in connection with this +affair he somehow felt he didn't. + +"Do let me in," Johnny pleaded; "I have nowhere else to go." + +"You have a walk and cool yourself," suggested the raw-boned lady. +"Don't expect he will be long." + +"But, you see--" + +The raw-boned lady slammed the door. + +Outside a restaurant in Wellington Street, from which proceeded +savoury odours, Johnny paused and tried to think. + +"What the devil did I do with that umbrella? I had it--no, I +didn't. Must have dropped it, I suppose, when that silly ass tried +to stop me. By Jove! I am having luck!" + +Outside another restaurant in the Strand Johnny paused again. "How +am I to live till Sunday night? Where am I to sleep? If I +telegraph home--damn it! how can I telegraph? I haven't got a +penny. This is funny," said Johnny, unconsciously speaking aloud; +"upon my word, this is funny! Oh! you go to--." + +Johnny hurled this last at the head of an overgrown errand-boy +whose intention had been to offer sympathy. + +"Well, I never!" commented a passing flower-girl. "Calls 'erself a +lidy, I suppose." + +"Nowadays," observed the stud and button merchant at the corner of +Exeter Street, "they make 'em out of anything." + +Drawn by a notion that was forming in his mind, Johnny turned his +steps up Bedford Street. "Why not?" mused Johnny. "Nobody else +seems to have a suspicion. Why should they? I'll never hear the +last of it if they find me out. But why should they find me out? +Well, something's got to be done." + +Johnny walked on quickly. At the door of the Autolycus Club he was +undecided for a moment, then took his courage in both hands and +plunged through the swing doors. + +"Is Mr. Herring--Mr. Jack Herring--here?" + +"Find him in the smoking-room, Mr. Bulstrode," answered old Goslin, +who was reading the evening paper. + +"Oh, would you mind asking him to step out a moment?" + +Old Goslin looked up, took off his spectacles, rubbed them, put +them on again. + +"Please say Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister." + +Old Goslin found Jack Herring the centre of an earnest argument on +Hamlet--was he really mad? + +"A lady to see you, Mr. Herring," announced old Goslin. + +"A what?" + +"Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister. She's waiting in the +hall." + +"Never knew he had a sister," said Jack Herring, rising. + +"Wait a minute," said Harry Bennett. "Shut that door. Don't go." +This to old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. "Lady in a +heliotrope dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the skirt?" + +"That's right, Mr. Bennett," agreed old Goslin. + +"It's the Babe himself!" asserted Harry Bennett. + +The question of Hamlet's madness was forgotten. + +"Was in at Stinchcombe's this morning," explained Harry Bennett; +"saw the clothes on the counter addressed to him. That's the +identical frock. This is just a 'try on'--thinks he's going to +have a lark with us." + +The Autolycus Club looked round at itself. + +"I can see verra promising possibilities in this, provided the +thing is properly managed," said the Wee Laddie, after a pause. + +"So can I," agreed Jack Herring. "Keep where you are, all of you. +'Twould be a pity to fool it," + +The Autolycus Club waited. Jack Herring re-entered the room. + +"One of the saddest stories I have ever heard in all my life," +explained Jack Herring in a whisper. "Poor girl left Derbyshire +this morning to come and see her brother; found him out--hasn't +been seen at his lodgings since three o'clock; fears something may +have happened to him. Landlady gone to Romford to see her mother; +strange woman in charge, won't let her in to wait for him." + +"How sad it is when trouble overtakes the innocent and helpless!" +murmured Somerville the Briefless. + +"That's not the worst of it," continued Jack. "The dear girl has +been robbed of everything she possesses, even of her umbrella, and +hasn't got a sou; hasn't had any dinner, and doesn't know where to +sleep." + +"Sounds a bit elaborate," thought Porson. + +"I think I can understand it," said the Briefless one. "What has +happened is this. He's dressed up thinking to have a bit of fun +with us, and has come out, forgetting to put any money or his +latchkey in his pocket. His landlady may have gone to Romford or +may not. In any case, he would have to knock at the door and enter +into explanations. What does he suggest--the loan of a sovereign?" + +"The loan of two," replied Jack Herring. + +"To buy himself a suit of clothes. Don't you do it, Jack. +Providence has imposed this upon us. Our duty is to show him the +folly of indulging in senseless escapades." + +"I think we might give him a dinner," thought the stout and +sympathetic Porson. + +"What I propose to do," grinned Jack, "is to take him round to Mrs. +Postwhistle's. She's under a sort of obligation to me. It was I +who got her the post office. We'll leave him there for a night, +with instructions to Mrs. P. to keep a motherly eye on him. To- +morrow he shall have his 'bit of fun,' and I guess he'll be the +first to get tired of the joke." + +It looked a promising plot. Seven members of the Autolycus Club +gallantly undertook to accompany "Miss Bulstrode" to her lodgings. +Jack Herring excited jealousy by securing the privilege of carrying +her reticule. "Miss Bulstrode" was given to understand that +anything any of the seven could do for her, each and every would be +delighted to do, if only for the sake of her brother, one of the +dearest boys that ever breathed--a bit of an ass, though that, of +course, he could not help. "Miss Bulstrode" was not as grateful as +perhaps she should have been. Her idea still was that if one of +them would lend her a couple of sovereigns, the rest need not worry +themselves further. This, purely in her own interests, they +declined to do. She had suffered one extensive robbery that day +already, as Jack reminded her. London was a city of danger to the +young and inexperienced. Far better that they should watch over +her and provide for her simple wants. Painful as it was to refuse +a lady, a beloved companion's sister's welfare was yet dearer to +them. "Miss Bulstrode's" only desire was not to waste their time. +Jack Herring's opinion was that there existed no true Englishman +who would grudge time spent upon succouring a beautiful maiden in +distress. + +Arrived at the little grocer's shop in Rolls Court, Jack Herring +drew Mrs. Postwhistle aside. + +"She's the sister of a very dear friend of ours," explained Jack +Herring. + +"A fine-looking girl," commented Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"I shall be round again in the morning. Don't let her out of your +sight, and, above all, don't lend her any money," directed Jack +Herring. + +"I understand," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"Miss Bulstrode" having despatched an excellent supper of cold +mutton and bottled beer, leant back in her chair and crossed her +legs. + +"I have often wondered," remarked Miss Bulstrode, her eyes fixed +upon the ceiling, "what a cigarette would taste like." + +"Taste nasty, I should say, the first time," thought Mrs. +Postwhistle, who was knitting. + +"Some girls, so I have heard," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "smoke +cigarettes." + +"Not nice girls," thought Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"One of the nicest girls I ever knew," remarked Miss Bulstrode, +"always smoked a cigarette after supper. Said it soothed her +nerves." + +"Wouldn't 'ave thought so if I'd 'ad charge of 'er," said Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +"I think," said Miss Bulstrode, who seemed restless, "I think I +shall go for a little walk before turning in." + +"Perhaps it would do us good," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, laying down +her knitting. + +"Don't you trouble to come," urged the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode. +"You look tired." + +"Not at all," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. "Feel I should like it." + +In some respects Mrs. Postwhistle proved an admirable companion. +She asked no questions, and only spoke when spoken to, which, +during that walk, was not often. At the end of half an hour, Miss +Bulstrode pleaded a headache and thought she would return home and +go to bed. Mrs. Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea. + +"Well, it's better than tramping the streets," muttered Johnny, as +the bedroom door was closed behind him, "and that's all one can say +for it. Must get hold of a smoke to-morrow, if I have to rob the +till. What's that?" Johnny stole across on, tiptoe. "Confound +it!" said Johnny, "if she hasn't locked the door!" + +Johnny sat down upon the bed and took stock of his position. "It +doesn't seem to me," thought Johnny, "that I'm ever going to get +out of this mess." Johnny, still muttering, unfastened his stays. +"Thank God, that's off!" ejaculated Johnny piously, as he watched +his form slowly expanding. "Suppose I'll be used to them before +I've finished with them." + +Johnny had a night of dreams. + +For the whole of next day, which was Friday, Johnny remained "Miss +Bulstrode," hoping against hope to find an opportunity to escape +from his predicament without confession. The entire Autolycus Club +appeared to have fallen in love with him. + +"Thought I was a bit of a fool myself," mused Johnny, "where a +petticoat was concerned. Don't believe these blithering idiots +have ever seen a girl before." + +They came in ones, they came in little parties, and tendered him +devotion. Even Mrs. Postwhistle, accustomed to regard human +phenomena without comment, remarked upon it. + +"When you are all tired of it," said Mrs. Postwhistle to Jack +Herring, "let me know." + +"The moment we find her brother," explained Jack Herring, "of +course we shall take her to him." + +"Nothing like looking in the right place for a thing when you've +finished looking in the others," observed Mrs. Postwhistle. + +"What do you mean?" demanded Jack. + +"Just what I say," answered Mrs. Postwhistle. + +Jack Herring looked at Mrs. Postwhistle. But Mrs. Postwhistle's +face was not of the expressive order. + +"Post office still going strong?" asked Jack Herring. + +"The post office 'as been a great 'elp to me," admitted Mrs. +Postwhistle; "and I'm not forgetting that I owe it to you." + +"Don't mention it," murmured Jack Herring. + +They brought her presents--nothing very expensive, more as tokens +of regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple flowers, +bottles of scent. To Somerville "Miss Bulstrode" hinted that if he +really did desire to please her, and wasn't merely talking through +his hat--Miss Bulstrode apologised for the slang, which, she +feared, she must have picked up from her brother--he might give her +a box of Messani's cigarettes, size No. 2. The suggestion pained +him. Somerville the Briefless was perhaps old-fashioned. Miss +Bulstrode cut him short by agreeing that he was, and seemed +disinclined for further conversation. + +They took her to Madame Tussaud's. They took her up the Monument. +They took her to the Tower of London. In the evening they took her +to the Polytechnic to see Pepper's Ghost. They made a merry party +wherever they went. + +"Seem to be enjoying themselves!" remarked other sightseers, +surprised and envious. + +"Girl seems to be a bit out of it," remarked others, more +observant. + +"Sulky-looking bit o' goods, I call her," remarked some of the +ladies. + +The fortitude with which Miss Bulstrode bore the mysterious +disappearance of her brother excited admiration. + +"Hadn't we better telegraph to your people in Derbyshire?" +suggested Jack Herring. + +"Don't do it," vehemently protested the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode; +"it might alarm them. The best plan is for you to lend me a couple +of sovereigns and let me return home quietly." + +"You might be robbed again," feared Jack Herring. "I'll go down +with you." + +"Perhaps he'll turn up to-morrow," thought Miss Bulstrode. "Expect +he's gone on a visit." + +"He ought not to have done it," thought Jack Herring, "knowing you +were coming." + +"Oh! he's like that," explained Miss Bulstrode. + +"If I had a young and beautiful sister--" said Jack Herring. + +"Oh! let's talk of something else," suggested Miss Bulstrode. "You +make me tired." + +With Jack Herring, in particular, Johnny was beginning to lose +patience. That "Miss Bulstrode's" charms had evidently struck Jack +Herring all of a heap, as the saying is, had in the beginning +amused Master Johnny. Indeed--as in the seclusion of his +bedchamber over the little grocer's shop he told himself with +bitter self-reproach--he had undoubtedly encouraged the man. From +admiration Jack had rapidly passed to infatuation, from infatuation +to apparent imbecility. Had Johnny's mind been less intent upon +his own troubles, he might have been suspicious. As it was, and +after all that had happened, nothing now could astonish Johnny. +"Thank Heaven," murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, "this +Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman." + +Now, about the same time that Johnny's head was falling thus upon +his pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for their next +day's entertainment. + +"I think," said Jack Herring, "the Crystal Palace in the morning +when it's nice and quiet." + +"To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the afternoon," suggested +Somerville. + +"Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the evening," +thought Porson. + +"Hardly the place for the young person," feared Jack Herring. +"Some of the jokes--" + +"Mr. Brandram gives a reading of Julius Caesar at St. George's +Hall," the Wee Laddie informed them for their guidance. + +"Hallo!" said Alexander the Poet, entering at the moment. "What +are you all talking about?" + +"We were discussing where to take Miss Bulstrode to-morrow +evening," informed him Jack Herring. + +"Miss Bulstrode," repeated the Poet in a tone of some surprise. +"Do you mean Johnny Bulstrode's sister?" + +"That's the lady," answered Jack. "But how do you come to know +about her? Thought you were in Yorkshire." + +"Came up yesterday," explained the Poet. "Travelled up with her." + +"Travelled up with her?" + +"From Matlock Bath. What's the matter with you all?" demanded the +Poet. "You all of you look--" + +"Sit down," said the Briefless one to the Poet. "Let's talk this +matter over quietly." + +Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down. + +"You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss Bulstrode. +You are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?" + +"Sure!" retorted the Poet. "Why, I've known her ever since she was +a baby." + +"About what time did you reach London?" + +"Three-thirty." + +"And what became of her? Where did she say she was going?" + +"I never asked her. The last I saw of her she was getting into a +cab. I had an appointment myself, and was--I say, what's the +matter with Herring?" + +Herring had risen and was walking about with his head between his +hands. + +"Never mind him. Miss Bulstrode is a lady of about--how old?" + +"Eighteen--no, nineteen last birthday." + +"A tall, handsome sort of girl?" + +"Yes. I say, has anything happened to her?" + +"Nothing has happened to her," assured him + +Somerville. "SHE'S all right. Been having rather a good time, on +the whole." + +The Poet was relieved to hear it. + +"I asked her an hour ago," said Jack Herring, who was still holding +his head between his hands as if to make sure it was there, "if she +thought she could ever learn to love me. Would you say that could +be construed into an offer of marriage?" + +The remainder of the Club was unanimously of opinion that, +practically speaking, it was a proposal. + +"I don't see it," argued Jack Herring. "It was merely in the +nature of a remark." + +The Club was of opinion that such quibbling was unworthy of a +gentleman. + +It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring sat down +and then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, care of Mrs. +Postwhistle. + +"But what I don't understand--" said Alexander the Poet. + +"Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, someone," moaned Jack +Herring. "How can I think with all this chatter going on?" + +"But why did Bennett--" whispered Porson. + +"Where is Bennett?" demanded half a dozen fierce voices. + +Harry Bennett had not been seen all day. + +Jack's letter was delivered to "Miss Bulstrode" the next morning at +breakfast-time. Having perused it, Miss Bulstrode rose and +requested of Mrs. Postwhistle the loan of half a crown. + +"Mr. Herring's particular instructions were," explained Mrs. +Postwhistle, "that, above all things, I was not to lend you any +money." + +"When you have read that," replied Miss Bulstrode, handing her the +letter, "perhaps you will agree with me that Herring is--an ass." + +Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the half-crown. + +"Better get a shave with part of it," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. +"That is, if you are going to play the fool much longer." + +"Miss Bulstrode" opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with +her breakfast. + +"Don't tell them," said Johnny; "not just for a little while, at +all events." + +"Nothing to do with me," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. + +Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to her +aunt in Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in an +envelope, the following hastily scrawled note:- + +"Want to speak to you at once--ALONE. Don't yell when you see me. +It's all right. Can explain in two ticks.