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diff --git a/40168.txt b/40168.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bafeb83..0000000 --- a/40168.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11736 +0,0 @@ - THE OLD ADAM - - - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: The Old Adam - A Story of Adventure - -Author: Arnold Bennett - -Release Date: July 08, 2012 [EBook #40168] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD ADAM *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - - THE OLD ADAM - - _A STORY OF ADVENTURE_ - - - BY - - ARNOLD BENNETT - - AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," "HOW TO LIVE - ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY," ETC. - - - - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - Copyright, 1913 - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART I - -CHAPTER - - I. Dog-Bite - II. The Bank-Note - III. Wilkins's - IV. Entry Into The Theatrical World - V. Mr. Sachs Talks - VI. Lord Woldo And Lady Woldo - - - PART II - - VII. Corner-stone - VIII. Dealing with Elsie - IX. The First Night - X. Isabel - - - - - THE OLD ADAM - - PART I - - - - THE OLD ADAM - - - - CHAPTER I - - DOG-BITE - - I. - -"And yet," Edward Henry Machin reflected as at six minutes to six he -approached his own dwelling at the top of Bleakridge, "and yet--I don't -feel so jolly after all!" - -The first two words of this disturbing meditation had reference to the -fact that, by telephoning twice to his stockbrokers at Manchester, he -had just made the sum of three hundred and forty-one pounds in a purely -speculative transaction concerning Rubber shares. (It was in the autumn -of the great gambling year, 1910). He had simply opened his lucky and -wise mouth at the proper moment, and the money, like ripe golden fruit, -had fallen into it, a gift from benign Heaven, surely a cause for -happiness! And yet--he did not feel so jolly! He was surprised, he was -even a little hurt, to discover by introspection that monetary gain was -not necessarily accompanied by felicity. Nevertheless, this very -successful man of the world of the Five Towns, having been born on the -27th of May, 1867, had reached the age of forty-three and a half years. - -"I must be getting older," he reflected. - -He was right. He was still young, as every man of forty-three will -agree, but he was getting older. A few years ago a windfall of Three -hundred and forty-one pounds would not have been followed by morbid -self-analysis; it would have been followed by unreasoning instinctive -elation, which elation would have endured at least twelve hours. - -As he disappeared within the reddish garden wall which sheltered his -abode from the publicity of Trafalgar Road, he half hoped to see Nellie -waiting for him on the famous marble step of the porch, for the woman -had long, long since invented a way of scouting for his advent from the -small window in the bathroom. But there was nobody on the marble step. -His melancholy increased. At the midday meal he had complained of -neuralgia, and hence this was an evening upon which he might fairly have -expected to see sympathy charmingly attired on the porch. It is true -that the neuralgia had completely gone. "Still," he said to himself -with justifiable sardonic gloom, "how does she know my neuralgia's gone? -She doesn't know." - -Having opened the front door with the thinnest, neatest latchkey in the -Five Towns, he entered his home and stumbled slightly over a brush that -was lying against the sunk door-mat. He gazed at that brush with -resentment. It was a dilapidated handbrush. The offensive object would -have been out of place, at nightfall, in the lobby of any house. But in -the lobby of his house--the house which he had planned a dozen years -earlier to the special end of minimising domestic labour, and which he -had always kept up to date with the latest devices--in his lobby the -spectacle of a vile outworn hand-brush at tea-time amounted to a -scandal. Less than a fortnight previously he had purchased and -presented to his wife a marvellous electric vacuum-cleaner, surpassing -all former vacuum-cleaners. You simply attached this machine by a cord -to the wall, like a dog, and waved it in mysterious passes over the -floor, like a fan, and the house was clean! He was as proud of this -machine as though he had invented it, instead of having merely bought -it; every day he enquired about its feats, expecting enthusiastic -replies as a sort of reward for his own keenness; and be it said that he -had had enthusiastic replies. - -And now this obscene hand-brush! - -As he carefully removed his hat and his beautiful new Melton overcoat -(which had the colour and the soft smoothness of a damson), he -animadverted upon the astounding negligence of women. There were -Nellie, his wife; his mother, the nurse, the cook, the maid--five of -them; and in his mind they had all plotted together--a conspiracy of -carelessness--to leave the inexcusable tool in his lobby for him to -stumble over. What was the use of accidentally procuring three hundred -and forty-one pounds? - -Still no sign of Nellie, though he purposely made a noisy rattle with -his ebon walking-stick. Then the maid burst out of the kitchen with a -tray and the principal utensils for high tea thereon. She had a guilty -air. The household was evidently late. Two steps at a time he rushed -up-stairs to the bathroom, so as to be waiting in the dining-room at six -precisely, in order, if possible, to shame the household and fill it -with remorse and unpleasantness. Yet, ordinarily, he was not a very -prompt man, nor did he delight in giving pain. On the contrary, he was -apt to be casual, blithe, and agreeable. - -The bathroom was his peculiar domain, which he was always modernising, -and where his talent for the ingenious organisation of comfort and his -utter indifference to esthetic beauty had the fullest scope. By -universal consent admitted to be the finest bathroom in the Five Towns, -it typified the whole house. He was disappointed on this occasion to see -no untidy trace in it of the children's ablution; some transgression of -the supreme domestic law that the bathroom must always be free and -immaculate when Father wanted it would have suited his gathering humour. -As he washed his hands and cleansed his well-trimmed nails with a -nail-brush that had cost five shillings and sixpence, he glanced at -himself in the mirror which he was splashing. A stoutish, -broad-shouldered, fair, chubby man with a short bright beard and -plenteous bright hair! His necktie pleased him; the elegance of his -turned-back wristbands pleased him; and he liked the rich down on his -forearms. - -He could not believe that he looked forty-three and a half. And yet he -had recently had an idea of shaving off his beard, partly to defy time, -but partly, also (I must admit), because a friend had suggested to him, -wildly perhaps, that if he dispensed with a beard his hair might grow -more sturdily. Yes, there was one weak spot in the middle of the top of -his head where the crop had of late disconcertingly thinned. The -hair-dresser had informed him that the symptom would vanish under -electric massage, and that, if he doubted the bonafides of -hair-dressers, any doctor would testify to the value of electric -massage. But now Edward Henry Machin, strangely discouraged, -inexplicably robbed of the zest of existence, decided that it was not -worth while to shave off his beard. Nothing was worth while. If he was -forty-three and a half, he was forty-three and a half. To become bald -was the common lot. Moreover, beardless, he would need the service of a -barber every day. And he was absolutely persuaded that not a barber -worth the name could be found in the Five Towns. He actually went to -Manchester, thirty-six miles, to get his hair cut. The operation never -cost him less than a sovereign and half a day's time. And he honestly -deemed himself to be a fellow of simple tastes! Such is the effect of -the canker of luxury. Happily he could afford these simple tastes; for, -although not rich in the modern significance of the term, he paid income -tax on some five thousand pounds a year, without quite convincing the -Surveyor of Taxes that he was an honest man. - -He brushed the thick hair over the weak spot, he turned down his -wristbands, he brushed the collar of his jacket, and lastly his beard; -and he put on his jacket--with a certain care, for he was very neat. -And then, reflectively twisting his moustache to military points, he -spied through the smaller window to see whether the new high hoarding of -the football-ground really did prevent a serious observer from descrying -wayfarers as they breasted the hill from Hanbridge. It did not. Then -he spied through the larger window upon the yard, to see whether the -wall of the new rooms which he had lately added to his house showed any -further trace of damp, and whether the new chauffeur was washing the new -motor-car with all his heart. The wall showed no further trace of damp, -and the new chauffeur's bent back seemed to symbolise an extreme -conscientiousness. - -Then the clock on the landing struck six, and he hurried off to put the -household to open shame. - - - - II. - - -Nellie came into the dining-room two minutes after her husband. As -Edward Henry had laboriously counted these two minutes almost second by -second on the dining-room clock, he was very tired of waiting. His -secret annoyance was increased by the fact that Nellie took off her -white apron in the doorway and flung it hurriedly on to the table-tray -which, during the progress of meals, was established outside the -dining-room door. He did not actually witness this operation of -undressing, because Nellie was screened by the half-closed door; but he -was entirely aware of it. He disliked it, and he had always disliked -it. When Nellie was at work, either as a mother or as the owner of -certain fine silver ornaments, he rather enjoyed the wonderful white -apron, for it suited her temperament; but as the head of a household -with six thousand pounds a year at its disposal, he objected to any hint -of the thing at meals. And to-night he objected to it altogether. Who -could guess from the homeliness of their family life that he was in a -position to spend a hundred pounds a week and still have enough income -left over to pay the salary of a town clerk or so? Nobody could guess; -and he felt that people ought to be able to guess. When he was young he -would have esteemed an income of six thousand pounds a year as -necessarily implicating feudal state, valets, castles, yachts, family -solicitors, racing-stables, county society, dinner-calls, and a drawling -London accent. Why should his wife wear an apron at all? But the sad -truth was that neither his wife nor his mother ever _looked_ rich, nor -even endeavoured to look rich. His mother would carry an eighty-pound -sealskin as though she had picked it up at a jumble sale, and his wife -put such simplicity into the wearing of a hundred-and-eighty pound -diamond ring that its expensiveness was generally quite wasted. - -And yet, while the logical male in him scathingly condemned this -feminine defect of character, his private soul was glad of it, for he -well knew that he would have been considerably irked by the complexities -and grandeurs of high life. But never would he have admitted this. - -Nellie's face as she sat down was not limpid. He understood naught of -it. More than twenty years had passed since they had first met--he and -a wistful little creature--at a historic town-hall dance. He could still -see the wistful little creature in those placid and pure features, in -that buxom body; but now there was a formidable, capable, and -experienced woman there too. Impossible to credit that the wistful -little creature was thirty-seven! But she was. Indeed, it was very -doubtful if she would ever see thirty-eight again. Once he had had the -most romantic feelings about her. He could recall the slim flexibility -of her waist, the timorous, melting invitation of her eyes. And -now--such was human existence! - -She sat up erect on her chair. She did not apologise for being late. -She made no inquiry as to his neuralgia. On the other hand, she was not -cross. She was just neutral, polite, cheerful, and apparently conscious -of perfection. He strongly desired to inform her of the exact time of -day, but his lips would not articulate the words. - -"Maud," she said with divine calm to the maid who bore in the baked York -ham under its silver canopy, "you haven't taken away that brush that's -in the passage." Another illustration of Nellie's inability to live up -to six thousand pounds a year; she would always refer to the hall as the -"passage." - -"Please'm, I did, m'm," replied Maud, now as conscious of perfection as -her mistress. "He must have took it back again." - -"Who's 'he'?" demanded the master. - -"Carlo, sir." Upon which triumph Maud retired. - -Edward Henry was dashed. Nevertheless, he quickly recovered his -presence of mind, and sought about for a justification of his previous -verdict upon the negligence of five women. - -"It would have been easy enough to put the brush where the dog couldn't -get at it," he said. But he said this strictly to himself. He could -not say it aloud. Nor could he say aloud the words "neuralgia," "three -hundred and forty-one pounds," any more than he could say "late." - -That he was in a peculiar mental condition is proved by the fact that he -did not remark the absence of his mother until he was putting her share -of baked ham on to a plate. - -He thought, "This is a bit thick, this is!" meaning the extreme lateness -of his mother for the meal. But his only audible remark was a somewhat -impatient banging down of the hot plate in front of his mother's empty -chair. - -In answer to this banging, Nellie quietly began: - -"Your mother--" - -(He knew instantly, then, that Nellie was disturbed about something or -other. Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law lived together under one roof -in perfect amity. Nay more, they often formed powerful and unscrupulous -leagues against him. But whenever Nellie was disturbed, by no matter -what, she would say "your mother" instead of merely "Mother." It was an -extraordinary subtle, silly, and effective way of putting him in the -wrong.) - -"Your mother is staying up-stairs with Robert." - -Robert was the eldest child, aged eight. - -"Oh!" breathed Edward Henry. He might have enquired what the nurse was -for; he might have enquired how his mother meant to get her tea; but he -refrained, adding simply, "What's up now?" - -And in retort to his wife's "your," he laid a faint emphasis on the word -"now," to imply that those women were always inventing some fresh -imaginary woe for the children. - -"Carlo's bitten him--in the calf," said Nellie, tightening her lips. - -This, at any rate, was not imaginary. - -"The kid was teasing him as usual, I suppose?" he suggested. - -"That I don't know," said Nellie. "But I know we must get rid of that -dog." - -"Serious?" - -"Of course we must," Nellie insisted, with an inadvertent heat which she -immediately cooled. - -"I mean the bite." - -"Well--it's a bite right enough." - -"And you're thinking of hydrophobia, death amid horrible agony, and so -on." - -"No, I'm not," she said stoutly, trying to smile. - -But he knew she was. And he knew also that the bite was a trifle. If -it had been a good bite, she would have made it enormous; she would have -hinted that the dog had left a chasm in the boy's flesh. - -"Yes, you are," he continued to twit her, encouraged by her attempt at a -smile. - -However, the smile expired. - -"I suppose you won't deny that Carlo's teeth may have been dirty? He's -always nosing in some filth or other," she said challengingly, in a -measured tone of sagacity. "And there may be blood-poisoning." - -"Blood-fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Edward Henry. - -Such a nonsensical and infantile rejoinder deserved no answer, and it -received none. Shortly afterwards Maud entered and whispered that -Nellie was wanted up-stairs. As soon as his wife had gone, Edward Henry -rang the bell. - -"Maud," he said, "bring me the _Signal_ out of my left-hand -overcoat-pocket." - -And he defiantly finished his meal at leisure, with the news of the day -propped up against the flower-pot, which he had set before him instead -of the dish of ham. - - - - III. - - -Later, catching through the open door fragments of a conversation on the -stairs which indicated that his mother was at last coming down for tea, -he sped like a threatened delinquent into the drawing-room. He had no -wish to encounter his mother, though that woman usually said little. - -The drawing-room, after the bathroom, was Edward Henry's favourite -district in the home. Since he could not spend the whole of his time in -the bathroom,--and he could not!