--Your loving brother, +JOHNNY." + +It took longer than two ticks; but at last the Babe came to an end +of it. + +"When you have done laughing," said the Babe. + +"But you look so ridiculous," said his sister. + +"THEY didn't think so," retorted the Babe. "I took them in all +right. Guess you've never had as much attention, all in one day." + +"Are you sure you took them in?" queried his sister. + +"If you will come to the Club at eight o'clock this evening," said +the Babe, "I'll prove it to you. Perhaps I'll take you on to a +theatre afterwards--if you're good." + +The Babe himself walked into the Autolycus Club a few minutes +before eight and encountered an atmosphere of restraint. + +"Thought you were lost," remarked Somerville coldly. + +"Called away suddenly--very important business," explained the +Babe. "Awfully much obliged to all you fellows for all you have +been doing for my sister. She's just been telling me." + +"Don't mention it," said two or three. + +"Awfully good of you, I'm sure," persisted the Babe. "Don't know +what she would have done without you." + +A mere nothing, the Club assured him. The blushing modesty of the +Autolycus Club at hearing of their own good deeds was touching. +Left to themselves, they would have talked of quite other things. +As a matter of fact, they tried to. + +"Never heard her speak so enthusiastically of anyone as she does of +you, Jack," said the Babe, turning to Jack Herring. + +"Of course, you know, dear boy," explained Jack Herring, "anything +I could do for a sister of yours--" + +"I know, dear boy," replied the Babe; "I always felt it." + +"Say no more about it," urged Jack Herring. + +"She couldn't quite make out that letter of yours this morning," +continued the Babe, ignoring Jack's request. "She's afraid you +think her ungrateful." + +"It seemed to me, on reflection," explained Jack Herring, "that on +one or two little matters she may have misunderstood me. As I +wrote her, there are days when I don't seem altogether to quite +know what I'm doing." + +"Rather awkward," thought the Babe. + +"It is," agreed Jack Herring. "Yesterday was one of them." + +"She tells me you were most kind to her," the Babe reassured him. +"She thought at first it was a little uncivil, your refusing to +lend her any money. But as I put it to her --" + +"It was silly of me," interrupted Jack. "I see that now. I went +round this morning meaning to make it all right. But she was gone, +and Mrs. Postwhistle seemed to think I had better leave things as +they were. I blame myself exceedingly." + +"My dear boy, don't blame yourself for anything. You acted nobly," +the Babe told him. "She's coming here to call for me this evening +on purpose to thank you." + +"I'd rather not," said Jack Herring. + +"Nonsense," said the Babe. + +"You must excuse me," insisted Jack Herring. "I don't mean it +rudely, but really I'd rather not see her." + +"But here she is," said the Babe, taking at that moment the card +from old Goslin's hand. "She will think it so strange." + +"I'd really rather not," repeated poor Jack. + +"It seems discourteous," suggested Somerville. + +"You go," suggested Jack. + +"She doesn't want to see me," explained Somerville. + +"Yes she does," corrected him the Babe. + +"I'd forgotten, she wants to see you both." + +"If I go," said Jack, "I shall tell her the plain truth." + +"Do you know," said Somerville, "I'm thinking that will be the +shortest way." + +Miss Bulstrode was seated in the hall. Jack Herring and Somerville +both thought her present quieter style of dress suited her much +better. + +"Here he is," announced the Babe, in triumph. "Here's Jack Herring +and here's Somerville. Do you know, I could hardly persuade them +to come out and see you. Dear old Jack, he always was so shy." + +Miss Bulstrode rose. She said she could never thank them +sufficiently for all their goodness to her. Miss Bulstrode seemed +quite overcome. Her voice trembled with emotion. + +"Before we go further, Miss Bulstrode," said Jack Herring, "it will +be best to tell you that all along we thought you were your +brother, dressed up as a girl." + +"Oh!" said the Babe, "so that's the explanation, is it? If I had +only known--" Then the Babe stopped, and wished he hadn't spoken. + +Somerville seized him by the shoulders and, with a sudden jerk, +stood him beside his sister under the gas-jet. + +"You little brute!" said Somerville. "It was you all along." And +the Babe, seeing the game was up, and glad that the joke had not +been entirely on one side, confessed. + +Jack Herring and Somerville the Briefless went that night with +Johnny and his sister to the theatre--and on other nights. Miss +Bulstrode thought Jack Herring very nice, and told her brother so. +But she thought Somerville the Briefless even nicer, and later, +under cross-examination, when Somerville was no longer briefless, +told Somerville so himself. + +But that has nothing to do with this particular story, the end of +which is that Miss Bulstrode kept the appointment made for Monday +afternoon between "Miss Montgomery" and Mr. Jowett, and secured +thereby the Marble Soap advertisement for the back page of Good +Humour for six months, at twenty-five pounds a week. + + + +STORY THE SEVENTH: Dick Danvers presents his Petition + + + +William Clodd, mopping his brow, laid down the screwdriver, and +stepping back, regarded the result of his labours with evident +satisfaction. + +"It looks like a bookcase," said William Clodd. "You might sit in +the room for half an hour and never know it wasn't a bookcase." + +What William Clodd had accomplished was this: he had had prepared, +after his own design, what appeared to be four shelves laden with +works suggestive of thought and erudition. As a matter of fact, it +was not a bookcase, but merely a flat board, the books merely the +backs of volumes that had long since found their way into the +paper-mill. This artful deception William Clodd had screwed upon a +cottage piano standing in the corner of the editorial office of +Good Humour. Half a dozen real volumes piled upon the top of the +piano completed the illusion. As William Clodd had proudly +remarked, a casual visitor might easily have been deceived. + +"If you had to sit in the room while she was practising mixed +scales, you'd be quickly undeceived," said the editor of Good +Humour, one Peter Hope. He spoke bitterly. + +"You are not always in," explained Clodd. "There must be hours +when she is here alone, with nothing else to do. Besides, you will +get used to it after a while." + +"You, I notice, don't try to get used to it," snarled Peter Hope. +"You always go out the moment she commences." + +"A friend of mine," continued William Clodd, "worked in an office +over a piano-shop for seven years, and when the shop closed, it +nearly ruined his business; couldn't settle down to work for want +of it." + +"Why doesn't he come here?" asked Peter Hope. "The floor above is +vacant." + +"Can't," explained William Clodd. "He's dead." + +"I can quite believe it," commented Peter Hope. + +"It was a shop where people came and practised, paying sixpence an +hour, and he had got to like it--said it made a cheerful background +to his thoughts. Wonderful what you can get accustomed to." + +"What's the good of it?" demanded Peter Hope. + +"What's the good of it!" retorted William Clodd indignantly. +"Every girl ought to know how to play the piano. A nice thing if +when her lover asks her to play something to him--" + +"I wonder you don't start a matrimonial agency," sneered Peter +Hope. "Love and marriage--you think of nothing else." + +"When you are bringing up a young girl--" argued Clodd. + +"But you're not," interrupted Peter; "that's just what I'm trying +to get out of your head. It is I who am bringing her up. And +between ourselves, I wish you wouldn't interfere so much." + +"You are not fit to bring up a girl." + +"I've brought her up for seven years without your help. She's my +adopted daughter, not yours. I do wish people would learn to mind +their own business." + +"You've done very well --" + +"Thank you," said Peter Hope sarcastically. "It's very kind of +you. Perhaps when you've time, you'll write me out a testimonial." + +"--up till now," concluded the imperturbable Clodd. "A girl of +eighteen wants to know something else besides mathematics and the +classics. You don't understand them." + +"I do understand them," asserted Peter Hope. "What do you know +about them? You're not a father." + +"You've done your best," admitted William Clodd in a tone of +patronage that irritated Peter greatly; "but you're a dreamer; you +don't know the world. The time is coming when the girl will have +to think of a husband." + +"There's no need for her to think of a husband, not for years," +retorted Peter Hope. "And even when she does, is strumming on the +piano going to help her?" + +"I tink--I tink," said Dr. Smith, who had hitherto remained a +silent listener, "our young frent Clodd is right. You haf never +quite got over your idea dat she was going to be a boy. You haf +taught her de tings a boy should know." + +"You cut her hair," added Clodd. + +"I don't," snapped Peter. + +"You let her have it cut--it's the same thing. At eighteen she +knows more about the ancient Greeks and Romans than she does about +her own frocks." + +"De young girl," argued the doctor, "what is she? De flower dat +makes bright for us de garden of life, de gurgling brook dat +murmurs by de dusty highway, de cheerful fire--" + +"She can't be all of them," snapped Peter, who was a stickler for +style. "Do keep to one simile at a time." + +"Now you listen to plain sense," said William Clodd. "You want--we +all want--the girl to be a success all round." + +"I want her--" Peter Hope was rummaging among the litter on the +desk. It certainly was not there. Peter pulled out a drawer-two +drawers. "I wish," said Peter Hope, "I wish sometimes she wasn't +quite so clever." + +The old doctor rummaged among dusty files of papers in a corner. +Clodd found it on the mantelpiece concealed beneath the hollow foot +of a big brass candlestick, and handed it to Peter. + +Peter had one vice--the taking in increasing quantities of snuff, +which was harmful for him, as he himself admitted. Tommy, +sympathetic to most masculine frailties, was severe, however, upon +this one. + +"You spill it upon your shirt and on your coat," had argued Tommy. +"I like to see you always neat. Besides, it isn't a nice habit. I +do wish, dad, you'd give it up." + +"I must," Peter had agreed. "I'll break myself of it. But not all +at once--it would be a wrench; by degrees, Tommy, by degrees." + +So a compromise had been compounded. Tommy was to hide the snuff- +box. It was to be somewhere in the room and to be accessible, but +that was all. Peter, when self-control had reached the breaking- +point, might try and find it. Occasionally, luck helping Peter, he +would find it early in the day, when he would earn his own bitter +self-reproaches by indulging in quite an orgie. But more often +Tommy's artfulness was such that he would be compelled, by want of +time, to abandon the search. Tommy always knew when he had failed +by the air of indignant resignation with which he would greet her +on her return. Then perhaps towards evening, Peter, looking up, +would see the box open before his nose, above it, a pair of +reproving black eyes, their severity counterbalanced by a pair of +full red lips trying not to smile. And Peter, knowing that only +one pinch would be permitted, would dip deeply. + +"I want her," said Peter Hope, feeling with his snuff-box in his +hand more confidence in his own judgment, "to be a sensible, clever +woman, capable of earning her own living and of being independent; +not a mere helpless doll, crying for some man to come and take care +of her." + +"A woman's business," asserted Clodd, "is to be taken care of." + +"Some women, perhaps," admitted Peter; "but Tommy, you know very +well, is not going to be the ordinary type of woman. She has +brains; she will make her way in the world." + +"It doesn't depend upon brains," said Clodd. "She hasn't got the +elbows." + +"The elbows?" + +"They are not sharp enough. The last 'bus home on a wet night +tells you whether a woman is capable of pushing her own way in the +world. Tommy's the sort to get left on the kerb." + +"She's the sort," retorted Peter, "to make a name for herself and +to be able to afford a cab. Don't you bully me!" Peter sniffed +self-assertiveness from between his thumb and finger. + +"Yes, I shall," Clodd told him, "on this particular point. The +poor girl's got no mother." + +Fortunately for the general harmony the door opened at the moment +to admit the subject of discussion. + +"Got that Daisy Blossom advertisement out of old Blatchley," +announced Tommy, waving triumphantly a piece of paper over her +head. + +"No!" exclaimed Peter. "How did you manage it?" + +"Asked him for it," was Tommy's explanation. + +"Very odd," mused Peter; "asked the old idiot for it myself only +last week. He refused it point-blank." + +Clodd snorted reproof. "You know I don't like your doing that sort +of thing. It isn't proper for a young girl--" + +"It's all right," assured him Tommy; "he's bald!" + +"That makes no difference," was Clodd's opinion. + +"Yes it does," was Tommy's. "I like them bald." + +Tommy took Peter's head between her hands and kissed it, and in +doing so noticed the tell-tale specks of snuff. + +"Just a pinch, my dear," explained Peter, "the merest pinch." + +Tommy took up the snuff-box from the desk. "I'll show you where +I'm going to put it this time." She put it in her pocket. Peter's +face fell. + +"What do you think of it?" said Clodd. He led her to the corner. +"Good idea, ain't it?" + +"Why, where's the piano?" demanded Tommy. + +Clodd turned in delighted triumph to the others. + +"Humbug!" growled Peter. + +"It isn't humbug," cried Clodd indignantly. "She thought it was a +bookcase--anybody would. You'll be able to sit there and practise +by the hour," explained Clodd to Tommy. "When you hear anybody +coming up the stairs, you can leave off." + +"How can she hear anything when she--" A bright idea occurred to +Peter. "Don't you think, Clodd, as a practical man," suggested +Peter insinuatingly, adopting the Socratic method, "that if we got +her one of those dummy pianos--you know what I mean; it's just like +an ordinary piano, only you don't hear it?" + +Clodd shook his head. "No good at all. Can't tell the effect she +is producing." + +"Quite so. Then, on the other hand, Clodd, don't you think that +hearing the effect they are producing may sometimes discourage the +beginner?" + +Clodd's opinion was that such discouragement was a thing to be +battled with. + +Tommy, who had seated herself, commenced a scale in contrary +motion. + +"Well, I'm going across to the printer's now," explained Clodd, +taking up his hat. "Got an appointment with young Grindley at +three. You stick to it. A spare half-hour now and then that you +never miss does wonders. You've got it in you." With these +encouraging remarks to Tommy, Clodd disappeared. + +"Easy for him," muttered Peter bitterly. "Always does have an +appointment outside the moment she begins." + +Tommy appeared to be throwing her very soul into the performance. +Passers-by in Crane Court paused, regarded the first-floor windows +of the publishing and editorial offices of Good Humour with +troubled looks, then hurried on. + +"She has--remarkably firm douch!" shouted the doctor into Peter's +ear. "Will see you--evening. Someting--say to you." + +The fat little doctor took his hat and departed. Tommy, ceasing +suddenly, came over and seated herself on the arm of Peter's chair. + +"Feeling grumpy?" asked Tommy. + +"It isn't," explained Peter, "that I mind the noise. I'd put up +with that if I could see the good of it." + +"It's going to help me to get a husband, dad. Seems to me an odd +way of doing it; but Billy says so, and Billy knows all about +everything." + +"I can't understand you, a sensible girl, listening to such +nonsense," said Peter. "It's that that troubles me." + +"Dad, where are your wits?" demanded Tommy. "Isn't Billy acting +like a brick? Why, he could go into Fleet Street to half a dozen +other papers and make five hundred a year as advertising-agent--you +know he could. But he doesn't. He sticks to us. If my making +myself ridiculous with that tin pot they persuaded him was a piano +is going to please him, isn't it common sense and sound business, +to say nothing of good nature and gratitude, for me to do it? Dad, +I've got a surprise for him. Listen." And Tommy, springing from +the arm of Peter's chair, returned to the piano. + +"What was it?" questioned Tommy, having finished. "Could you +recognise it?" + +"I think," said Peter, "it sounded like-- It wasn't 'Home, Sweet +Home,' was it?" + +Tommy clapped her hands. "Yes, it was. You'll end by liking it +yourself, dad. We'll have musical 'At Homes.'" + +"Tommy, have I brought you up properly, do you think?" + +"No dad, you haven't. You have let me have my own way too much. +You know the proverb: 'Good mothers make bad daughters.' Clodd's +right; you've spoilt me, dad. Do you remember, dad, when I first +came to you, seven years ago, a ragged little brat out of the +streets, that didn't know itself whether 'twas a boy or a girl? Do +you know what I thought to myself the moment I set eyes on you? +'Here's a soft old juggins; I'll be all right if I can get in +here!' It makes you smart, knocking about in the gutters and being +knocked about; you read faces quickly." + +"Do you remember your cooking, Tommy? You 'had an aptitude for +it,' according to your own idea." + +Tommy laughed. "I wonder how you stood it." + +"You were so obstinate. You came to me as 'cook and housekeeper,' +and as cook and housekeeper, and as nothing else, would you remain. +If I suggested any change, up would go your chin into the air. I +dared not even dine out too often, you were such a little tyrant. +The only thing you were always ready to do, if I wasn't satisfied, +was to march out of the house and leave me. Wherever did you get +that savage independence of yours?" + +"I don't know. I think it must have been from a woman--perhaps she +was my mother; I don't know--who used to sit up in the bed and +cough, all night it seemed to me. People would come to see us-- +ladies in fine clothes, and gentlemen with oily hair. I think they +wanted to help us. Many of them had kind voices. But always a +hard look would come into her face, and she would tell them what +even then I knew to be untrue--it was one of the first things I can +recollect--that we had everything we wanted, that we needed no help +from anyone. They would go away, shrugging their shoulders. I +grew up with the feeling that seemed to have been burnt into my +brain, that to take from anybody anything you had not earned was +shameful. I don't think I could do it even now, not even from you. +I am useful to you, dad--I do help you?" + +There had crept a terror into Tommy's voice. Peter felt the little +hands upon his arm trembling. + +"Help me? Why, you work like a nigger--like a nigger is supposed +to work, but doesn't. No one--whatever we paid him--would do half +as much. I don't want to make your head more swollen than it is, +young woman, but you have talent; I am not sure it is not genius." +Peter felt the little hands tighten upon his arm. + +"I do want this paper to be a success; that is why I strum upon the +piano to please Clodd. Is it humbug?" + +"I am afraid it is; but humbug is the sweet oil that helps this +whirling world of ours to spin round smoothly. Too much of it +cloys: we drop it very gently." + +"But you are sure it is only humbug, Tommy?" It was Peter's voice +into which fear had entered now. "It is not that you think he +understands you better than I do--would do more for you?" + +"You want me to tell you all I think of you, and that isn't good +for you, dad--not too often. It would be you who would have +swelled head then." + +"I am jealous, Tommy, jealous of everyone that comes near you. +Life is a tragedy for us old folks. We know there must come a day +when you will leave the nest, leave us voiceless, ridiculous, +flitting among bare branches. You will understand later, when you +have children of your own. This foolish talk about a husband! It +is worse for a man than it is for the woman. The mother lives +again in her child: the man is robbed of all." + +"Dad, do you know how old I am?