--he wisely gave a special care to the -drawing-room, and he loved it as one always loves that upon which one -has bestowed benefits. He was proud of the drawing-room, and he had the -right to be. The principal object in it, at night, was the electric -chandelier, which would have been adequate for a lighthouse. Edward -Henry's eyes were not what they used to be; and the minor advertisements -in the _Signal_, which constituted his sole evening perusals, often -lacked legibility. Edward Henry sincerely believed in light and heat; he -was almost the only person in the Five Towns who did. In the Five Towns -people have fires in their grates--not to warm the room, but to make the -room bright. Seemingly they use their pride to keep themselves warm. -At any rate, whenever Edward Henry talked to them of radiators, they -would sternly reply that a radiator did not and could not brighten a -room. Edward Henry had made the great discovery that an efficient -chandelier will brighten a room better even than a fire; and he had -gilded his radiator. The notion of gilding the radiator was not his -own; he had seen a gilded radiator in the newest hotel at Birmingham, -and had rejoiced as some peculiar souls rejoice when they meet a fine -line in a new poem. (In concession to popular prejudice, Edward Henry -had fire-grates in his house, and fires therein during exceptionally -frosty weather; but this did not save him from being regarded in the -Five Towns as in some ways a peculiar soul.) The effulgent source of -dark heat was scientifically situated in front of the window, and on -ordinarily cold evenings Edward Henry and his wife and mother, and an -acquaintance if one happened to come in, would gather round the radiator -and play bridge or dummy whist. - -The other phenomena of the drawing-room which particularly interested -Edward Henry were the Turkey carpet, the four vast easy chairs, the -sofa, the imposing cigar-cabinet, and the mechanical piano-player. At -one brief period he had hovered a good deal about the revolving bookcase -containing the encyclopedia, to which his collection of books was -limited; but the frail passion for literature had not survived a -struggle with the seductions of the mechanical piano-player. - -The walls of the room never drew his notice. He had chosen, some years -before, a patent washable kind of wall-paper (which could be wiped over -with a damp cloth), and he had also chosen the pattern of the paper, but -it is a fact that he could spend hours in any room without even seeing -the pattern of its paper. In the same way, his wife's cushions and -little draperies and bows were invisible to him, though he had searched -for and duly obtained the perfect quality of swansdown which filled the -cushions. - -The one ornament of the walls which attracted him was a large and -splendidly framed oil-painting of a ruined castle in the midst of a -sombre forest through which cows were strolling. In the tower of the -castle was a clock, and this clock was a realistic timepiece whose -fingers moved and told the hour. Two of the oriel windows of the castle -were realistic holes in its masonry; through one of them you could put a -key to wind up the clock, and through the other you could put a key to -wind up a secret musical box which played sixteen different tunes. He -had bought this handsome relic of the Victorian era (not less artistic, -despite your scorn, than many devices for satisfying the higher -instincts of the present day) at an auction sale in the Strand, London. -But it, too, had been supplanted in his esteem by the mechanical -piano-player. - -He now selected an example of the most expensive cigar in the -cigar-cabinet, and lighted it as only a connoisseur can light a -cigar--lovingly; he blew out the match lingeringly, with regret, and -dropped it and the cigar's red collar with care into a large copper bowl -on the centre table, instead of flinging it against the Japanese -umbrella in the fireplace. (A grave disadvantage of radiators is that -you cannot throw odds and ends into them.) He chose the most expensive -cigar because he wanted comfort and peace. The ham was not digesting -very well. - -Then he sat down and applied himself to the property advertisements in -the _Signal_, a form of sensational serial which usually enthralled -him--but not to-night. He allowed the paper to lapse on to the floor, -and then rose impatiently, rearranged the thick dark blue curtains -behind the radiator, and finally yielded to the silent call of the -mechanical piano-player. He quite knew that to dally with the -piano-player while smoking a high-class cigar was to insult the cigar; -but he did not care. He tilted the cigar upwards from an extreme corner -of his mouth, and through the celestial smoke gazed at the titles of the -new music-rolls which had been delivered that day, and which were ranged -on the top of the piano itself. - -And while he did so he was thinking: - -"Why in thunder didn't the little thing come and tell me at once about -that kid and his dog-bite? I wonder why she didn't! She seemed only to -mention it by accident. I wonder why she didn't bounce into the -bathroom and tell me at once?" - -But it was untrue that he sought vainly for an answer to this riddle. -He was aware of the answer. He even kept saying over the answer to -himself: - -"She's made up her mind I've been teasing her a bit too much lately -about those kids and their precious illnesses. And she's doing the -dignified. That's what she's doing! She's doing the dignified!" - -Of course, instantly after his tea he ought to have gone up-stairs to -inspect the wounded victim of dogs. The victim was his own child, and -its mother was his wife. He knew that he ought to have gone up-stairs -long since. He knew he ought now to go, and the sooner the better. But -somehow he could not go; he could not bring himself to go. In the minor -and major crises of married life there are not two partners but four; -each partner has a dual personality; each partner is indeed two -different persons, and one of these fights against the other, with the -common result of a fatal inaction. - -The wickeder of the opposing persons in Edward Henry, getting the upper -hand of the more virtuous, sniggered. "Dirty teeth, indeed! -Blood-poisoning, indeed! Why not rabies, while she's about it? I -guarantee she's dreaming of coffins and mourning coaches already!" - -Scanning nonchalantly the titles of the music-rolls, he suddenly saw: -"Funeral March. Chopin." - -"She shall have it," he said, affixing the roll to the mechanism. And -added, "Whatever it is!" - -For he was not acquainted with the Funeral March from Chopin's -Pianoforte Sonata. His musical education had in truth begun only a year -earlier, with the advertisement of the "Pianisto" mechanical player. He -was a judge of advertisements, and the "Pianisto" literature pleased him -in a high degree. He justifiably reckoned that he could distinguish -between honest and dishonest advertising. He made a deep study of the -question of mechanical players, and deliberately came to the conclusion -that the "Pianisto" was the best. It was also the most costly; but one -of the conveniences of having six thousand pounds a year is that you -need not deny yourself the best mechanical player because it happens to -be the most costly. He bought a "Pianisto," and incidentally he bought -a superb grand piano, and exiled the old cottage piano to the nursery. - -The "Pianisto" was the best, partly because, like the vacuum-cleaner, it -could be operated by electricity, and partly because, by means of -certain curved lines on the unrolling paper, and of certain gun-metal -levers and clutches, it enabled the operator to put his secret ardent -soul into the music. Assuredly it had given Edward Henry a taste for -music. The whole world of musical compositions was his to conquer, and -he conquered it at the rate of about two great masters a month. From -Handel to Richard Strauss, even from Palestrina to Debussy, the -achievements of genius lay at his mercy. He criticised them with a -freedom that was entirely unprejudiced by tradition. Beethoven was no -more to him than Arthur Sullivan; indeed, was rather less. The works of -his choice were the "Tannhaeuser" overture, a potpourri of Verdi's -"Aida," Chopin's Study in Thirds--which ravished him--and a selection -from "The Merry Widow," which also ravished him. So that on the whole -it may be said that he had a very good natural taste. - -He at once liked Chopin's Funeral March. He entered profoundly into the -spirit of it. With the gun-metal levers he produced in a marvellous -fashion the long tragic roll of the drums, and by the manipulation of a -clutch he distilled into the chant at the graveside a melancholy -sweetness that rent the heart. The later crescendi were overwhelming. -And as he played there, with the bright blaze of the chandelier on his -fair hair and beard, and the blue cigar-smoke in his nostrils, and the -effluence of the gilded radiator behind him, and the intimacy of the -drawn window curtains and the closed and curtained door folding him in -from the world, and the agony of the music grieving his artistic soul to -the core--as he played there, he grew gradually happier and happier, and -the zest of existence seemed to return. It was not only that he felt -the elemental, unfathomable satisfaction of a male who is sheltered in -solitude from a pack of women that have got on his nerves; there was -also the more piquant assurance that he was behaving in a very sprightly -manner. How long was it since he had accomplished anything worthy of -his ancient reputation as a "card," as "the" card of the Five Towns? He -could not say; but now he knew that he was being a card again. The -whole town would smile and forgive and admire if it learnt that-- - -Nellie invaded the room. She had resumed the affray. - -"Denry!" she reproached him, in an uncontrolled voice. "I'm ashamed of -you! I really am!" She was no longer doing the dignified. The mask -was off, and the unmistakable lineaments of the outraged mother -appeared. That she should address him as "Denry" proved the intensity -of her agitation. Years ago, when he had been made an alderman, his -wife and his mother had decided that "Denry" was no longer a suitable -name for him, and had abandoned it in favour of "Edward Henry." - -He ceased playing. - -"Why?" he protested, with a ridiculous air of innocence. "I'm only -playing Chopin. Can't I play Chopin?" - -He was rather surprised and impressed that she had recognised the piece -for what it was. But of course she did, as a fact, know something about -music, he remembered, though she never touched the "Pianisto." - -"I think it's a pity you can't choose some other evening for your -funeral marches!" she exclaimed. - -"If that's it," said Edward Henry like lightning, "why did you stick me -out you weren't afraid of hydrophobia?" - -"I'll thank you to come up-stairs," she replied with warmth. - -"Oh, all right, my dear! All right!" he cooed. - -And they went up-stairs in a rather solemn procession. - - - - IV. - - -Nellie led the way to the chamber known as "Maisie's room," where the -youngest of the Machins was wont to sleep in charge of the nurse, who, -under the supervision of the mother of all three, had dominion over -Robert, Ralph, and their little sister. The first thing that Edward -Henry noticed was the screen which shut off one of the beds. The -unfurling of the four-fold screen was always a sure sign that Nellie was -taking an infantile illness seriously. It was an indication to Edward -Henry of the importance of the dog-bite in Nellie's esteem. When all -the chicks of the brood happened to be simultaneously sound, the screen -reposed, inconspicuous, at an angle against a wall behind the door; but -when pestilence was abroad, the screen travelled from one room to -another in the wake of it, and, spreading wide, took part in the battle -of life and death. - -In an angle of the screen, on the side of it away from the bed and near -the fire (in times of stress Nellie would not rely on radiators), sat -old Mrs. Machin, knitting. She was a thin, bony woman of sixty-nine -years, and as hard and imperishable as teak. So far as her son knew, -she had only had two illnesses in her life. The first was an attack of -influenza, and the second was an attack of acute rheumatism, which had -incapacitated her for several weeks. Edward Henry and Nellie had taken -advantage of her helplessness, then, to force her to give up her -barbaric cottage in Brougham Street and share permanently the splendid -comfort of their home. She existed in their home like a philosophic -prisoner of war at the court of conquerors, behaving faultlessly, -behaving magnanimously in the melancholy grandeur of her fall, but never -renouncing her soul's secret independence, nor permitting herself to -forget that she was on foreign ground. When Edward Henry looked at -those yellow and seasoned fingers which, by hard manual labour, had kept -herself and him in the young days of his humble obscurity, and which, -during sixty years had not been idle for more than six weeks in all, he -grew almost apologetic for his wealth. They reminded him of the day -when his total resources were five pounds, won in a wager, and of the -day when he drove proudly about behind a mule collecting other people's -rents, and of the glittering day when he burst in on her from Llandudno -with over a thousand gold sovereigns in a hat-box,--product of his first -great picturesque coup,--imagining himself to be an English Jay Gould. -She had not blenched even then. She had not blenched since. And she -never would blench. In spite of his gorgeous position and his unique -reputation, in spite of her well-concealed but notorious pride in him, -he still went in fear of that ageless woman, whose undaunted eye always -told him that he was still the lad Denry, and her inferior in moral -force. The curve of her thin lips seemed ever to be warning him that -with her pretensions were quite useless, and that she saw through him, -and through him to the innermost grottoes of his poor human depravity. - -He caught her eye guiltily. - -"Behold the alderman!" she murmured with grimness. - -That was all. But the three words took thirty years off his back, -snatched the half-crown cigar out of his hand, and reduced him again to -the raw, hungry boy of Brougham Street. And he knew that he had sinned -gravely in not coming up-stairs very much earlier. - -"Is that you, Father?" called the high voice of Robert from the back of -the screen. - -He had to admit to his son that it was he. - -The infant lay on his back in Maisie's bed, while his mother sat lightly -on the edge of nurse's bed near-by. - -"Well, you're a nice chap!" said Edward Henry, avoiding Nellie's glance, -but trying to face his son as one innocent man may face another, and not -perfectly succeeding. He never could feel like a real father somehow. - -"My temperature's above normal," announced Robert proudly, and then -added with regret, "but not much!" - -There was the clinical thermometer--instrument which Edward Henry -despised and detested as being an inciter of illnesses--in a glass of -water on the table between the two beds. - -"Father!" Robert began again. - -"Well, Robert?" said Edward Henry cheerfully. - -He was glad that the child was in one of his rare loquacious moods, -because the chatter not only proved that the dog had done no serious -damage,--it also eased the silent strain between himself and Nellie. - -"Why did you play the Funeral March, Father?" asked Robert; and the -question fell into the tranquillity of the room rather like a bomb that -had not quite decided whether or not to burst. - -For the second time that evening Edward Henry was dashed. - -"Have you been meddling with my music-rolls?" - -"No, Father. I only read the labels." - -This child simply read everything. - -"How did you know I was playing a funeral march?" Edward Henry demanded. - -"Oh, _I_ didn't tell him!" Nellie put in, excusing herself before she -was accused. She smiled benignly, as an angel woman, capable of -forgiving all. But there were moments when Edward Henry hated moral -superiority and Christian meekness in a wife. Moreover, Nellie somewhat -spoiled her own effect by adding with an artificial continuation of the -smile, "You needn't look at _me_!" - -Edward Henry considered the remark otiose. Though he had indeed ventured -to look at her, he had not looked at her in the manner which she -implied. - -"It made a noise like funerals and things," Robert explained. - -"Well, it seems to me, _you_ have been playing a funeral march," said -Edward Henry to the child. - -He thought this rather funny, rather worthy of himself, but the child -answered with ruthless gravity and a touch of disdain, for he was a -disdainful child, without bowels: - -"I don't know what you mean, Father." The curve of his lips (he had his -grandmother's lips) appeared to say, "I wish you wouldn't try to be -silly, Father." However, youth forgets very quickly, and the next -instant Robert was beginning once more, "Father!" - -"Well, Robert?" - -By mutual agreement of the parents, the child was never addressed as -"Bob" or "Bobby," or by any other diminutive. In their practical -opinion a child's name was his name, and ought not to be mauled or -dismembered on the pretext of fondness. Similarly, the child had not -been baptised after his father, or after any male member of either the -Machin or the Cotterill family. Why should family names be perpetuated -merely because they were family names? A natural human reaction, this, -against the excessive sentimentalism of the Victorian era! - -"What does 'stamped out' mean?" Robert enquired. - -Now Robert, among other activities, busied himself in the collection of -postage-stamps, and in consequence his father's mind, under the impulse -of the question, ran immediately to postage-stamps. - -"Stamped out?" said Edward Henry, with the air of omniscience that a -father is bound to assume. "Postage-stamps are stamped-out--by a -machine--you see." - -Robert's scorn of this explanation was manifest. - -"Well," Edward Henry, piqued, made another attempt, "you stamp a fire -out with your feet." And he stamped illustratively on the floor. After -all, the child was only eight. - -"I knew all that before," said Robert coldly. "You don't understand." - -"What makes you ask, dear? Let us show Father your leg." Nellie's -voice was soothing. - -"Yes," Robert murmured, staring reflectively at the ceiling. "That's -it. It says in the encyclopedia that hydrophobia is stamped out in this -country--by Mr. Long's muzzling order. Who is Mr. Long?" - -A second bomb had fallen on exactly the same spot as the first, and the -two exploded simultaneously. And the explosion was none the less -terrible because it was silent and invisible. The tidy domestic chamber -was strewn in a moment with an awful mass of wounded susceptibilities. -Beyond the screen the _nick-nick_ of grandmother's steel needles stopped -and started again. It was characteristic of her temperament that she -should recover before the younger generations could recover. Edward -Henry, as befitted his sex, regained his nerve a little earlier than -Nellie. - -"I told you never to touch my encyclopedia," said he sternly. Robert -had twice been caught on his stomach on the floor with a vast volume -open under his chin, and his studies had been traced by vile -thumb-marks. - -"I know," said Robert. - -Whenever anybody gave that child a piece of unsolicited information, he -almost invariably replied, "I know." - -"But hydrophobia!" cried Nellie. "How did you know about hydrophobia?" - -"We had it in spellings last week," Robert explained. - -"The deuce you did!" muttered Edward Henry. - -The one bright fact of the many-sided and gloomy crisis was the very -obvious truth that Robert was the most extraordinary child that ever -lived. - -"But when on earth did you get at the encyclopedia, Robert?" his mother -exclaimed, completely at a loss. - -"It was before you came in from Hillport," the wondrous infant answered. -"After my leg had stopped hurting me a bit." - -"But when I came in Nurse said it had only just happened!" - -"Shows how much _she_ knew!" said Robert, with contempt. - -"Does your leg hurt you now?" Edward Henry enquired. - -"A bit. That's why I can't go to sleep, of course." - -"Well, let's have a look at it." Edward Henry attempted jollity. - -"Mother's wrapped it all up in boracic wool." - -The bed-clothes were drawn down and the leg gradually revealed. And the -sight of the little soft leg, so fragile and defenceless, really did -touch Edward Henry. It made him feel more like an authentic father than -he had felt for a long time. And the sight of the red wound hurt him. -Still, it was a beautifully clean wound, and it was not a large wound. - -"It's a clean wound," he observed judiciously. In spite of himself, he -could not keep a certain flippant harsh quality out of his tone. - -"Well, I've naturally washed it with carbolic," Nellie returned sharply. - -He illogically resented this sharpness. - -"Of course he was bitten through his stocking?" - -"Of course," said Nellie, re-enveloping the wound hastily, as though -Edward Henry was not worthy to regard it. - -"Well, then, by the time they got through the stocking, the animal's -teeth couldn't be dirty. Every one knows that." - -Nellie shut her lips. - -"Were you teasing Carlo?" Edward Henry demanded curtly of his son. - -"I don't know." - -Whenever anybody asked that child for a piece of information, he almost -invariably replied, "I don't know." - -"How, you don't know? You must know whether you were teasing the dog or -not!" Edward Henry was nettled. - -The renewed spectacle of his own wound had predisposed Robert to feel a -great and tearful sympathy for himself. His mouth now began to take -strange shapes and to increase magically in area, and beads appeared in -the corners of his large eyes. - -"I--I was only measuring his tail by his hind leg," he blubbered, and -then sobbed. - -Edward Henry did his best to save his dignity. - -"Come, come!" he reasoned, less menacingly. "Boys who can read -enyclopedias mustn't be cry-babies. You'd no business measuring Carlo's -tail by his hind leg. You ought to remember that that dog's older than -you." And this remark, too, he thought rather funny, but apparently he -was alone in his opinion. - -Then he felt something against his calf. And it was Carlo's nose. -Carlo was a large, very shaggy and unkempt Northern terrier, but owing -to vagueness of his principal points, due doubtless to a vagueness in -his immediate ancestry, it was impossible to decide whether he had come -from the north or the south side of the Tweed. This aging friend of -Edward Henry's, surmising that something unusual was afoot in his house, -and having entirely forgotten the trifling episode of the bite, had -unobtrusively come to make enquiries. - -"Poor old boy!" said Edward Henry, stooping to pat the dog. "Did they -try to measure his tail with his hind leg?" - -The gesture was partly instinctive, for he loved Carlo; but it also had -its origin in sheer nervousness, in sheer ignorance of what was the best -thing to do. However, he was at once aware that he had done the worst -thing. Had not Nellie announced that the dog must be got rid of? And -here he was fondly caressing the bloodthirsty dog! With a hysterical -movement of the lower part of her leg, Nellie pushed violently against -the dog,--she did not kick, but she nearly kicked,--and Carlo, faintly -howling a protest, fled. - -Edward Henry was hurt. He escaped from between the beds, and from that -close, enervating domestic atmosphere where he was misunderstood by -women and disdained by infants. He wanted fresh air; he wanted bars, -whiskies, billiard-rooms, and the society of masculine men about town. -The whole of his own world was against him. - -As he passed by his knitting mother, she ignored him and moved not. She -had a great gift of holding aloof from conjugal complications. - -On the landing he decided that he would go out at once into the major -world. Half-way down the stairs he saw his overcoat on the hall-stand, -beckoning to him and offering release. - -Then he heard the bedroom door and his wife's footsteps. - -"Edward Henry!" - -"Well?" - -He stopped and looked up inimically at her face, which overhung the -banisters. It was the face of a woman outraged in her most profound -feelings, but amazingly determined to be sweet. - -"What do you think of it?" - -"What do I think of what? The wound?" - -"Yes." - -"Why, it's simply nothing. Nothing at all. You know how that kid always -heals up quickly. You won't be able to find the wound in a day or two." - -"Don't you think it ought to be cauterised at once?" - -He moved downwards. - -"No, I don't. I've been bitten three times in my life by dogs, and I -was never cauterised." - -"Well, I _do_ think it ought to be cauterised." She raised her voice -slightly as he retreated from her. "And I shall be glad if you'll call -in at Dr. Stirling's and ask him to come round." - -He made no reply, but put on his overcoat and his hat, and took his -stick. Glancing up the stairs, he saw Nellie was now standing at the -head of them, under the electric light there, and watching him. He knew -that she thought he was cravenly obeying her command. She could have no -idea that before she spoke to him he had already decided to put on his -overcoat and hat and take his stick and go forth into the major world. -However, that was no affair of his. - -He hesitated a second. Then the nurse appeared out of the kitchen with -a squalling Maisie in her arms, and ran up-stairs. Why Maisie was -squalling, and why she should have been in the kitchen at such an hour -instead of in bed, he could not guess; but he could guess that if he -remained one second longer in that exasperating minor world he would -begin to smash furniture, and so he quitted it. - - - - V. - - -It was raining slightly, but he dared not return to the house for his -umbrella. In the haze and wet of the shivering October night, the clock -of Bleakridge Church glowed like a fiery disk suspended in the sky; and, -mysteriously hanging there, without visible means of support, it seemed -to him somehow to symbolise the enigma of the universe and intensify his -inward gloom. Never before had he had such feelings to such a degree. -It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that never before had the enigma -of the universe occurred to him. The side gates clicked as he stood -hesitant under the shelter of the wall, and a figure emerged from his -domain. It was Bellfield, the new chauffeur, going across to his home -in the little square in front of the church. Bellfield touched his cap -with an eager and willing hand, as new chauffeurs will. - -"Want the car, sir? Setting in for a wet night!" - -"No, thanks." - -It was a lie. He did want the car. He wanted the car so that he might -ride right away into a new and more interesting world, or at any rate -into Hanbridge, centre of the pleasures, the wickedness, and the -commerce of the Five Towns. But he dared not have the car. He dared -not have his own car. He must slip off, noiseless and unassuming. Even -to go to Dr. Stirling's he dared not have the car. Besides, he could -have walked down the hill to Dr. Stirling's in three minutes. Not that -he had the least intention of going to Dr. Stirling's. No! His wife -imagined that he was going; but she was mistaken. Within an hour, when -Dr. Stirling had failed to arrive, she would doubtless telephone, and -get her Dr. Stirling. Not, however, with Edward Henry's assistance! - -He reviewed his conduct throughout the evening. In what particular had -it been sinful? In no particular. True, the accident to the boy was a -misfortune, but had he not borne that misfortune lightly, minimised it, -and endeavoured to teach others to bear it lightly? His blithe humour -ought surely to have been an example to Nellie! And as for the episode -of the funeral march on the "Pianisto," really, really, the tiresome -little thing ought to have better appreciated his whimsical drollery! - -But Nellie was altered; he was altered; everything was altered. He -remembered the ecstasy of their excursion to Switzerland. He remembered -the rapture with which, on their honeymoon, he had clasped a new opal -bracelet on her exciting arm. He could not possibly have such sensations -now. What was the meaning of life? Was life worth living? The fact -was, he was growing old. Useless to pretend to himself that it was not -so. Both he and she were growing old. Only, she seemed to be placidly -content, and he was not content. And more and more the domestic -atmosphere and the atmosphere of the district fretted and even annoyed -him. To-night's affair was not unique, but it was a culmination. He -gazed pessimistically north and south along the slimy expanse of -Trafalgar Road, which sank northwards in the direction of Dr. -Stirling's, and southwards in the direction of joyous Hanbridge. He -loathed and despised Trafalgar Road. What was the use of making three -hundred and forty-one pounds by a shrewd speculation? None. He could -not employ three hundred and forty-one pounds to increase his happiness. -Money had become futile for him. Astounding thought! He desired no more -of it. He had a considerable income from investments, and also at least -four thousand a year from the Five Towns Universal Thrift Club, that -wonderful but unpretentious organisation which now embraced every corner -of the Five Towns; that gorgeous invention for profitably taking care of -the pennies of the working classes; that excellent device, his own, for -selling the working classes every kind of goods at credit prices after -having received part of the money in advance! - -"I want a change!" he said to himself, and threw away his cigar. - -After all, the bitterest thought in his heart was perhaps that on that -evening he had tried to be a "card," and, for the first time in his -brilliant career as a "card," had failed. He, Henry Machin, who had -been the youngest mayor of Bursley years and years ago; he, the -recognised amuser of the Five Towns; he, one of the greatest -"characters" that the Five Towns had ever produced--he had failed of an -effect! - -He slipped out on to the pavement, and saw, under the gas-lamp, on the -new hoarding of the football-ground, a poster intimating that during -that particular week there was a gigantic attraction at the Empire Music -Hall at Hanbridge. According to the posters, there was a gigantic -attraction every week at the Empire, but Edward Henry happened to know -that this week the attraction was indeed somewhat out of the common. -And to-night was Friday, the fashionable night for the bloods and the -modishness of the Five Towns. He looked at the church clock, and then -at his watch. He would be in time for the "second house," which started -at nine o'clock. At the same moment an electric tram-car came -thundering up out of Bursley. He boarded it, and was saluted by the -conductor. Remaining on the platform, he lit a cigarette, and tried to -feel cheerful; but he could not conquer his depression. - -"Yes," he thought, "what I want is change--and a lot of it too!" - - - - - CHAPTER II - - THE BANK-NOTE - - I. - -Alderman Machin had to stand at the back, and somewhat towards the side, -of that part of the auditorium known as the Grand Circle at the Empire -Music Hall, Hanbridge. The attendants at the entrance and in the lounge, -where the salutation "Welcome" shone in electricity over a large -Cupid-surrounded mirror, had compassionately and yet exultingly told him -that there was not a seat left in the house. He had shared their -exultation. He had said to himself, full of honest pride in the Five -Towns: "This music-hall, admitted by the press to be one of the finest -in the provinces, holds over two thousand five hundred people. And yet -we can fill it to overflowing twice every night! And only a few years -ago there wasn't a decent music-hall in the entire district!" - -The word "progress" flitted through his head. - -It was not strictly true that the Empire was or could be filled to -overflowing twice every night, but it was true that at that particular -moment not a seat was unsold; and the aspect of a crowded auditorium is -apt to give an optimistic quality to broad generalisations. Alderman -Machin began instinctively to calculate the amount of money in the -house, and to wonder whether there would be a chance for a second -music-hall in the dissipated town of Hanbridge. He also wondered why -the idea of a second music-hall in Hanbridge had never occurred to him -before. - -The Grand Circle was so-called because it was grand. Its plush -fauteuils cost a shilling, no mean price for a community where seven -pounds of potatoes can be bought for sixpence, and the view of the stage -therefrom was perfect. But the alderman's view was far from perfect, -since he had to peer as best he could between and above the shoulders of -several men, each apparently, but not really, taller than himself. By -constant slight movements to comply with the movements of the rampart of -shoulders, he could discern fragments of various advertisements of soap, -motor-cars, whisky, shirts, perfume, pills, bricks, and tea, for the -drop-curtain was down. And, curiously, he felt obliged to keep his eyes -on the drop-curtain, and across the long intervening vista of hats and -heads and smoke, to explore its most difficult corners again and again, -lest, when it went up, he might not be in proper practice for seeing -what was behind it. - -Nevertheless, despite the marked inconveniences of his situation, he -felt brighter, he felt almost happy in this dense atmosphere of success. -He even found a certain peculiar and perverse satisfaction in the fact -that he had as yet been recognised by nobody. Once or twice the owners -of