--that you are talking terrible +nonsense?" + +"He will come, little girl." + +"Yes," answered Tommy, "I suppose he will; but not for a long +while--oh, not for a very long while. Don't. It frightens me." + +"You? Why should it frighten you?" + +"The pain. It makes me feel a coward. I want it to come; I want +to taste life, to drain the whole cup, to understand, to feel. But +that is the boy in me. I am more than half a boy, I always have +been. But the woman in me: it shrinks from the ordeal." + +"You talk, Tommy, as if love were something terrible." + +"There are all things in it; I feel it, dad. It is life in a +single draught. It frightens me." + +The child was standing with her face hidden behind her hands. Old +Peter, always very bad at lying, stood silent, not knowing what +consolation to concoct. The shadow passed, and Tommy's laughing +eyes looked out again. + +"Haven't you anything to do, dad--outside, I mean?" + +"You want to get rid of me?" + +"Well, I've nothing else to occupy me till the proofs come in. I'm +going to practise, hard." + +"I think I'll turn over my article on the Embankment," said Peter. + +"There's one thing you all of you ought to be grateful to me for," +laughed Tommy, as she seated herself at the piano. "I do induce +you all to take more fresh air than otherwise you would." + +Tommy, left alone, set herself to her task with the energy and +thoroughness that were characteristic of her. Struggling with +complicated scales, Tommy bent her eyes closer and closer over the +pages of Czerny's Exercises. Glancing up to turn a page, Tommy, to +her surprise, met the eyes of a stranger. They were brown eyes, +their expression sympathetic. Below them, looking golden with the +sunlight falling on it, was a moustache and beard cut short in +Vandyke fashion, not altogether hiding a pleasant mouth, about the +corners of which lurked a smile. + +"I beg your pardon," said the stranger. "I knocked three times. +Perhaps you did not hear me?" + +"No, I didn't," confessed Tommy, closing the book of Czerny's +Exercises, and rising with chin at an angle that, to anyone +acquainted with the chart of Tommy's temperament, might have +suggested the advisability of seeking shelter. + +"This is the editorial office of Good Humour, is it not?" inquired +the stranger. + +"It is." + +"Is the editor in?" + +"The editor is out." + +"The sub-editor?" suggested the stranger. + +"I am the sub-editor." + +The stranger raised his eyebrows. Tommy, on the contrary, lowered +hers. + +"Would you mind glancing through that?" The stranger drew from his +pocket a folded manuscript. "It will not take you a moment. I +ought, of course, to have sent it through the post; but I am so +tired of sending things through the post." + +The stranger's manner was compounded of dignified impudence +combined with pathetic humility. His eyes both challenged and +pleaded. Tommy held out her hand for the paper and retired with it +behind the protection of the big editorial desk that, flanked on +one side by a screen and on the other by a formidable revolving +bookcase, stretched fortress-like across the narrow room. The +stranger remained standing. + +"Yes. It's pretty," criticised the sub-editor. "Worth printing, +perhaps, not worth paying for." + +"Not merely a--a nominal sum, sufficient to distinguish it from the +work of the amateur?" + +Tommy pursed her lips. "Poetry is quite a drug in the market. We +can get as much as we want of it for nothing." + +"Say half a crown," suggested the stranger. + +Tommy shot a swift glance across the desk, and for the first time +saw the whole of him. He was clad in a threadbare, long, brown +ulster--long, that is, it would have been upon an ordinary man, but +the stranger happening to be remarkably tall, it appeared on him +ridiculously short, reaching only to his knees. Round his neck and +tucked into his waistcoat, thus completely hiding the shirt and +collar he may have been wearing or may not, was carefully arranged +a blue silk muffler. His hands, which were bare, looked blue and +cold. Yet the black frock-coat and waistcoat and French grey +trousers bore the unmistakable cut of a first-class tailor and +fitted him to perfection. His hat, which he had rested on the +desk, shone resplendent, and the handle of his silk umbrella was an +eagle's head in gold, with two small rubies for the eyes. + +"You can leave it if you like," consented Tommy. "I'll speak to +the editor about it when he returns." + +"You won't forget it?" urged the stranger. + +"No," answered Tommy. "I shall not forget it." + +Her black eyes were fixed upon the stranger without her being aware +of it. She had dropped unconsciously into her "stocktaking" +attitude. + +"Thank you very much," said the stranger. "I will call again to- +morrow." + +The stranger, moving backward to the door, went out. + +Tommy sat with her face between her hands. Czerny's Exercises lay +neglected. + +"Anybody called?" asked Peter Hope. + +"No," answered Tommy. "Oh, just a man. Left this--not bad." + +"The old story," mused Peter, as he unfolded the manuscript. "We +all of us begin with poetry. Then we take to prose romances; +poetry doesn't pay. Finally, we write articles: 'How to be Happy +though Married,' 'What shall we do with our Daughters?' It is life +summarised. What is it all about?" + +"Oh, the usual sort of thing," explained Tommy. "He wants half a +crown for it." + +"Poor devil! Let him have it." + +"That's not business," growled Tommy. + +"Nobody will ever know," said Peter. "We'll enter it as +'telegrams.'" + +The stranger called early the next day, pocketed his half-crown, +and left another manuscript--an essay. Also he left behind him his +gold-handled umbrella, taking away with him instead an old alpaca +thing Clodd kept in reserve for exceptionally dirty weather. Peter +pronounced the essay usable. + +"He has a style," said Peter; "he writes with distinction. Make an +appointment for me with him." + +Clodd, on missing his umbrella, was indignant. + +"What's the good of this thing to me?" commented Clodd. "Sort of +thing for a dude in a pantomime! The fellow must be a blithering +ass!" + +Tommy gave to the stranger messages from both when next he called. +He appeared more grieved than surprised concerning the umbrellas. + +"You don't think Mr. Clodd would like to keep this umbrella in +exchange for his own?" he suggested. + +"Hardly his style," explained Tommy. + +"It's very peculiar," said the stranger, with a smile. "I have +been trying to get rid of this umbrella for the last three weeks. +Once upon a time, when I preferred to keep my own umbrella, people +used to take it by mistake, leaving all kinds of shabby things +behind them in exchange. Now, when I'd really like to get quit of +it, nobody will have it." + +"Why do you want to get rid of it?" asked Tommy. "It looks a very +good umbrella." + +"You don't know how it hampers me," said the stranger. "I have to +live up to it. It requires a certain amount of resolution to enter +a cheap restaurant accompanied by that umbrella. When I do, the +waiters draw my attention to the most expensive dishes and +recommend me special brands of their so-called champagne. They +seem quite surprised if I only want a chop and a glass of beer. I +haven't always got the courage to disappoint them. It is really +becoming quite a curse to me. If I use it to stop a 'bus, three or +four hansoms dash up and quarrel over me. I can't do anything I +want to do. I want to live simply and inexpensively: it will not +let me." + +Tommy laughed. "Can't you lose it?" + +The stranger laughed also. "Lose it! You have no idea how honest +people are. I hadn't myself. The whole world has gone up in my +estimation within the last few weeks. People run after me for +quite long distances and force it into my hand--people on rainy +days who haven't got umbrellas of their own. It is the same with +this hat." The stranger sighed as he took it up. "I am always +trying to get OFF with something reasonably shabby in exchange for +it. I am always found out and stopped." + +"Why don't you pawn them?" suggested the practicable Tommy. + +The stranger regarded her with admiration. + +"Do you know, I never thought of that," said the stranger. "Of +course. What a good idea! Thank you so much." + +The stranger departed, evidently much relieved. + +"Silly fellow," mused Tommy. "They won't give him a quarter of the +value, and he will say: 'Thank you so much,' and be quite +contented." It worried Tommy a good deal that day, the thought of +that stranger's helplessness. + +The stranger's name was Richard Danvers. He lived the other side +of Holborn, in Featherstone Buildings, but much of his time came to +be spent in the offices of Good Humour. + +Peter liked him. "Full of promise," was Peter's opinion. "His +criticism of that article of mine on 'The Education of Woman' +showed both sense and feeling. A scholar and a thinker." + +Flipp, the office-boy (spelt Philip), liked him; and Flipp's +attitude, in general, was censorial. "He's all right," pronounced +Flipp; "nothing stuck-up about him. He's got plenty of sense, +lying hidden away." + +Miss Ramsbotham liked him. "The men--the men we think about at +all," explained Miss Ramsbotham--"may be divided into two classes: +the men we ought to like, but