shoulders had turned and deliberately glared at the worrying fellow -who had the impudence to be all the time peeping over them and between -them; they had not distinguished the fellow from any ordinary fellow. -Could they have known that he was the famous Alderman Edward Henry -Machin, founder and sole proprietor of the Thrift Club, into which their -wives were probably paying so much a week, they would most assuredly -have glared to another tune, and they would have said with pride -afterwards, "That chap Machin o' Bursley was standing behind me at the -Empire to-night." And though Machin is amongst the commonest names in -the Five Towns, all would have known that the great and admired Denry -was meant. It was astonishing that a personage so notorious should not -have been instantly "spotted" in such a resort as the Empire. More -proof that the Five Towns was a vast and seething concentration of -cities, and no longer a mere district where everybody knew everybody. - -The curtain rose, and, as it did so, a thunderous, crashing applause of -greeting broke forth--applause that thrilled and impressed and inspired; -applause that made every individual in the place feel right glad that he -was there. For the curtain had risen on the gigantic attraction which -many members of the audience were about to see for the fifth time that -week; in fact, it was rumoured that certain men of fashion, whose habit -was to refuse themselves nothing, had attended every performance of the -gigantic attraction since the second house on Monday. - -The scene represented a restaurant of quiet aspect, into which entered a -waiter bearing a pile of plates some two feet high. The waiter being -intoxicated, the tower of plates leaned this way and that as he -staggered about, and the whole house really did hold its breath in the -simultaneous hope and fear of an enormous and resounding smash. Then -entered a second intoxicated waiter, also bearing a pile of plates some -two feet high; and the risk of destruction was thus more than -doubled--it was quadrupled, for each waiter, in addition to the risks of -his own inebriety, was now subject to the dreadful peril of colliding -with the other. However, there was no catastrophe. - -Then arrived two customers, one in a dress suit and an eye-glass, and -the other in a large violet hat, a diamond necklace, and a yellow satin -skirt. The which customers, seemingly well used to the sight of drunken -waiters tottering to and fro with towers of plates, sat down at a table -and waited calmly for attention. The popular audience, with that quick -mental grasp for which popular audiences are so renowned, soon perceived -that the table was in close proximity to a lofty sideboard, and that on -either hand of the sideboard were two chairs, upon which the two waiters -were trying to climb in order to deposit their plates on the top-most -shelf of the sideboard. The waiters successfully mounted the chairs, -and successfully lifted their towers of plates to within half an inch of -the desired shelf, and then the chairs began to show signs of -insecurity. By this time the audience was stimulated to an ecstasy of -expectation, whose painfulness was only equalled by its extreme -delectability. The sole unmoved persons in the building were the -customers awaiting attention at the restaurant table. - -One tower was safely lodged on the shelf. But was it? It was not! -Yes? No! It curved; it straightened; it curved again. The excitement -was as keen as that of watching a drowning man attempt to reach the -shore. It was simply excruciating. It could not be borne any longer, -and when it could not be borne any longer, the tower sprawled -irrevocably, and seven dozen plates fell in a cascade on the violet hat, -and so, with an inconceivable clatter, to the floor. Almost at the same -moment the being in the dress suit and the eye-glass--becoming aware of -the phenomena--slightly unusual even in a restaurant, dropped his -eye-glass, turned round to the sideboard, and received the other -waiter's seven dozen plates in the face and on the crown of his head. - -No such effect had ever been seen in the Five Towns, and the felicity of -the audience exceeded all previous felicities. The audience yelled, -roared, shrieked, gasped, trembled, and punched itself in a furious -passion of pleasure. They make plates in the Five Towns. They live by -making plates. They understand plates. In the Five Towns a man will -carry not seven but twenty-seven dozen plates on a swaying plank for -eight hours a day, up steps and down steps, and in doorways and out of -doorways, and not break one plate in seven years! Judge, therefore, the -simple but terrific satisfaction of a Five Towns' audience in the -hugeness of the calamity. Moreover, every plate smashed means a demand -for a new plate and increased prosperity for the Five Towns. The -grateful crowd in the auditorium of the Empire would have covered the -stage with wreaths if it had known that wreaths were used for other -occasions than funerals; which it did not know. - -Fresh complications instantly ensued which cruelly cut short the -agreeable exercise of uncontrolled laughter. It was obvious that one of -the waiters was about to fall. And in the enforced tranquillity of a -new dread, every dyspeptic person in the house was deliciously conscious -of a sudden freedom from indigestion, due to the agreeable exercise of -uncontrolled laughter, and wished fervently that he could laugh like -that after every meal. The waiter fell; he fell through the large violet -hat and disappeared beneath the surface of a sea of crockery. The other -waiter fell too, but the sea was not deep enough to drown a couple of -them. Then the customers, recovering themselves, decided that they must -not be outclassed in this competition of havoc, and they overthrew the -table and everything on it, and all the other tables, and everything on -all the other tables. The audience was now a field of artillery which -nothing could silence. The waiters arose, and, opening the sideboard, -disclosed many hundreds of unsuspected plates of all kinds, ripe for -smashing. Niagaras of plates surged on to the stage. All four -performers revelled and wallowed in smashed plates. New supplies of -plates were constantly being produced from strange concealments, and -finally the tables and chairs were broken to pieces, and each object on -the walls was torn down and flung in bits on to the gorgeous general -debris, to the top of which clambered the violet hat, necklace, and -yellow petticoat, brandishing one single little plate, whose life had -been miraculously spared. Shrieks of joy in that little plate played -over the din like lightning in a thunder-storm. And the curtain fell. - -It was rung up fifteen times, and fifteen times the quartette of -artists, breathless, bowed in acknowledgment of the frenzied and -boisterous testimony to their unique talents. No singer, no tragedian, -no comedian, no wit, could have had such a triumph, could have given -such intense pleasure. And yet none of the four had spoken a word. -Such is genius! - -At the end of the fifteenth call the stage-manager came before the -curtain and guaranteed that two thousand four hundred plates had been -broken. - -The lights went up. Strong men were seen to be wiping tears from their -eyes. Complete strangers were seen addressing each other in the manner -of old friends. Such is art! - -"Well, that was worth a bob, that was!" muttered Edward Henry to -himself. And it was. Edward Henry had not escaped the general fate. -Nobody, being present, could have escaped it. He was enchanted. He had -utterly forgotten every care. - -"Good evening, Mr. Machin," said a voice at his side. Not only he -turned, but nearly every one in the vicinity turned. The voice was the -voice of the stout and splendid managing director of the Empire, and it -sounded with the ring of authority above the rising tinkle of the bar -behind the Grand Circle. - -"Oh! How d'ye do, Mr. Dakins?" Edward Henry held out a cordial hand, -for even the greatest men are pleased to be greeted in a place of -entertainment by the managing director thereof. Further, his identity -was now recognised. - -"Haven't you seen those gentlemen in that box beckoning to you?" said -Mr. Dakins, proudly deprecating complimentary remarks on the show. - -"Which box?" - -Mr. Dakins' hand indicated the stage-box. And Henry, looking, saw three -men, one unknown to him; the second, Robert Brindley, the architect, of -Bursley; and the third, Dr. Stirling. - -Instantly his conscience leapt up within him. He thought of rabies. -Yes, sobered in the fraction of a second, he thought of rabies. -Supposing that, after all, in spite of Mr. Long's muzzling order, as -cited by his infant son, an odd case of rabies should have lingered in -the British Isles, and supposing that Carlo had been infected! Not -impossible! Was it providential that Dr. Stirling was in the -auditorium? - -"You know two of them?" said Mr. Dakins. - -"Yes." - -"Well, the third's a Mr. Bryany. He's manager to Mr. Seven Sachs." Mr. -Dakins' tone was respectful. - -"And who's Mr. Seven Sachs?" asked Edward Henry absently. It was a -stupid question. - -He was impressively informed that Mr. Seven Sachs was the arch-famous -American actor-playwright, now nearing the end of a provincial tour -which had surpassed all records of provincial tours, and that he would -be at the Theatre Royal, Hanbridge, next week. Edward Henry then -remembered that the hoardings had been full of Mr. Seven Sachs for some -time past. - -"They keep on making signs to you," said Mr. Dakins, referring to the -occupants of the stage-box. - -Edward Henry waved a reply to the box. - -"Here! I'll take you there the shortest way," said Mr. Dakins. - - - - II. - - -"Welcome to Stirling's box, Machin!" Robert Brindley greeted the -alderman with an almost imperceptible wink. Edward Henry had -encountered this wink once or twice before; he could not decide -precisely what it meant; it was apt to make him reflective. He did not -dislike Robert Brindley, his habit was not to dislike people; he -admitted Brindley to be a clever architect, though he objected to the -"modern" style of the fronts of his houses and schools. But he did take -exception to the man's attitude towards the Five Towns, of which, by the -way, Brindley was just as much a native as himself. Brindley seemed to -live in the Five Towns like a highly cultured stranger in a savage land, -and to derive rather too much sardonic amusement from the spectacle of -existence therein. Brindley was a very special crony of Stirling's, and -had influenced Stirling. But Stirling was too clever to submit unduly -to the influence. Besides, Stirling was not a native; he was only a -Scotchman, and Edward Henry considered that what Stirling thought of the -district did not matter. Other details about Brindley which Edward -Henry deprecated were his necktie, which, for Edward Henry's taste, was -too flowing, his scorn of the "Pianisto" (despite the man's tremendous -interest in music), and his incipient madness on the subject of books--a -madness shared by Stirling. Brindley and the doctor were forever -chattering about books, and buying them. - -So that, on the whole, Dr. Stirling's box was not a place where Edward -Henry felt entirely at home. Nevertheless, the two men, having presented -Mr. Bryany, did their best, each in his own way, to make him feel at -home. - -"Take this chair, Machin," said Stirling, indicating a chair at the -front. - -"Oh, I can't take the front chair!" Edward Henry protested. - -"Of course you can, my dear Machin," said Brindley sharply. "The front -chair in a stage-box is the one proper seat in the house for you. Do as -your doctor prescribes." - -And Edward Henry accordingly sat down at the front, with Mr. Bryany by -his side; and the other two sat behind. But Edward Henry was not quite -comfortable. He faintly resented that speech of Brindley's. And yet he -did feel that what Brindley had said was true, and he was indeed glad to -be in the front chair of a brilliant stage-box on the grand tier, -instead of being packed away in the nethermost twilight of the Grand -Circle. He wondered how Brindley and Stirling had managed to -distinguish his face among the confusion of faces in that distant -obscurity; he, Edward Henry, had failed to notice them, even in the -prominence of their box. But that they had distinguished him showed how -familiar and striking a figure he was. He wondered, too, why they -should have invited him to hobnob with them. He was not of their set. -Indeed, like many very eminent men, he was not to any degree in -anybody's set. Of one thing he was sure,--because he had read it on the -self-conscious faces of all three of them,--namely, that they had been -discussing him. Possibly he had been brought up for Mr. Bryany's -inspection as a major lion and character of the district. Well, he did -not mind that; nay, he enjoyed that. He could feel Mr. Bryany covertly -looking him over. And he thought: "Look, my boy! I make no charge." -He smiled and nodded to one or two people who with pride saluted him -from the stalls. It was meet that he should be visible there on that -Friday night! - -"A full house!" he observed, to break the rather awkward silence of the -box, as he glanced round at the magnificent smoke-veiled pageant of the -aristocracy and the democracy of the Five Towns crowded together, tier -above gilded tier, up to the dim roof where ragged lads and maids -giggled and flirted while waiting for the broken plates to be cleared -away and the moving pictures to begin. - -"You may say it!" agreed Mr. Bryany, who spoke with a very slight -American accent. "Dakins positively hadn't a seat to offer me. I -happened to have the evening free. It isn't often I do have a free -evening. And so I thought I'd pop in here. But if Dakins hadn't -introduced me to these gentlemen, my seat would have had to be a -standing one." - -"So that's how they got to know him, is it?" thought Edward Henry. - -And then there was another short silence. - -"Hear you've been doing something striking in rubber shares, Machin?" -said Brindley at length. - -Astonishing how these things got abroad! - -"Oh, very little, very little!" Edward Henry laughed modestly. "Too -late to do much! In another fortnight the bottom will be all out of the -rubber market!" - -"Of course I'm an Englishman--" Mr. Bryany began. - -"Why 'of course'?" Edward Henry interrupted him. - -"Hear! Hear! Alderman. Why 'of course'?" said Brindley approvingly, -and Stirling's rich laugh was heard. "Only it does just happen," -Brindley added, "that Mr. Bryany did us the honour to be born in the -district." - -"Yes. Longshaw," Mr. Bryany admitted, half proud and half apologetic, -"which I left at the age of two." - -"Oh, Longshaw!" murmured Edward Henry with a peculiar inflection, which -had a distinct meaning for at least two of his auditors. - -Longshaw is at the opposite end of the Five Towns from Bursley, and the -majority of the inhabitants of Bursley have never been to Longshaw in -their lives, have only heard of it, as they hear of Chicago or Bangkok. -Edward Henry had often been to Longshaw, but, like every visitor from -Bursley, he instinctively regarded it as a foolish and unnecessary -place. - -"As I was saying," resumed Mr. Bryany, quite unintimidated, "I'm an -Englishman. But I've lived eighteen years in America, and it seems to -me the bottom will soon be knocked out of pretty nearly all the markets -in England. Look at the Five Towns!" - -"No, don't, Mr. Bryany!" said Brindley. "Don't go to extremes." - -"Personally, I don't mind looking at the Five Towns," said Edward Henry. -"What of it?" - -"Well, did you ever see such people for looking twice at a five-pound -note?" - -Edward Henry most certainly did not like this aspersion on his native -district. He gazed in silence at Mr. Bryany's brassy and yet simple -face, and did not like the face either. - -And Mr. Bryany, beautifully unaware that he had failed in tact, -continued: "The Five Towns is the most English place I've ever seen, -believe me! Of course it has its good points, and England has her good -points; but there's no money stirring. There's no field for speculation -on the spot, and as for outside investment, no Englishman will touch -anything that really is good." He emphasised the last three words. - -"What d'ye do yeself, Mr. Bryany?" inquired Dr. Stirling. - -"What do I do with my little bit?" cried Mr. Bryany. "Oh, I know what -to do with my little bit. I can get ten per cent. in Seattle, and -twelve to fifteen in Calgary, on my little bit; and security just as -good as English railway stock--_and_ better." - -The theatre was darkened, and the cinematograph began its reckless -twinkling. - -Mr. Bryany went on offering to Edward Henry, in a suitably lowered -voice, his views on the great questions of investment and speculation; -and Edward Henry made cautious replies. - -"And even