don't; and the men there is no +particular reason for our liking, but that we do. Personally I +could get very fond of your friend Dick. There is nothing whatever +attractive about him except himself." + +Even Tommy liked him in her way, though at times she was severe +with him. + +"If you mean a big street," grumbled Tommy, who was going over +proofs, "why not say a big street? Why must you always call it a +'main artery'?" + +"I am sorry," apologised Danvers. "It is not my own idea. You +told me to study the higher-class journals." + +"I didn't tell you to select and follow all their faults. Here it +is again. Your crowd is always a 'hydra-headed monster'; your tea +'the cup that cheers but not inebriates.'" + +"I am afraid I am a deal of trouble to you," suggested the staff. + +"I am afraid you are," agreed the sub-editor. + +"Don't give me up," pleaded the staff. "I misunderstood you, that +is all. I will write English for the future." + +"Shall be glad if you will," growled the sub-editor. + +Dick Danvers rose. "I am so anxious not to get what you call 'the +sack' from here." + +The sub-editor, mollified, thought the staff need be under no +apprehension, provided it showed itself teachable. + +"I have been rather a worthless fellow, Miss Hope," confessed Dick +Danvers. "I was beginning to despair of myself till I came across +you and your father. The atmosphere here--I don't mean the +material atmosphere of Crane Court--is so invigorating: its +simplicity, its sincerity. I used to have ideals. I tried to +stifle them. There is a set that sneers at all that sort of thing. +Now I see that they are good. You will help me?" + +Every woman is a mother. Tommy felt for the moment that she wanted +to take this big boy on her knee and talk to him for his good. He +was only an overgrown lad. But so exceedingly overgrown! Tommy +had to content herself with holding out her hand. Dick Danvers +grasped it tightly. + +Clodd was the only one who did not approve of him. + +"How did you get hold of him?" asked Clodd one afternoon, he and +Peter alone in the office. + +"He came. He came in the usual way," explained Peter. + +"What do you know about him?" + +"Nothing. What is there to know? One doesn't ask for a character +with a journalist." + +"No, I suppose that wouldn't work. Found out anything about him +since?" + +"Nothing against him. Why so suspicious of everybody?" + +"Because you are just a woolly lamb and want a dog to look after +you. Who is he? On a first night he gives away his stall and +sneaks into the pit. When you send him to a picture-gallery, he +dodges the private view and goes on the first shilling day. If an +invitation comes to a public dinner, he asks me to go and eat it +for him and tell him what it's all about. That doesn't suggest the +frank and honest journalist, does it?" + +"It is unusual, it certainly is unusual," Peter was bound to admit. + +"I distrust the man," said Clodd. "He's not our class. What is he +doing here?" + +"I will ask him, Clodd; I will ask him straight out." + +"And believe whatever he tells you." + +"No, I shan't." + +"Then what's the good of asking him?" + +"Well, what am I to do?" demanded the bewildered Peter. + +"Get rid of him," suggested Clodd. + +"Get rid of him?" + +"Get him away! Don't have him in and out of the office all day +long-looking at her with those collie-dog eyes of his, arguing art +and poetry with her in that cushat-dove voice of his. Get him +clean away--if it isn't too late already." + +"Nonsense," said Peter, who had turned white, however. "She's not +that sort of girl." + +"Not that sort of girl!" Clodd had no patience with Peter Hope, +and told him so. "Why are there never inkstains on her fingers +now? There used to be. Why does she always keep a lemon in her +drawer? When did she last have her hair cut? I'll tell you if you +care to know--the week before he came, five months ago. She used +to have it cut once a fortnight: said it tickled her neck. Why +does she jump on people when they call her Tommy and tell them that +her name is Jane? It never used to be Jane. Maybe when you're a +bit older you'll begin to notice things for yourself." + +Clodd jammed his hat on his head and flung himself down the stairs. + +Peter, slipping out a minute later, bought himself an ounce of +snuff. + +"Fiddle-de-dee!" said Peter as he helped himself to his thirteenth +pinch. "Don't believe it. I'll sound her. I shan't say a word-- +I'll just sound her." + +Peter stood with his back to the fire. Tommy sat at her desk, +correcting proofs of a fanciful story: The Man Without a Past. + +"I shall miss him," said Peter; "I know I shall." + +"Miss whom?" demanded Tommy. + +"Danvers," sighed Peter. "It always happens so. You get friendly +with a man; then he goes away--abroad, back to America, Lord knows +where. You never see him again." + +Tommy looked up. There was trouble in her face. + +"How do you spell 'harassed'?" questioned Tommy! "two r's or one." + +"One r," Peter informed her, "two s's." + +"I thought so." The trouble passed from Tommy's face. + +"You don't ask when he's going, you don't ask where he's going," +complained Peter. "You don't seem to be interested in the least." + +"I was going to ask, so soon as I had finished correcting this +sheet," explained Tommy. "What reason does he give?" + +Peter had crossed over and was standing where he could see her face +illumined by the lamplight. + +"It doesn't upset you--the thought of his going away, of your never +seeing him again?" + +"Why should it?" Tommy answered his searching gaze with a slightly +puzzled look. "Of course, I'm sorry. He was becoming useful. But +we couldn't expect him to stop with us always, could we?" + +Peter, rubbing his hands, broke into a chuckle. "I told him 'twas +all fiddlesticks. Clodd, he would have it you were growing to care +for the fellow." + +"For Dick Danvers?" Tommy laughed. "Whatever put that into his +head?" + +"Oh, well, there were one or two little things that we had +noticed." + +"We?" + +"I mean that Clodd had noticed." + +I'm glad it was Clodd that noticed them, not you, dad, thought +Tommy to herself. They'd have been pretty obvious if you had +noticed them. + +"It naturally made me anxious," confessed Peter. "You see, we know +absolutely nothing of the fellow." + +"Absolutely nothing," agreed Tommy. + +"He may be a man of the highest integrity. Personally, I think he +is. I like him. On the other hand, he may be a thorough-paced +scoundrel. I don't believe for a moment that he is, but he may be. +Impossible to say." + +"Quite impossible," agreed Tommy. + +"Considered merely as a journalist, it doesn't matter. He writes +well. He has brains. There's an end of it." + +"He is very painstaking," agreed Tommy. + +"Personally," added Peter, "I like the fellow." Tommy had returned +to her work. + +Of what use was Peter in a crisis of this kind? Peter couldn't +scold. Peter couldn't bully. The only person to talk to Tommy as +Tommy knew she needed to be talked to was one Jane, a young woman +of dignity with sense of the proprieties. + +"I do hope that at least you are feeling ashamed of yourself," +remarked Jane to Tommy that same night, as the twain sat together +in their little bedroom. + +"Done nothing to be ashamed of," growled Tommy. + +"Making a fool of yourself openly, for everybody to notice." + +"Clodd ain't everybody. He's got eyes at the back of his head. +Sees things before they happen." + +"Where's your woman's pride: falling in love with a man who has +never spoken to you, except in terms of the most ordinary +courtesy." + +"I'm not in love with him." + +"A man about whom you know absolutely nothing." + +"Not in love with him." + +"Where does he come from? Who is he?" + +"I don't know, don't care; nothing to do with me." + +"Just because of his soft eyes, and his wheedling voice, and that +half-caressing, half-devotional manner of his. Do you imagine he +keeps it specially for you? I gave you credit for more sense." + +"I'm not in love with him, I tell you. He's down on his luck, and +I'm sorry for him, that's all." + +"And if he is, whose fault was it, do you think?" + +"It doesn't matter. We are none of us saints. He's trying to pull +himself together, and I respect him for it. It's our duty to be +charitable and kind to one another in this world!" + +"Oh, well, I'll tell you how you can be kind to him: by pointing +out to him that he is wasting his time. With his talents, now that +he knows his business, he could be on the staff of some big paper, +earning a good income. Put it nicely to him, but be firm. Insist +on his going. That will be showing true kindness to him--and to +yourself, too, I'm thinking, my dear." + +And Tommy understood and appreciated the sound good sense +underlying Jane's advice, and the very next day but one, seizing +the first opportunity, acted upon it; and all would have gone as +contemplated if only Dick Danvers had sat still and listened, as it +had been arranged in Tommy's programme that he should. + +"But I don't want to go," said Dick. + +"But you ought to want to go. Staying here with us you are doing +yourself no good." + +He rose and came to where she stood with one foot upon the fender, +looking down into the fire. His doing this disconcerted her. So +long as he remained seated at the other end of the room, she was +the sub-editor, counselling the staff for its own good. Now that +she could not raise her eyes without encountering his, she felt +painfully conscious of being nothing more important