when there is a good thing going at home," Mr. Bryany said, in -a wounded tone, "what Englishman'd look at it?" - -"I would," said Edward Henry with a blandness that was only skin-deep, -for all the time he was cogitating the question whether the presence of -Dr. Stirling in the audience ought or ought not to be regarded as -providential. - -"Now, I've got the option on a little affair in London," said Mr. -Bryany, while Edward Henry glanced quickly at him in the darkness, "and -can I get anybody to go into it? I can't." - -"What sort of a little affair?" - -"Building a theatre in the West End." - -Even a less impassive man than Edward Henry would have started at the -coincidence of this remark. And Edward Henry started. Twenty minutes -ago he had been idly dreaming of theatrical speculation, and now he -could almost see theatrical speculation shimmering before him in the -pale shifting rays of the cinematograph that cut through the gloom of -the mysterious auditorium. - -"Oh!" And in this new interest he forgot the enigma of the ways of -Providence. - -"Of course, you know, I'm in the business," said Mr. Bryany. "I'm Seven -Sachs's manager." It was as if he owned and operated Mr. Seven Sachs. - -"So I heard," said Edward Henry, and then remarked with mischievous -cordiality: "And I suppose these chaps told you I was the sort of man -you were after. And you got them to ask me in, eh, Mr. Bryany?" - -Mr. Bryany gave an uneasy laugh, but seemed to find naught to say. - -"Well, what is your little affair?" Edward Henry encouraged him. - -"Oh, I can't tell you now," said Mr. Bryany. "It would take too long. -The thing has to be explained." - -"Well, what about to-morrow?" - -"I have to leave for London by the first train in the morning." - -"Well, some other time?" - -"After to-morrow will be too late." - -"Well, what about to-night?" - -"The fact is, I've half promised to go with Dr. Stirling to some club or -other after the show. Otherwise we might have had a quiet confidential -chat in my rooms over the Turk's Head. I never dreamt--" Mr. Bryany -was now as melancholy as a greedy lad who regards rich fruit at arm's -length through a plate-glass window, and he had ceased to be -patronising. - -"I'll soon get rid of Stirling for you," said Edward Henry, turning -instantly towards the doctor. The ways of Providence had been made plain -to Edward Henry. "I say, Doc!" But the Doctor and Brindley were in -conversation with another man at the open door of the box. - -"What is it?" said Stirling. - -"I've come to fetch you. You're wanted at my place." - -"Well, you're a caution!" said Stirling. - -"Why am I a caution?" Edward Henry smoothly protested. "I didn't tell -you before because I didn't want to spoil your fun." - -Stirling's mien was not happy. - -"Did they tell you I was here?" he asked. - -"You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?" said Edward Henry in a playful, -enigmatic tone. After all, he decided privately, his wife was right: it -was better that Stirling should see the infant. And there was also this -natural human thought in his mind: he objected to the doctor giving an -entire evening to diversions away from home; he considered that a -doctor, when not on a round of visits, ought to be forever in his -consulting-room, ready for a sudden call of emergency. It was monstrous -that Stirling should have proposed, after an escapade at the music-hall, -to spend further hours with chance acquaintances in vague clubs! Half -the town might fall sick and die while the doctor was vainly amusing -himself. Thus the righteous layman in Edward Henry! - -"What's the matter?" asked Stirling. - -"My eldest's been rather badly bitten by a dog, and the missis wants it -cauterized." - -"Really?" - -"Well, you bet she does!" - -"Where's the bite?" - -"In the calf." - -The other man at the door having departed, Robert Brindley abruptly -joined the conversation at this point. - -"I suppose you've heard of that case of hydrophobia at Bleakridge?" said -Brindley. - -Edward Henry's heart jumped. - -"No, I haven't," he said anxiously. "What is it?" - -He gazed at the white blur of Brindley's face in the darkened box, and -he could hear the rapid clicking of the cinematograph behind him. - -"Didn't you see it in the _Signal_?" - -"No." - -"Neither did I," said Brindley. - -At the same moment the moving pictures came to an end, the theatre was -filled with light, and the band began to play, "God Save the King." -Brindley and Stirling were laughing. And indeed, Brindley had scored, -this time, over the unparalleled card of the Five Towns. - -"I make you a present of that," said Edward Henry. "But my wife's most -precious infant has to be cauterized, Doctor," he added firmly. - -"Got your car here?" Stirling questioned. - -"No. Have you?" - -"No." - -"Well, there's the tram. I'll follow you later. I've some business -round this way. Persuade my wife not to worry, will you?" - -And when a discontented Dr. Stirling had made his excuses and adieux to -Mr. Bryany, and Robert Brindley had decided that he could not leave his -crony to travel by tram-car alone, and the two men had gone, then Edward -Henry turned to Mr. Bryany: - -"That's how I get rid of the doctor, you see." - -"But _has_ your child been bitten by a dog?" asked Mr. Bryany, acutely -perplexed. - -"You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?" Edward Henry replied, carefully -non-committal. "What price going to the Turk's Head now?" - -He remembered with satisfaction, and yet with misgiving, a remark made -to him, a judgment passed on him, by a very old woman very many years -before. This discerning hag, the Widow Hullins by name, had said to him -briefly, "Well, you're a queer 'un!" - - - - III. - - -Within five minutes he was following Mr. Bryany into a small parlour on -the first floor of the Turk's Head, a room with which he had no previous -acquaintance, though, like most industrious men of affairs in -metropolitan Hanbridge, he reckoned to know something about the Turk's -Head. Mr. Bryany turned up the gas (the Turk's Head took pride in being -a "hostelry," and, while it had accustomed itself to incandescent -mantles on the ground floor, it had not yet conquered a natural distaste -for electricity) and Edward Henry saw a smart despatch-box, a dress -suit, a trouser-stretcher, and other necessaries of theatrical business -life at large in the apartment. - -"I've never seen this room before," said Edward Henry. - -"Take your overcoat off and sit down, will you?" said Mr. Bryany as he -turned to replenish the fire from a bucket. "It's my private -sitting-room. Whenever I am on my travels, I always take a private -sitting-room. It pays, you know. Of course I mean if I'm alone. When -I'm looking after Mr. Sachs, of course we share a sitting-room." - -Edward Henry agreed lightly: - -"I suppose so." - -But the fact was that he was much impressed. He himself had never taken -a private sitting-room in any hotel. He had sometimes felt the desire, -but he had not had the "face," as they say down there, to do it. To -take a private sitting-room in a hotel was generally regarded in the -Five Towns as the very summit of dashing expensiveness and futile -luxury. - -"I didn't know they had private sitting-rooms in this shanty," said -Edward Henry. - -Mr. Bryany, having finished with the fire, fronted him, shovel in hand, -with a remarkable air of consummate wisdom, and replied: - -"You can generally get what you want if you insist on having it, even in -this 'shanty.'" - -Edward Henry regretted his use of the word "shanty." Inhabitants of the -Five Towns may allow themselves to twit the historic and excellent -Turk's Head, but they do not extend the privilege to strangers. And in -justice to the Turk's Head, it is to be clearly stated that it did no -more to cow and discourage travellers than any other provincial hotel in -England. It was a sound and serious English provincial hotel; and it -linked century to century. - -Said Mr. Bryany: - -"'Merica's the place for hotels." - -"Yes, I expect it is." - -"Been to Chicago?" - -"No, I haven't." - -Mr. Bryany, as he removed his overcoat, could be seen politely -forbearing to raise his eyebrows. - -"Of course you've been to New York?" - -Edward Henry would have given all he had in his pockets to be able to -say that he had been to New York, but, by some inexplicable negligence, -he had hitherto omitted to go to New York, and, being a truthful person, -except in the gravest crises, he was obliged to answer miserably: - -"No, I haven't." - -Mr. Bryany gazed at him with amazement and compassion, apparently -staggered by the discovery that there existed in England a man of the -world who had contrived to struggle on for forty years without -perfecting his education by a visit to New York. - -Edward Henry could not tolerate Mr. Bryany's look. It was a look which -he had never been able to tolerate on the features of anybody -whatsoever. He reminded himself that his secret object in accompanying -Mr. Bryany to the Turk's Head was to repay Mr. Bryany--in what coin he -knew not yet--for the aspersions which at the music-hall he had cast -upon England in general and upon the Five Towns in particular, and also -to get revenge for having been tricked into believing, even for a -moment, that there was really a case of hydrophobia at Bleakridge. It -is true that Mr. Bryany was innocent of this deception, which had been -accomplished by Robert Brindley, but that was a detail which did not -trouble Edward Henry, who lumped his grievances together--for -convenience. - -He had been reflecting that some sentimental people, unused to the ways -of paternal affection in the Five Towns, might consider him a rather -callous father; he had been reflecting, again, that Nellie's suggestion -of blood-poisoning might not be as entirely foolish as feminine -suggestions in such circumstances too often are. But now he put these -thoughts away, reassuring himself against hydrophobia anyhow, by the -recollection of the definite statement of the Encyclopedia. Moreover, -had he not inspected the wound--as healthy a wound as you could wish -for? - -And he said in a new tone, very curtly: - -"Now, Mr. Bryany, what about this little affair of yours?" - -He saw that Mr. Bryany accepted the implied rebuke with the deference -properly shown by a man who needs something towards the man in -possession of what he needs. And studying the fellow's countenance, he -decided that, despite its brassiness and simple cunning, it was scarcely -the countenance of a rascal. - -"Well, it's like this," said Mr. Bryany, sitting down opposite Edward -Henry at the centre table, and reaching with obsequious liveliness for -the despatch-box. - -He drew from the despatch-box, which was lettered "W.C.B.," first a -cut-glass flask of whisky, with a patent stopper, and then a spacious -box of cigarettes. - -"I always travel with the right sort," he remarked, holding the golden -liquid up to the light. "It's safer, and it saves any trouble with -orders after closing-time. These English hotels, you know--!" - -So saying, he dispensed whisky and cigarettes, there being a siphon and -glasses, and three matches in a match-stand, on the table. - -"Here's looking!" he said, with raised glass. - -And Edward Henry responded, in conformity with the changeless ritual of -the Five Towns: - -"I looks!" - -And they sipped. - -Whereupon Mr. Bryany next drew from the despatch-box a piece of -transparent paper. - -"I want you to look at this plan of Piccadilly Circus and environs," -said he. - -Now there is a Piccadilly in Hanbridge; also a Pall Mall, and a Chancery -Lane. The adjective "metropolitan," applied to Hanbridge is just. - -"London?" questioned Edward Henry. "I understood London when we were -chatting over there." With his elbow he indicated the music-hall, -somewhere vaguely outside the room. - -"London," said Mr. Bryany. - -And Edward Henry thought: - -"What on earth am I meddling with London for? What use should I be in -London?" - -"You see the plot marked in red?" Mr. Bryany proceeded. "Well, that's -the site. There's an old chapel on it now." - -"What do all these straight lines mean?" Edward Henry inquired, -examining the plan. Lines radiated from the red plot in various -directions. - -"Those are the lines of vision," said Mr. Bryany. "They show just where -an electric sign at the corner of the front of the proposed theatre -could be seen from. You notice the site is not in the Circus itself--a -shade to the north." Mr. Bryany's finger approached Edward Henry's on -the plan and the clouds from their cigarettes fraternally mingled. "Now -you see by those lines that the electric sign of the proposed theatre -would be visible from nearly the whole of Piccadilly Circus, parts of -Lower Regent Street, Coventry Street, and even Shaftesbury Avenue. You -see what a site it is--absolutely unique." - -Edward Henry asked coldly: - -"Have you bought it?" - -"No," Mr. Bryany seemed to apologise, "I haven't exactly bought it; but -I've got an option on it." - -The magic word "option" wakened the drowsy speculator in Edward Henry. -And the mere act of looking at the plan endowed the plot of land with -reality. There it was. It existed. - -"An option to buy it?" - -"You can't buy land in the West End of London," said Mr. Bryany sagely. -"You can only lease it." - -"Well, of course," Edward Henry concurred. - -"The freehold belongs to Lord Woldo, now aged six months." - -"Really!" murmured Edward Henry. - -"I've got an option to take up the remainder of the lease, with -sixty-four years to run, on the condition I put up a theatre. And the -option expires in exactly a fortnight's time." - -Edward Henry frowned, and then asked: - -"What are the figures?" - -"That is to say," Mr. Bryany corrected himself, smiling courteously, -"I've got half the option." - -"And who's got the other half?" - -"Rose Euclid's got the other half." - -At the mention of the name of one of the most renowned star actresses in -England, Edward Henry excusably started. - -"Not _the_--?" he exclaimed. - -Mr. Bryany nodded proudly, blowing out much smoke. - -"Tell me," asked Edward Henry, confidentially, leaning forward, "where -do those ladies get their names from?" - -"It happens in this case to be her real name," said Mr. Bryany. "Her -father kept a tobacconists' shop in Cheapside. The sign was kept up for -many years, until Rose paid to have it changed." - -"Well, well!" breathed Edward Henry, secretly thrilled by these -extraordinary revelations. "And so you and she have got it between -you?" - -Mr. Bryany said: - -"I bought half of it from her some time ago. She was badly hard up for a -hundred pounds, and I let her have the money." He threw away his -cigarette half-smoked, with a free gesture that seemed to imply that he -was capable of parting with a hundred pounds just as easily. - -"How did she _get_ the option?" Edward Henry inquired, putting into the -query all the innuendo of a man accustomed to look at great worldly -affairs from the inside. - -"How did she get it? She got it from the late Lord Woldo. She was -always very friendly with the late Lord Woldo, you know." Edward Henry -nodded. "Why, she and the Countess of Chell are as thick as thieves! -You know something about the countess down here, I reckon?" - -The Countess of Chell was the wife of the supreme local magnate. - -Edward Henry answered calmly, "We do." - -He was tempted to relate a unique adventure of his youth, when he had -driven the countess to a public meeting in his mule-carriage; but sheer -pride kept him silent. - -"I asked you for the figures," he added in a manner which requested Mr. -Bryany to remember that he was the founder, chairman, and proprietor of -the Five Towns Universal Thrift Club, one of the most successful -business organisations in the Midlands. - -"Here they are," said Mr. Bryany, passing across the table a sheet of -paper. - -And as Edward Henry studied them he could hear Mr. Bryany faintly cooing -into his ear: "Of course Rose got the ground-rent reduced. And when I -tell you that the demand for theatres in the West End far exceeds the -supply, and that theatre rents are always going up; when I tell you that -a theatre costing L25,000 to build can be let for L11,000 a year, and -often L300 a week on a short term--" And he could hear the gas singing -over his head; and also, unhappily, he could hear Dr. Stirling talking -to his wife and saying to her that the bite was far more serious than it -looked, and Nellie hoping very audibly that nothing had "happened" to -him, her still absent husband. And then he could hear Mr. Bryany again: - -"When I tell you--" - -"When you tell me all this, Mr. Bryany," he interrupted with the -ferocity which in the Five Towns is regarded as mere directness, "I -wonder why the devil you want to sell your half of the option if you -_do_ want to sell it. Do you want to sell it?" - -"To tell you the truth," said Mr. Bryany as if up to that moment he had -told naught but lies, "I do." - -"Why?" - -"Oh, I'm always travelling about, you see. England one day, America the -next." Apparently he had quickly abandoned the strictness of veracity. -"All depends on the governor's movements. I couldn't keep a proper eye -on an affair of that kind." - -Edward Henry laughed: - -"And could I?" - -"Chance for you to go a bit oftener to London," said Mr. Bryany, -laughing too. Then, with extreme and convincing seriousness, "You're -the very man for a thing of that kind. And you know it." - -Edward Henry was not displeased by this flattery. - -"How much?" - -"How much? Well, I told you frankly what I paid. I made no concealment -of that, did I now? Well, I want what I paid. It's worth it!" - -"Got a copy of the option, I hope!" - -Mr. Bryany produced a copy of the option. - -"I am nothing but an infernal ass to mix myself up in a mad scheme like -this," said Edward Henry to his soul, perusing the documents. "It's -right off my line, right bang off it. But what a lark!" But even to -his soul he did not utter the remainder of the truth about himself, -namely, "I should like to cut a dash before this insufferable patroniser -of England and the Five Towns." - -Suddenly something snapped within him, and he said to Mr. Bryany: - -"I'm on!" - -Those words and no more! - -"You are?" Mr. Bryany exclaimed, mistrusting his ears. - -Edward Henry nodded. - -"Well, that's business anyway," said Mr. Bryany, taking a fresh -cigarette and lighting it. - -"It's how we do business down here," said Edward Henry, quite -inaccurately; for it was not in the least how they did business down -there. - -Mr. Bryany asked, with a rather obvious anxiety: - -"But when can you pay? - -"Oh, I'll send you a cheque in a day or two." And Edward Henry in his -turn took a fresh cigarette. - -"That won't do! That won't do!" cried Mr. Bryany. "I absolutely must -have the money to-morrow morning in London. I can sell the option in -London for eighty pounds, I know that." - -"You must have it?" - -"Must!" - -They exchanged glances. And Edward Henry, rapidly acquiring new -knowledge of human nature on the threshold of a world strange to him, -understood that Mr. Bryany, with his private sitting-room and his -investments in Seattle and Calgary, was at his wits' end for a bag of -English sovereigns, and had trusted to some chance encounter to save him -from a calamity. And his contempt for Mr. Bryany was that of a man to -whom his bankers are positively servile. - -"Here," Mr. Bryany almost shouted, "don't light your cigarette with my -option!" - -"I beg pardon," Edward Henry apologised, dropping the document which he -had creased into a spill. There were no matches left on the table. - -"I'll find you a match." - -"It's of no consequence," said Edward Henry, feeling in his pockets. -Having discovered therein a piece of paper, he twisted it and rose to -put it to the gas. - -"Could you slip round to your bank and meet me at the station in the -morning with the cash?" suggested Mr. Bryany. - -"No, I couldn't," said Edward Henry. - -"Well, then, what--?" - -"Here, you'd better take this," the Card, reborn, soothed his host, and, -blowing out the spill which he had just ignited at the gas, he offered -it to Mr. Bryany. - -"What?" - -"This, man!" - -Mr. Bryany, observing the peculiarity of the spill, seized it and -unrolled it, not without a certain agitation. - -He stammered: - -"Do you mean to say it's genuine?" - -"You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?" said Edward Henry. He was -growing fond of this reply, and of the enigmatic playful tone that he -had invented for it. - -"But--" - -"We may, as you say, look twice at a fiver," continued Edward Henry, -"but we're apt to be careless about hundred-pound notes in this -district. I daresay that's why I always carry one." - -"But it's burnt!" - -"Only just the edge, not enough to harm it. If any bank in England -refuses it, return it to me, and I'll give you a couple more in -exchange. Is that talking?" - -"Well, I'm dashed!" Mr. Bryany attempted to rise, and then subsided -back into his chair. "I am simply and totally dashed!" He smiled -weakly, hysterically. - -And in that instant Edward Henry felt all the sweetness of a complete -and luscious revenge. - -He said commandingly: - -"You must sign me a transfer. I'll dictate it." - -Then he jumped up. - -"You're in a hurry?" - -"I am. My wife is expecting me. You promised to find me a match." -Edward Henry waved the unlit cigarette as a reproach to Mr. Bryany's -imperfect hospitality. - - - - IV. - - -The clock of Bleakridge Church, still imperturbably shining in the -night, showed a quarter to one when he saw it again on his hurried and -guilty way home. The pavements were drying in the fresh night wind, and -he had his overcoat buttoned up to the neck. He was absolutely solitary -in the long, muddy perspective of Trafalgar Road. He walked because the -last tram-car was already housed in its shed at the other end of the -world, and he walked quickly because his conscience drove him onwards. -And yet he dreaded to arrive, lest a wound in the child's leg should -have maliciously decided to fester in order to put him in the wrong. He -was now as apprehensive concerning that wound as Nellie herself had been -at tea-time. - -But in his mind, above the dark gulf of anxiety, there floated brighter -thoughts. Despite his fears and his remorse as a father, he laughed -aloud in the deserted street when he remembered Mr. Bryany's visage of -astonishment upon uncreasing the note. Indubitably, he made a terrific -and everlasting impression upon Mr. Bryany. He was sending Mr. Bryany -out of the Five Towns a different man. He had taught Mr. Bryany a thing -or two. To what brilliant use had he turned the purely accidental -possession of a hundred-pound note! One of his finest inspirations--an -inspiration worthy of the great days of his youth! Yes, he had had his -hour that evening, and it had been a glorious one. Also, it had cost him -a hundred pounds, and he did not care; he would retire to bed with a net -gain of two hundred and forty-one pounds instead of three hundred and -forty-one pounds, that was all. - -For he did not mean to take up the option. The ecstasy was cooled now, -and he saw clearly that London and theatrical enterprises therein would -not be suited to his genius. In the Five Towns he was on his own -ground; he was a figure; he was sure of himself. In London he would be -a provincial, with the diffidence and the uncertainty of a provincial. -Nevertheless, London seemed to be summoning him from afar off, and he -dreamt agreeably of London as one dreams of the impossible East. - -As soon as he opened the gate in the wall of his property, he saw that -the drawing-room was illuminated and all the other front rooms in -darkness. Either his wife or his mother, then, was sitting up in the -drawing-room. He inserted a cautious latch-key into the door, and -entered the silent home like a sinner. The dim light in the hall -gravely reproached him. All his movements were modest and restrained; -no noisy rattling of his stick now. - -The drawing-room door was slightly ajar. He hesitated, and then, -nerving himself, pushed against it. - -Nellie, with lowered head, was seated at a table, mending, the image of -tranquillity and soft resignation. A pile of children's garments lay by -her side, but the article in her busy hands appeared to be an undershirt -of his own. None but she ever reinforced the buttons on his linen. -Such was her wifely rule, and he considered that there was no sense in -it. She was working by the light of a single lamp on the table, the -splendid chandelier being out of action. Her economy in the use of -electricity was incurable, and he considered that there was no sense in -that either. - -She glanced up with a guarded expression that might have meant anything. - -He said: - -"Aren't you trying your eyes?" - -And she replied: - -"Oh, no!" - -Then, plunging, he came to the point: - -"Well, doctor been here?" - -She nodded. - -"What does he say?" - -"It's quite all right. He did nothing but cover up the place with a bit -of cyanide gauze." - -Instantly, in his own esteem, he regained perfection as a father. Of -course the bite was nothing! Had he not said so from the first? Had he -not been quite sure throughout that the bite was nothing? - -"Then why did you sit up?" he asked, and there was a faint righteous -challenge in his tone. - -"I was anxious about you. I was afraid--" - -"Didn't Stirling tell you I had some business?" - -"I forget--" - -"I told him to, anyhow--important business." - -"It must have been," said Nellie in an inscrutable voice. - -She rose and gathered together her paraphernalia, and he saw that she -was wearing the damnable white apron. The close atmosphere of the home -enveloped and stifled him once more. How different was this -exasperating interior from the large jolly freedom of the Empire Music -Hall, and from the whisky, cigarettes, and masculinity of that private -room at the Turk's Head! - -"It was!" he repeated grimly and resentfully. "Very important! And I'll -tell you another thing, I shall probably have to go to London." - -He said this just to startle her. - -"It will do you all the good in the world," she replied angelically, but -unstartled. "It's just what you need." And she gazed at him as though -his welfare and felicity were her sole preoccupation. - -"I meant I might have to stop there quite a while," he insisted. - -"If you ask me," she said, "I think it would do us all good." - -So saying she retired, having expressed no curiosity whatever as to the -nature of the very important business in London. - -For a moment, left alone, he was at a loss. Then, snorting, he went to -the table and extinguished the lamp. He was now in darkness. The light -in the hall showed him the position of the door. - -He snorted again. "Oh, very well then!" he muttered. "If that's it! -I'm hanged if I don't go to London! I'm hanged if I don't go to -London!" - - - - - CHAPTER III - - WILKINS'S - - I. - -The early adventures of Alderman Machin of Bursley at Wilkins' Hotel, -London, were so singular and to him so refreshing that they must be -recounted in some detail. - -He went to London by the morning express from Knype, on the Monday week -after his visit to the music-hall. In the meantime he had had some -correspondence with Mr. Bryany, more poetic than precise, about the -option, and had informed Mr. Bryany that he would arrive in London -several days before the option expired. But he had not given a definite -date. The whole affair, indeed, was amusingly vague; and, despite his -assurances to his wife that the matter was momentous, he did not regard -his trip to London as a business trip at all, but rather as a simple -freakish change of air. The one certain item in the whole situation was -that he had in his pocket a quite considerable sum of actual money, -destined--he hoped but was not sure--to take up the option at the proper -hour. - -Nellie, impeccable to the last, accompanied him in the motor to Knype, -the main-line station. The drive, superficially pleasant, was in -reality very disconcerting to him. For nine days the household had -talked in apparent cheerfulness of Father's visit to London, as though -it were an occasion for joy on Father's behalf, tempered by affectionate -sorrow for his absence. The official theory was that all was for the -best in the best of all possible homes, and this theory was admirably -maintained. And yet everybody knew--even to Maisie--that it was not so; -everybody knew that the master and the mistress of the home, calm and -sweet as was their demeanour, were contending in a terrific silent and -mysterious altercation, which in some way was connected with the visit -to London. So far as Edward Henry was concerned, he had been hoping for -some decisive event--a tone, gesture, glance, pressure--during the drive -to Knype, which offered the last chance of a real concord. No such -event occurred. They conversed with the same false cordiality as had -marked their relations since the evening of the dog-bite. On that -evening Nellie had suddenly transformed herself into a distressingly -perfect angel, and not once had she descended from her high estate. At -least daily she had kissed him--what kisses! Kisses that were not -kisses! Tasteless mockeries, like non-alcoholic ale! He could have -killed her, but he could not put a finger on a fault in her marvellous -wifely behaviour; she would have died victorious. - -So that his freakish excursion was not starting very auspiciously. And, -waiting with her for the train on the platform at Knype, he felt this -more and more. His old clerk Penkethman was there to receive certain -final instructions on Thrift Club matters, and the sweetness of Nellie's -attitude towards the ancient man, and the ancient's man's naive pleasure -therein, positively maddened Edward Henry. To such an extent that he -began to think: "Is she going to spoil my trip for me?" - -Then Brindley came up. Brindley, too, was going to London. And -Nellie's saccharine assurances to Brindley that Edward Henry really -needed a change just about completed Edward Henry's desperation. Not -even the uproarious advent of two jolly wholesale grocers, Messieurs -Garvin and Quorrall, also going to London, could effectually lighten his -pessimism. - -When the train steamed in, Edward Henry, in fear, postponed the ultimate -kiss as long as possible. He allowed Brindley to climb before him into -the second-class compartment, and purposely tarried in finding change -for the porter; and then he turned to Nellie, and stooped. She raised -her white veil and raised the angelic face. They kissed,--the same -false kiss,--and she was withdrawing her lips. But suddenly she put them -again to his for one second, with a hysterical clinging pressure. It -was nothing. Nobody could have noticed it. She herself pretended that -she had not done it. Edward Henry had to pretend not to notice it. But -to him it was everything. She had relented. She had surrendered. The -sign had come from her. She wished him to enjoy his visit to London. - -He said to himself: - -"Dashed if I don't write to her every day!" - -He leaned out of the window as the train rolled away, and waved and -smiled to her, not concealing his sentiments now; nor did she conceal -hers as she replied with exquisite pantomime to his signals. But if the -train had not been rapidly and infallibly separating them, the -reconciliation could scarcely have been thus open. If for some reason -the train had backed into the station and ejected its passengers, those -two would have covered up their feelings again in an instant. Such is -human nature in the Five Towns. - -When Edward Henry withdrew his head into the compartment, Brindley and -Mr. Garvin, the latter standing at the corridor door, observed that his -spirits had shot up in the most astonishing manner, and in their -blindness they attributed the phenomenon to Edward Henry's delight in a -temporary freedom from domesticity. - -Mr. Garvin had come from the neighbouring compartment, which was -first-class, to suggest a game at bridge. Messieurs Garvin and Quorrall -journeyed to London once a week and sometimes oftener, and, being -traders, they had special season-tickets. They travelled first-class -because their special season-tickets were first-class. Brindley said -that he didn't mind a game, but that he had not the slightest intention -of paying excess fare for the privilege. Mr. Garvin told him to come -along and trust in Messieurs Garvin and Quorrall. Edward Henry, not -nowadays an enthusiastic card-player, enthusiastically agreed to join -the hand, and announced that he did not care if he paid forty excess -fares. Whereupon Robert Brindley grumbled enviously that it was "all -very well for millionaires..." They followed Mr. Garvin into the -first-class compartment; and it soon appeared that Messrs. Garvin and -Quorrall did in fact own the train, and that the London and North -Western Railway was no more than their wash-pot. - -"Bring us a cushion from somewhere, will ye?" said Mr. Quorrall casually -to a ticket-collector who entered. - -And the resplendent official obeyed. The long cushion, rapt from -another compartment, was placed on the knees of the quartette, and the -game began. The ticket-collector examined the tickets of Brindley and -Edward Henry, and somehow failed to notice that they were of the wrong -colour. And at this proof of their influential greatness, Messieurs -Garvin and Quorrall were both secretly proud. - -The last rubber finished in the neighbourhood of Willesden, and Edward -Henry, having won eighteen pence halfpenny, was exuberantly content, for -Messrs. Garvin, Quorrall, and Brindley were all renowned card-players. -The cushion was thrown away, and a fitful conversation occupied the few -remaining minutes of the journey. - -"Where do you put up?" Brindley asked Edward Henry. - -"Majestic," said