than a little +woman who was trembling. + +"It is doing me all the good in the world," he told her, "being +near to you." + +"Oh, please do sit down again," she urged him. "I can talk to you +so much better when you're sitting down." + +But he would not do anything he should have done that day. Instead +he took her hands in his, and would not let them go; and the reason +and the will went out of her, leaving her helpless. + +"Let me be with you always," he pleaded. "It means the difference +between light and darkness to me. You have done so much for me. +Will you not finish your work? Will you not trust me? It is no +hot passion that can pass away, my love for you. It springs from +all that is best in me--from the part of me that is wholesome and +joyous and strong, the part of me that belongs to you." + +Releasing her, he turned away. + +"The other part of me--the blackguard--it is dead, dear,--dead and +buried. I did not know I was a blackguard, I thought myself a fine +fellow, till one day it came home to me. Suddenly I saw myself as +I really was. And the sight of the thing frightened me and I ran +away from it. I said to myself I would begin life afresh, in a new +country, free of every tie that could bind me to the past. It +would mean poverty--privation, maybe, in the beginning. What of +that? The struggle would brace me. It would be good sport. Ah, +well, you can guess the result: the awakening to the cold facts, +the reaction of feeling. In what way was I worse than other men? +Who was I, to play the prig in a world where others were laughing +and dining? I had tramped your city till my boots were worn into +holes. I had but to abandon my quixotic ideals--return to where +shame lay waiting for me, to be welcomed with the fatted calf. It +would have ended so had I not chanced to pass by your door that +afternoon and hear you strumming on the piano." + +So Billy was right, after all, thought Tommy to herself, the piano +does help. + +"It was so incongruous--a piano in Crane Court--I looked to see +where the noise came from. I read the name of the paper on the +doorpost. 'It will be my last chance,' I said to myself. 'This +shall decide it.'" + +He came back to her. She had not moved. "I am not afraid to tell +you all this. You are so big-hearted, so human; you will +understand, you can forgive. It is all past. Loving you tells a +man that he has done with evil. Will you not trust me?" + +She put her hands in his. "I am trusting you," she said, "with all +my life. Don't make a muddle of it, dear, if you can help it." + +It was an odd wooing, as Tommy laughingly told herself when she +came to think it over in her room that night. But that is how it +shaped itself. + +What troubled her most was that he had not been quite frank with +Peter, so that Peter had to defend her against herself. + +"I attacked you so suddenly," explained Peter, "you had not time to +think. You acted from instinct. A woman seeks to hide her love +even from herself." + +"I expect, after all, I am more of a girl than a boy," feared +Tommy: "I seem to have so many womanish failings." + +Peter took himself into quite places and trained himself to face +the fact that another would be more to her than he had ever been, +and Clodd went about his work like a bear with a sore head; but +they neither of them need have troubled themselves so much. The +marriage did not take place till nearly fifteen years had passed +away, and much water had to flow beneath old London Bridge before +that day. + +The past is not easily got rid of. A tale was once written of a +woman who killed her babe and buried it in a lonely wood, and later +stole back in the night and saw there, white in the moonlight, a +child's hand calling through the earth, and buried it again and yet +again; but always that white baby hand called upwards through the +earth, trample it down as she would. Tommy read the story one +evening in an old miscellany, and sat long before the dead fire, +the book open on her lap, and shivered; for now she knew the fear +that had been haunting her. + +Tommy lived expecting her. She came one night when Tommy was +alone, working late in the office. Tommy knew her the moment she +entered the door, a handsome woman, with snake-like, rustling +skirts. She closed the door behind her, and drawing forward a +chair, seated herself the other side of the desk, and the two +looked long and anxiously at one another. + +"They told me I should find you here alone," said the woman. "It +is better, is it not?" + +"Yes," said Tommy, "it is better." + +"Tell me," said the woman, "are you very much in love with him?" + +"Why should I tell you?" + +"Because, if not--if you have merely accepted him thinking him a +good catch--which he isn't, my dear; hasn't a penny to bless +himself with, and never will if he marries you--why, then the +matter is soon settled. They tell me you are a business-like young +lady, and I am prepared to make a business-like proposition." + +There was no answer. The woman shrugged her shoulders. + +"If, on the other hand, you are that absurd creature, a young girl +in love--why, then, I suppose we shall have to fight for him." + +"It would be more sporting, would it not?" suggested Tommy. + +"Let me explain before you decide," continued the woman. "Dick +Danvers left me six months ago, and has kept from me ever since, +because he loved me." + +"It sounds a curious reason." + +"I was a married woman when Dick Danvers and I first met. Since he +left me--for my sake and his own--I have received information of my +husband's death." + +"And does Dick--does he know?" asked the girl. + +"Not yet. I have only lately learnt the news myself." + +"Then if it is as you say, when he knows he will go back to you." + +"There are difficulties in the way." + +"What difficulties?" + +"My dear, this. To try and forget me, he has been making love to +you. Men do these things. I merely ask you to convince yourself +of the truth. Go away for six months--disappear entirely. Leave +him free--uninfluenced. If he loves you--if it be not merely a +sense of honour that binds him--you will find him here on your +return. If not--if in the interval I have succeeded in running off +with him, well, is not the two or three thousand pounds I am +prepared to put into this paper of yours a fair price for such a +lover?" + +Tommy rose with a laugh of genuine amusement. She could never +altogether put aside her sense of humour, let Fate come with what +terrifying face it would. + +"You may have him for nothing--if he is that man," the girl told +her; "he shall be free to choose between us." + +"You mean you will release him from his engagement?" + +"That is what I mean." + +"Why not take my offer? You know the money is needed. It will +save your father years of anxiety and struggle. Go away--travel, +for a couple of months, if you're afraid of the six. Write him +that you must be alone, to think things over." + +The girl turned upon her. + +"And leave you a free field to lie and trick?" + +The woman, too, had risen. "Do you think he really cares for you? +At the moment you interest him. At nineteen every woman is a +mystery. When the mood is past--and do you know how long a man's +mood lasts, you poor chit? Till he has caught what he is running +after, and has tasted it--then he will think not of what he has +won, but of what he has lost: of the society from which he has cut +himself adrift; of all the old pleasures and pursuits he can no +longer enjoy; of the luxuries--necessities to a man of his stamp-- +that marriage with you has deprived him of. Then your face will be +a perpetual reminder to him of what he has paid for it, and he will +curse it every time he sees it." + +"You don't know him," the girl cried. "You know just a part of +him--the part you would know. All the rest of him is a good man, +that would rather his self-respect than all the luxuries you +mention--you included." + +"It seems to resolve itself into what manner of man he is," laughed +the woman. + +The girl looked at her watch. "He will be here shortly; he shall +tell us himself." + +"How do you mean?" + +"That here, between the two of us, he shall decide--this very +night." She showed her white face to the woman. "Do you think I +could live through a second day like to this?" + +"The scene would be ridiculous." + +"There will be none here to enjoy the humour of it." + +"He will not understand." + +"Oh, yes, he will," the girl laughed. "Come, you have all the +advantages; you are rich, you are clever; you belong to his class. +If he elects to stop with me, it will be because he is my man-- +mine. Are you afraid?" + +The woman shivered. She wrapped her fur cloak about her closer and +sat down again, and Tommy returned to her proofs. It was press- +night, and there was much to be done. + +He came a little later, though how long the time may have seemed to +the two women one cannot say. They heard his footstep on the +stair. The woman rose and went forward, so that when he opened the +door she was the first he saw. But he made no sign. Possibly he +had been schooling himself for this moment, knowing that sooner or +later it must come. The woman held out her hand to him with a +smile. + +"I have not the honour," he said. + +The smile died from her face. "I do not understand," she said. + +"I have not the honour," he repeated. "I do not know you." + +The girl was leaning with her back against the desk in a somewhat +mannish attitude. He stood between them. It will always remain +Life's