Edward Henry. "Where do you?" - -"Oh! Kingsway, I suppose." - -The Majestic and the Kingsway were two of the half-dozen very large and -very mediocre hotels in London which, from causes which nobody, and -especially no American, has ever been able to discover, are particularly -affected by Midland provincials "on the jaunt." Both had an immense -reputation in the Five Towns. - -There was nothing new to say about the Majestic and the Kingsway, and -the talk flagged until Mr. Quorrall mentioned Seven Sachs. The mighty -Seven Sachs, in his world-famous play, "Overheard," had taken precedence -of all other topics in the Five Towns during the previous week. He had -crammed the theatre and half emptied the Empire Music Hall for six -nights; a wonderful feat. Incidentally, his fifteen hundredth appearance -in "Overheard" had taken place in the Five Towns, and the Five Towns had -found in this fact a peculiar satisfaction, as though some deep merit -had thereby been acquired or rewarded. Seven Sachs's tour was now -closed, and on the Sunday he had gone to London, en route for America. - -"I heard _he_ stops at Wilkins's," said Mr. Garvin. - -"Wilkins's your grandmother!" Brindley essayed to crush Mr. Garvin. - -"I don't say he _does_ stop at Wilkins's," said Mr. Garvin, an -individual not easy to crush, "I only say I heard as he did." - -"They wouldn't have him!" Brindley insisted firmly. - -Mr. Quorrall at any rate seemed tacitly to agree with Brindley. The -august name of Wilkins's was in its essence so exclusive that vast -numbers of fairly canny provincials had never heard of it. Ask ten -well-informed provincials which is the first hotel in London, and nine -of them would certainly reply, the Grand Babylon. Not that even wealthy -provincials from the industrial districts are in the habit of staying at -the Grand Babylon! No! Edward Henry, for example, had never stayed at -the Grand Babylon, no more than he had ever bought a first-class ticket -on a railroad. The idea of doing so had scarcely occurred to him. -There are certain ways of extravagant smartness which are not considered -to be good form among solid wealthy provincials. Why travel first-class -(they argue), when second is just as good and no one can tell the -difference once you get out of the train? Why ape the tricks of another -stratum of society? They like to read about the dinner-parties and -supper-parties at the Grand Babylon; but they are not emulous, and they -do not imitate. At their most adventurous they would lunch or dine in -the neutral region of the grill-room at the Grand Babylon. As for -Wilkins's, in Devonshire Square, which is infinitely better known among -princes than in the Five Towns, and whose name is affectionately -pronounced with a "V" by half the monarchs of Europe, few industrial -provincials had ever seen it. The class which is the back-bone of -England left it serenely alone to royalty and the aristocratic parasites -of royalty. - -"I don't see why they shouldn't have him," said Edward Henry, as he -lifted a challenging nose in the air. - -"Perhaps you don't, Alderman!" said Brindley. - -"_I_ wouldn't mind going to Wilkins's," Edward Henry persisted. - -"I'd like to see you," said Brindley, with curt scorn. - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "I'll bet you a fiver I do." Had he not won -eighteen pence half-penny? And was he not securely at peace with his -wife? - -"I don't bet fivers," said the cautious Brindley. "But I'll bet you half -a crown." - -"Done!" said Edward Henry. - -"When will you go?" - -"Either to-day or to-morrow. I must go to the Majestic first, because -I've ordered a room and so on." - -"Ha!" hurled Brindley, as if to insinuate that Edward Henry was seeking -to escape from the consequences of his boast. - -And yet he ought to have known Edward Henry. He did know Edward Henry. -And he hoped to lose his half-crown. On his face and on the faces of -the other two was the cheerful admission that tales of the doings of -Alderman Machin, the great local card, at Wilkins's--if he succeeded in -getting in--would be cheap at half a crown. - -Porters cried out "Euston!" - - - - II. - - -It was rather late in the afternoon when Edward Henry arrived in front -of the facade of Wilkins's. He came in a taxicab, and though the -distance from the Majestic to Wilkins's is not more than a couple of -miles, and he had had nothing else to preoccupy him after lunch, he had -spent some three hours in the business of transferring himself from the -portals of the one hotel to the portals of the other. Two hours and -three-quarters of this period of time had been passed in finding courage -merely to start. Even so, he had left his luggage behind him. He said -to himself that, first of all, he would go and spy out Wilkins's; in the -perilous work of scouting he rightly wished to be unhampered by -impedimenta; moreover, in case of repulse or accident, he must have a -base of operations upon which he could retreat in good order. - -He now looked on Wilkins's for the first time in his life; and he was -even more afraid of it than he had been while thinking about it in the -vestibule of the Majestic. It was not larger than the Majestic; it was -perhaps smaller; it could not show more terra cotta, plate glass, and -sculptured cornice than the Majestic. But it had a demeanour ... and it -was in a square which had a demeanour.... In every window-sill--not only -of the hotel, but of nearly every mighty house in the square--there were -boxes of bright-blooming flowers. These he could plainly distinguish in -the October dusk, and they were a wonderful phenomenon--say what you -will about the mildness of that particular October! A sublime -tranquillity reigned over the scene. A liveried keeper was locking the -gate of the garden in the middle of the square as if potentates had just -quitted it and rendered it forever sacred. And between the sacred -shadowed grove and the inscrutable fronts of the stately houses, there -flitted automobiles of the silent and expensive kind, driven by -chauffeurs in pale grey or dark purple, who reclined as they steered, -and who were supported on their left sides by footmen who reclined as -they contemplated the grandeur of existence. - -Edward Henry's taxicab in that square seemed like a homeless cat that -had strayed into a dog-show. - -At the exact instant when the taxicab came to rest under the massive -portico of Wilkins's, a chamberlain in white gloves bravely soiled the -gloves by seizing the vile brass handle of its door. He bowed to Edward -Henry, and assisted him to alight on to a crimson carpet. The driver of -the taxi glanced with pert and candid scorn at the chamberlain, but -Edward Henry looked demurely aside, and then in abstraction mounted the -broad carpeted steps. - -"What about poor little me?" cried the driver, who was evidently a -ribald socialist, or at best a republican. - -The chamberlain, pained, glanced at Edward Henry for support and -direction in this crisis. - -"Didn't I tell you I'd keep you?" said Edward Henry, raised now by the -steps above the driver. - -"Between you and me, you didn't," said the driver. - -The chamberlain, with an ineffable gesture, wafted the taxicab away into -some limbo appointed for waiting vehicles. - -A page opened a pair of doors, and another page opened another pair of -doors, each with eighteen-century ceremonies of deference, and Edward -Henry stood at length in the hall of Wilkins's. The sanctuary, then, was -successfully defiled, and up to the present nobody had demanded his -credentials! He took breath. - -In its physical aspects Wilkins's appeared to him to resemble other -hotels--such as the Majestic. And so far he was not mistaken. Once -Wilkins's had not resembled other hotels. For many years it had -deliberately refused to recognise that even the Nineteenth Century had -dawned, and its magnificent antique discomfort had been one of its main -attractions to the elect. For the elect desired nothing but their own -privileged society in order to be happy in a hotel. A hip bath on a -blanket in the middle of the bedroom floor richly sufficed them, -provided they could be guaranteed against the calamity of meeting the -unelect in the corridors or at _table d'hote_. But the rising waters of -democracy--the intermixture of classes--had reacted adversely on -Wilkins's. The fall of the Emperor Maximilian of Mexico had given -Wilkins's sad food for thought long, long ago, and the obvious general -weakening of the monarchical principle had most considerably shaken it. -Came the day when Wilkins's reluctantly decided that even it could not -fight against the tendency of the whole world, and then, at one superb -stroke, it had rebuilt and brought itself utterly up-to-date. - -Thus it resembled other hotels. (Save possibly in the reticence of its -advertisements! The Majestic would advertise bathrooms as a miracle of -modernity, just as though common dwelling-houses had not possessed -bathrooms for the past thirty years. Wilkins's had superlative -bathrooms, but it said nothing about them. Wilkins's would as soon have -advertised two hundred bathrooms as two hundred bolsters; and for the -new Wilkins's a bathroom was not more modern than a bolster.) Also, -other hotels resembled Wilkins's. The Majestic, too, had a chamberlain -at its portico, and an assortment of pages to prove to its clients that -they were incapable of performing the simplest act for themselves. -Nevertheless, the difference between Wilkins's and the Majestic was -enormous; and yet so subtle was it that Edward Henry could not -immediately detect where it resided. Then he understood. The -difference between Wilkins's and the Majestic resided in the theory -which underlay its manner. And the theory was that every person -entering its walls was of royal blood until he had admitted the -contrary. - -Within the hotel it was already night. - -Edward Henry self-consciously crossed the illuminated hall, which was -dotted with fashionable figures. He knew not whither he was going, -until by chance he saw a golden grille with the word "Reception" shining -over it in letters of gold. Behind this grille, and still further -protected by an impregnable mahogany counter, stood three young dandies -in attitudes of graceful ease. He approached them. The fearful moment -was upon him. He had never in his life been so genuinely frightened. -Abject disgrace might be his portion within the next ten seconds. - -Addressing himself to the dandy in the middle, he managed to articulate: - -"What have you got in the way of rooms?" - -Could the Five Towns have seen him then, as he waited, it would hardly -have recognised its "card," its character, its mirror of aplomb and -inventive audacity, in this figure of provincial and plebeian -diffidence. - -The dandy bowed. - -"Do you want a suite, sir?" - -"Certainly!" said Edward Henry. Rather too quickly, rather too -defiantly; in fact, rather rudely! A habitue would not have so savagely -hurled back in the dandy's teeth the insinuation that he wanted only one -paltry room. - -However, the dandy smiled, accepting with meekness Edward Henry's sudden -arrogance, and consulted a sort of pentateuch that was open in front of -him. - -No person in the hall saw Edward Henry's hat fly up into the air and -fall back on his head. But in the imagination of Edward Henry, that was -what his hat did. - -He was saved. He would have a proud tale for Brindley. The thing was -as simple as the alphabet. You just walked in and they either fell on -your neck or kissed your feet. - -Wilkins's indeed! - -A very handsome footman, not only in white gloves but in white calves, -was soon supplicating him to deign to enter a lift. And when he emerged -from the lift another dandy--in a frock-coat of Paradise--was awaiting -him with obeisances. Apparently it had not yet occurred to anybody that -he was not the younger son of some aged king. - -He was prayed to walk into a gorgeous suite consisting of a corridor, a -noble drawing-room (with portrait of His Majesty of Spain on the walls), -a large bedroom with two satinwood beds, a small bedroom, and a -bathroom, all gleaming with patent devices in porcelain and silver that -fully equalled those at home. - -Asked if this suite would do, he said it would, trying as well as he -could to imply that he had seen better. Then the dandy produced a -note-book and a pencil, and impassively waited. The horrid fact that he -was un-elect could no longer be concealed. "E. H. Machin, Bursley," he -said shortly, and added: "Alderman Machin." After all, why should he be -ashamed of being an alderman? - -To his astonishment the dandy smiled very cordially, though always with -profound respect. - -"Ah, yes!" said the dandy. It was as though he had said: "We have long -wished for the high patronage of this great reputation." Edward Henry -could make naught of it. - -His opinion of Wilkins's went down. - -He followed the departing dandy up the corridor to the door of the suite -in an entirely vain attempt to enquire the price of the suite per day. -Not a syllable would pass his lips. The dandy bowed and vanished. -Edward Henry stood lost at his own door, and his wandering eye caught -sight of a pile of trunks near to another door in the main corridor. -These trunks gave him a terrible shock. He shut out the rest of the -hotel and retired into his private corridor to reflect. He perceived -only too plainly that his luggage, now at the Majestic, never could come -into Wilkins's. It was not fashionable enough. It lacked elegance. -The lounge suit that he was wearing might serve, but his luggage was -totally impossible. Never before had he imagined that the aspect of -one's luggage could have the least importance in one's scheme of -existence. He was learning, and he frankly admitted that he was in an -incomparable mess. - - - - III. - - -At the end of an extensive stroll through and round his new vast domain, -he had come to no decision upon a course of action. Certain details of -the strange adventure pleased him--as for instance the dandy's welcoming -recognition of his name; that, though puzzling, was a source of comfort -to him in his difficulties. He also liked the suite; nay more, he was -much impressed by its gorgeousness, and such novel complications as the -forked electric switches, all of which he turned on, and the double -windows, one within the other, appealed to the domestic expert in him; -indeed, he at once had the idea of doubling the window of the best -bedroom at home; to do so would be a fierce blow to the Five Towns -Electric Traction Company, which, as everybody knew, delighted to keep -everybody awake at night and at dawn by means of its late and its early -tram-cars. However, he could not wander up and down the glittering -solitude of his extensive suite for ever. Something must be done. Then -he had the notion of writing to Nellie; he had promised himself to write -to her daily; moreover, it would pass the time and perhaps help him to -some resolution. - -He sat down to a delicate Louis XVI desk on which lay a Bible, a -Peerage, a telephone-book, a telephone, a lamp, and much distinguished -stationery. Between the tasselled folds of plushy curtains that pleated -themselves with the grandeur of painted curtains in a theatre, he -glanced out at the lights of Devonshire Square, from which not a sound -came. Then he lit the lamp and unscrewed his fountain pen. - -"My dear wife--" - -That was how he always began, whether in storm or sunshine. Nellie -always began, "My darling husband"; but he was not a man to fling -darlings about. Few husbands in the Five Towns are. He thought -"darling," but he never wrote it, and he never said it, save quizzingly. - -After these three words the composition of the letter came to a pause. -What was he going to tell Nellie? He assuredly was not going to tell -her that he had engaged an unpriced suite at Wilkins's. He was not -going to mention Wilkins's. Then he intelligently perceived that the -note-paper and also the envelope mentioned Wilkins's in no ambiguous -manner. He tore up the sheet and searched for plain paper. Now, on the -desk there was the ordinary hotel stationery, mourning stationery, -cards, letter-cards, and envelopes for every mood; but not a piece that -was not embossed with the historic name in royal blue. The which -appeared to Edward Henry to point to a defect of foresight on the part -of Wilkins's. At the gigantic political club to which he belonged, and -which he had occasionally visited in order to demonstrate to himself and -others that he was a club-man, plain stationery was everywhere provided -for the use of husbands with a taste for reticence. Why not at -Wilkins's also? - -On the other hand, why should he not write to his wife on Wilkins's -paper? Was he afraid of his wife? He was not. Would not the news -ultimately reach Bursley that he had stayed at Wilkins's? It would. -Nevertheless, he could not find the courage to write to Nellie on -Wilkins's