chief comic success: the man between two women. The +situation has amused the world for so many years. Yet, somehow, he +contrived to maintain a certain dignity. + +"Maybe," he continued, "you are confounding me with a Dick Danvers +who lived in New York up to a few months ago. I knew him well--a +worthless scamp you had done better never to have met." + +"You bear a wonderful resemblance to him," laughed the woman. + +"The poor fool is dead," he answered. "And he left for you, my +dear lady, this dying message: that, from the bottom of his soul, +he was sorry for the wrong he had done you. He asked you to +forgive him--and forget him." + +"The year appears to be opening unfortunately for me," said the +woman. "First my lover, then my husband." + +He had nerved himself to fight the living. This was a blow from +the dead. The man had been his friend. + +"Dead?" + +"He was killed, it appears, in that last expedition in July," +answered the woman. "I received the news from the Foreign Office +only a fortnight ago." + +An ugly look came into his eyes--the look of a cornered creature +fighting for its life. "Why have you followed me here? Why do I +find you here alone with her? What have you told her?" + +The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Only the truth." + +"All the truth?" he demanded--"all? Ah! be just. Tell her it was +not all my fault. Tell her all the truth." + +"What would you have me tell her? That I played Potiphar's wife to +your Joseph?" + +"Ah, no! The truth--only the truth. That you and I were a pair of +idle fools with the devil dancing round us. That we played a +fool's game, and that it is over." + +"Is it over? Dick, is it over?" She flung her arms towards him; +but he threw her from him almost brutally. "The man is dead, I +tell you. His folly and his sin lie dead with him. I have nothing +to do with you, nor you with me." + +"Dick!" she whispered. "Dick, cannot you understand? I must speak +with you alone." + +But they did not understand, neither the man nor the child. + +"Dick, are you really dead?" she cried. "Have you no pity for me? +Do you think that I have followed you here to grovel at your feet +for mere whim? Am I acting like a woman sane and sound? Don't you +see that I am mad, and why I am mad? Must I tell you before her? +Dick--" She staggered towards him, and the fine cloak slipped from +her shoulders; and then it was that Tommy changed from a child into +a woman, and raised the other woman from the ground with crooning +words of encouragement such as mothers use, and led her to the +inner room. "Do not go," she said, turning to Dick; "I shall be +back in a few minutes." + +He crossed to one of the windows against which beat the City's +roar, and it seemed to him as the throb of passing footsteps +beating down through the darkness to where he lay in his grave. + +She re-entered, closing the door softly behind her. "It is true?" +she asked. + +"It can be. I had not thought of it." + +They spoke in low, matter-of-fact tones, as people do who have +grown weary of their own emotions. + +"When did he go away--her husband?" + +"About--it is February now, is it not? About eighteen months ago." + +"And died just eight months ago. Rather conveniently, poor +fellow." + +"Yes, I'm glad he is dead--poor Lawrence." + +"What is the shortest time in which a marriage can be arranged?" + +"I do not know," he answered listlessly. "I do not intend to marry +her." + +"You would leave her to bear it alone?" + +"It is not as if she were a poor woman. You can do anything with +money." + +"It will not mend reputation. Her position in society is +everything to that class of woman." + +"My marrying her now," he pointed out, "would not save her." + +"Practically speaking it would," the girl pleaded. "The world does +not go out of its way to find out things it does not want to know. +Marry her as quietly as possible and travel for a year or two." + +"Why should I? Ah! it is easy enough to call a man a coward for +defending himself against a woman. What is he to do when he is +fighting for his life? Men do not sin with good women." + +"There is the child to be considered," she urged--"your child. You +see, dear, we all do wrong sometimes. We must not let others +suffer for our fault more--more than we can help." + +He turned to her for the first time. "And you?" + +"I? Oh, I shall cry for a little while, but later on I shall +laugh, as often. Life is not all love. I have my work." + +He knew her well by this time. And also it came to him that it +would be a finer thing to be worthy of her than even to possess +her. + +So he did her bidding and went out with the other woman. Tommy was +glad it was press-night. She would not be able to think for hours +to come, and then, perhaps, she would be feeling too tired. Work +can be very kind. + +Were this an artistic story, here, of course, one would write +"Finis." But in the workaday world one never knows the ending till +it comes. Had it been otherwise, I doubt I could have found +courage to tell you this story of Tommy. It is not all true--at +least, I do not suppose so. One drifts unconsciously a little way +into dream-land when one sits oneself down to recall the happenings +of long ago; while Fancy, with a sly wink, whispers ever and again +to Memory: "Let me tell this incident--picture that scene: I can +make it so much more interesting than you would." But Tommy--how +can I put it without saying too much: there is someone I think of +when I speak of her? To remember only her dear wounds, and not the +healing of them, would have been a task too painful. I love to +dwell on their next meeting. Flipp, passing him on the steps, did +not know him, the tall, sunburnt gentleman with the sweet, grave- +faced little girl. + +"Seen that face somewhere before," mused Flipp, as at the corner of +Bedford Street he climbed into a hansom, "seen it somewhere on a +thinner man." + +For Dick Danvers, that he did not recognise Flipp, there was more +excuse. A very old young man had Flipp become at thirty. Flipp no +longer enjoyed popular journalism. He produced it. + +The gold-bound doorkeeper feared the mighty Clodd would be unable +to see so insignificant an atom as an unappointed stranger, but +would let the card of Mr. Richard Danvers plead for itself. To the +gold-bound keeper's surprise came down the message that Mr. Danvers +was to be at once shown up. + +"I thought, somehow, you would come to me first," said the portly +Clodd, advancing with out-stretched hand. "And this is--?" + +"My little girl, Honor. We have been travelling for the last few +months." + +Clodd took the grave, small face between his big, rough hands: + +"Yes. She is like you. But looks as if she were going to have +more sense. Forgive me, I knew your father my dear," laughed +Clodd; "when he was younger." + +They lit their cigars and talked. + +"Well, not exactly dead; we amalgamated it," winked Clodd in answer +to Danvers' inquiry. "It was just a trifle TOO high-class. +Besides, the old gentleman was not getting younger. It hurt him a +little at first. But then came Tommy's great success, and that has +reconciled him to all things. Do they know you are in England?" + +"No," explained Danvers; "we arrived only last night." + +Clodd called directions down the speaking-tube. + +"You will find hardly any change in her. One still has to keep +one's eye upon her chin. She has not even lost her old habit of +taking stock of people. You remember." Clodd laughed. + +They talked a little longer, till there came a whistle, and Clodd +put his ear to the tube. + +"I have to see her on business," said Clodd, rising; "you may as +well come with me. They are still in the old place, Gough Square." + +Tommy was out, but Peter was expecting her every minute. + +Peter did not know Dick, but would not admit it. Forgetfulness was +a sign of age, and Peter still felt young. + +"I know your face quite well," said Peter; "can't put a name to it, +that's all." + +Clodd whispered it to him, together with information bringing +history up to date. And then light fell upon the old lined face. +He came towards Dick, meaning to take him by both hands, but, +perhaps because he had become somewhat feeble, he seemed glad when +the younger man put his arms around him and held him for a moment. +It was un-English, and both of them felt a little ashamed of +themselves afterwards. + +"What we want," said Clodd, addressing Peter, "we three--you, I, +and Miss Danvers--is tea and cakes, with cream in them; and I know +a shop where they sell them. We will call back for your father in +half an hour." Clodd explained to Miss Danvers; "he has to talk +over a matter of business with Miss Hope." + +"I know," answered the grave-faced little person. She drew Dick's +face down to hers and kissed it. And then the three went out +together, leaving Dick standing by the window. + +"Couldn't we hide somewhere till she comes?" suggested Miss +Danvers. "I want to see her." + +So they waited in the open doorway of a near printing-house till +Tommy drove up. Both Peter and Clodd watched the child's face with +some anxiety. She nodded gravely to herself three times, then +slipped her hand into Peter's. + +Tommy opened the door with her latchkey and passed in. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Tommy and Co., by Jerome K. Jerome + diff --git a/old/tomco10.zip b/old/tomco10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eba97ba --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tomco10.zip |