paper. - -He looked around. He was fearfully alone. He wanted the companionship, -were it only momentary, of something human. He decided to have a look -at a flunkey, and he rang a bell. - -Immediately, just as though wafted thither on a magic carpet, from the -court of Austria, a gentleman in waiting arrived in the doorway of the -drawing-room, planted himself gracefully on his black silk calves, and -bowed. - -"I want some plain note-paper, please." - -"Very good, sir." Oh! Perfection of tone and of mien! - -Three minutes later the plain note-paper and envelopes were being -presented to Edward Henry on a salver. As he took them, he looked -enquiringly at the gentleman in waiting, who supported his gaze with an -impenetrable, invulnerable servility. Edward Henry, beaten off with -great loss, thought: "There's nothing doing here just now in the human -companionship line," and assumed the mask of a hereditary prince. - -The black calves carried away their immaculate living burden, set above -all earthly ties. - -He wrote nicely to Nellie about the weather and the journey, and -informed her also that London seemed as full as ever, and that he might -go to the theatre, but he wasn't sure. He dated the letter from the -Majestic. - -As he was finishing it, he heard mysterious, disturbing footfalls in his -private corridor, and after trying for some time to ignore them, he was -forced by a vague alarm to investigate their origin. A short -middle-aged, pallid man, with a long nose and long moustaches, wearing a -red and black-striped sleeved waistcoat and a white apron, was in the -corridor. At the Turk's Head such a person would have been the boots. -But Edward Henry remembered a notice under the bell, advising visitors -to ring once for the waiter, twice for the chambermaid, and three times -for the valet. This, then, was the valet. In certain picturesque -details of costume Wilkins's was coquettishly French. - -"What is it?" he demanded. - -"I came to see if your luggage had arrived, sir. No doubt your servant -is bringing it. Can I be of any assistance to you?" - -The man thoughtfully twirled one end of his moustache. It was an -appalling fault in demeanour; but the man was proud of his moustache. - -"The first human being I've met here!" thought Edward Henry, attracted -too by a gleam in the eye of this eternal haunter of corridors. - -"His servant!" He saw that something must be done, and quickly. -Wilkins's provided valets for emergencies, but obviously it expected -visitors to bring their own valets in addition. Obviously existence -without a private valet was inconceivable to Wilkins's. - -"The fact is," said Edward Henry, "I'm in a very awkward situation." He -hesitated, seeking to and fro in his mind for particulars of the -situation. - -"Sorry to hear that, sir." - -"Yes, a very awkward position." He hesitated again. "I'd booked -passages for myself and my valet on the _Minnetonka_, sailing from -Tilbury at noon to-day, and sent him on in front with my stuff, and at -the very last moment I've been absolutely prevented from sailing! You -see how awkward it is! I haven't a thing here." - -"It is indeed, sir! And I suppose _he's_ gone on, sir?" - -"Of course he has! He wouldn't find out till after she sailed that I -wasn't on board. You know the crush and confusion there is on those big -liners just before they start." Edward Henry had once assisted, under -very dramatic circumstances, at the departure of a transatlantic liner -from Liverpool. - -"Just so, sir!" - -"I've neither servant nor clothes!" He considered that so far he was -doing admirably. Indeed, the tale could not have been bettered, he -thought. His hope was that the fellow would not have the idea of -consulting the shipping intelligence in order to confirm the departure -of the _Minnetonka_ from Tilbury that day. Possibly the _Minnetonka_ -never had sailed and never would sail from Tilbury. Possibly she had -been sold years ago. He had selected the first ship's name that came -into his head. What did it matter? - -"My man," he added to clinch--the proper word "man" had only just -occurred to him--"my man can't be back again under three weeks at the -soonest." - -The valet made one half-eager step towards him. - -"If you're wanting a temporary valet, sir, my son's out of a place for -the moment--through no fault of his own. He's a very good valet, sir, -and soon learns a gentleman's ways." - -"Yes," said Edward Henry judiciously. "But could he come at once? -That's the point." And he looked at his watch, as if to imply that -another hour without a valet would be more than human nature could -stand. - -"I could have him round here in less than an hour, sir," said the hotel -valet, comprehending the gesture. "He's at Norwich Mews--Berkeley -Square way, sir." - -Edward Henry hesitated. - -"Very well, then!" he said commandingly. "Send for him. Let me see -him." - -He thought: - -"Dash it! I'm at Wilkins's--I'll be _at_ Wilkins's!" - -"Certainly, sir! Thank you very much, sir." - -The hotel valet was retiring when Edward Henry called him back. - -"Stop a moment. I'm just going out. Help me on with my overcoat, will -you?" - -The man jumped. - -"And you might get me a tooth-brush," Edward Henry airily suggested. -"And I've a letter for the post." - -As he walked down Devonshire Square in the dark, he hummed a tune: -certain sign that he was self-conscious, uneasy, and yet not unhappy. -At a small but expensive hosier's in a side street he bought a shirt and -a suit of pajamas, and also permitted himself to be tempted by a special -job line of hair-brushes that the hosier had in his fancy department. On -hearing the powerful word "Wilkins's," the hosier promised with -passionate obsequiousness that the goods should be delivered instantly. - -Edward Henry cooled his excitement by an extended stroll, and finally -re-entered the outer hall of the hotel at half-past seven, and sat down -therein to see the world. He knew by instinct that the boldest lounge -suit must not at that hour penetrate further into the public rooms of -Wilkins's. - -The world at its haughtiest was driving up to Wilkins's to eat its -dinner in the unrivalled restaurant, and often guests staying at the -hotel came into the outer hall to greet invited friends. And Edward -Henry was so overfaced by visions of woman's brilliance and man's utter -correctness that he scarcely knew where to look--so apologetic was he -for his grey lounge suit and the creases in his boots. In less than a -quarter of an hour he appreciated with painful clearness that his entire -conception of existence had been wrong, and that he must begin again at -the beginning. Nothing in his luggage at the Majestic would do. His -socks would not do, nor his shoes, nor the braid on his trousers, nor -his cuff-links, nor his ready-made white bow, nor the number of studs in -the shirt-front, nor the collar of his coat. Nothing! Nothing! -To-morrow would be a full day. - -He ventured apologetically into the lift. In his private corridor a -young man respectfully waited, hat in hand, the paternal red-and-black -waistcoat by his side for purposes of introduction. The young man was -wearing a rather shabby blue suit, but a rich and distinguished overcoat -that fitted him ill. In another five minutes Edward Henry had engaged a -skilled valet, aged twenty-four, name Joseph, with a testimonial of -efficiency from Sir Nicholas Winkworth, Bart., at a salary of a pound a -week and all found. - -Joseph seemed to await instructions. And Edward Henry was placed in a -new quandary. He knew not whether the small bedroom in the suite was -for a child, or for his wife's maid, or for his valet. Quite probably -it would be a sacrilegious defiance of precedent to put a valet in the -small bedroom. Quite probably Wilkins's had a floor for private valets -in the roof. Again, quite probably, the small bedroom might be after -all specially destined for valets! He could not decide, and the most -precious thing in the universe to him in that crisis was his reputation -as a man about town in the eyes of Joseph. - -But something had to be done. - -"You'll sleep in this room," said Edward Henry, indicating the door. "I -may want you in the night." - -"Yes, sir," said Joseph. - -"I presume you'll dine up here, sir," said Joseph, glancing at the -lounge suit. His father had informed him of his new master's -predicament. - -"I shall," said Edward Henry. "You might get the menu." - - - - IV. - - -He had a very bad night indeed, owing no doubt partly to a general -uneasiness in his unusual surroundings, and partly also to a special -uneasiness caused by the propinquity of a sleeping valet; but the main -origin of it was certainly his dreadful anxiety about the question of a -first-class tailor. In the organisation of his new life a first-class -tailor was essential, and he was not acquainted with a first-class -London tailor. He did not know a great deal concerning clothes, though -quite passably well dressed for a provincial, but he knew enough to be -sure that it was impossible to judge the merits of a tailor by his -sign-board, and therefore that if, wandering in the precincts of Bond -Street, he entered the first establishment that "looked likely," he -would have a good chance of being "done in the eye." So he phrased it -to himself as he lay in bed. He wanted a definite and utterly reliable -address. - -He rang the bell. Only, as it happened to be the wrong bell, he -obtained the presence of Joseph in a round-about way, through the agency -of a gentleman in waiting. Such, however, is the human faculty of -adaptation to environment that he was merely amused in the morning by an -error which, on the previous night, would have put him into a sweat. - -"Good morning, sir," said Joseph. - -Edward Henry nodded, his hands under his head as he lay on his back. He -decided to leave all initiative to Joseph. The man drew up the blinds, -and, closing the double windows at the top, opened them very wide at the -bottom. - -"It is a rainy morning, sir," said Joseph, letting in vast quantities of -air from Devonshire Square. Clearly, Sir Nicholas Winkworth had been a -breezy master. - -"Oh!" murmured Edward Henry. - -He felt a careless contempt for Joseph's flunkeyism. Hitherto he had had -a theory that footmen, valets, and all male personal attendants were an -inexcusable excrescence on the social fabric. The mere sight of them -often angered him, though for some reason he had no objection whatever -to servility in a nice-looking maid--indeed, rather enjoyed it. But -now, in the person of Joseph, he saw that there were human or half-human -beings born to self-abasement, and that, if their destiny was to be -fulfilled, valetry was a necessary institution. He had no pity for -Joseph, no shame in employing him. He scorned Joseph; and yet his -desire, as a man about town, to keep Joseph's esteem was in no way -diminished. - -"Shall I prepare your bath, sir?" asked Joseph, stationed in a supple -attitude by the side of the bed. - -Edward Henry was visited by an idea. - -"Have you had yours?" he demanded like a pistol-shot. - -Edward Henry saw that Sir Nicholas had never asked that particular -question. - -"No, sir." - -"Not had your bath, man! What on earth do you mean by it? Go and have -your bath at once!" - -A faint sycophantic smile lightened the amazed features of Joseph. And -Edward Henry thought: "It's astonishing, all the same, the way they can -read their masters. This chap has seen already that I'm a card. And -yet how?" - -"Yes, sir," said Joseph. - -"Have your bath in the bathroom here. And be sure to leave everything -in order for me." - -"Yes, sir." - -As soon as Joseph had gone, Edward Henry jumped out of bed and listened. -He heard the discreet Joseph respectfully push the bolt of the bathroom -door. Then he crept with noiseless rapidity to the small bedroom, and -was aware therein of a lack of order and of ventilation. The rich and -distinguished overcoat was hanging on the brass knob at the foot of the -bed. He seized it, and, scrutinizing the loop, read in yellow letters: -_Quayther and Cuthering, 47 Vigo Street, W_. He knew that Quayther and -Cuthering must be the tailors of Sir Nicholas Winkworth, and hence -first-class. - -Hoping for the best, and putting his trust in the general decency of -human nature, he did not trouble himself with the problem: was the -overcoat a gift or an appropriation? But he preferred to assume the -generosity of Sir Nicholas rather than the dishonesty of Joseph. - -Repassing the bathroom door, he knocked loudly on its glass. - -"Don't be all day!" he cried. He was in a hurry now. - -An hour later he said to Joseph: - -"I'm going down to Quayther and Cuthering's." - -"Yes, sir," said Joseph, obviously much reassured. - -"Nincompoop!" Edward Henry exclaimed secretly. "The fool thinks better -of me because my tailors are first-class." - -But Edward Henry had failed to notice that he himself was thinking -better of himself because he had adopted first-class tailors. - -Beneath the main door of his suite, as he went forth, he found a -business card of the West End Electric Brougham Supply Agency. And -downstairs, solely to impress his individuality on the hall-porter, he -showed the card to that vizier with the casual question: - -"These people any good?" - -"An excellent firm, sir." - -"What do they charge?" - -"By the week, sir?" - -He hesitated. "Yes, by the week?" - -"Twenty guineas, sir." - -"Well, you might telephone for one. Can you get it at once?" - -"Certainly, sir." - -The vizier turned towards the telephone in his lair. - -"I say--" said Edward Henry. - -"Sir?" - -"I suppose one will be enough?" - -"Well, sir, as a rule, yes," said the vizier calmly. "Sometimes I get a -couple for one family, sir." - -Though he had started jocularly, Edward Henry finished by blenching. "I -think one will do.... I may possibly send for my own car." - -He drove to Quayther and Cuthering's in his electric brougham, and there -dropped casually the name of Winkworth. He explained humourously his -singular misadventure of the _Minnetonka_, and was very successful -therewith, so successful indeed, that he actually began to believe in -the reality of the adventure himself, and had an irrational impulse to -despatch a wireless message to his bewildered valet on board the -_Minnetonka_. - -Subsequently he paid other fruitful visits in the neighbourhood, and at -about half-past eleven the fruit was arriving at Wilkins's in the shape -of many parcels and boxes, comprising diverse items in the equipment of -a man about town, such as tie-clips and Innovation trunks. - -Returning late to Wilkins's for lunch, he marched jauntily into the -large brilliant restaurant, and commenced an adequate repast. Of course -he was still wearing his mediocre lounge suit (his sole suit for another -two days), but somehow the consciousness that Quayther and Cutherings -were cutting out wondrous garments for him in Vigo Street stiffened his -shoulders and gave a mysterious style to that lounge suit. - -At lunch he made one mistake, and enjoyed one very remarkable piece of -luck. - -The mistake was to order an artichoke. He did not know how to eat an -artichoke. He had never tried to eat an artichoke, and his first essay -in this difficult and complex craft was a sad fiasco. It would not have -mattered if, at the table next to his own, there had not been two -obviously experienced women, one ill dressed, with a red hat, the other -well dressed, with a blue hat; one middle-aged, the other much younger; -but both very observant. And even so, it would scarcely have mattered, -had not the younger woman been so slim, pretty, and alluring. While -tolerably careless of the opinion of the red-hatted plain woman of -middle age, he desired the unqualified approval of the delightful young -thing in the blue hat. They certainly interested themselves in his -manoeuvres with the artichoke, and their amusement was imperfectly -concealed. He forgave the blue hat, but considered that the red hat -ought to have known better. They could not be princesses, nor even -titled aristocrats. He supposed them to belong to some baccarat-playing -county family. - -The piece of luck consisted in the passage down the restaurant of the -Countess of Chell, who had been lunching there with a party, and whom he -had known locally in more gusty days. The countess bowed stiffly to the -red hat, and the red hat responded with eager fulsomeness. It seemed to -be here as it no longer was in the Five Towns: everybody knew everybody! -The red hat and the blue might be titled, after all, he thought. Then, -by sheer accident, the countess caught sight of him, and stopped dead, -bringing her escort to a standstill behind her. Edward Henry blushed -and rose. - -"Is it _you_, Mr. Machin?" murmured the still lovely creature warmly. - -They shook hands. Never had social pleasure so thrilled him. The -conversation was short. He did not presume on the past. He knew that -here he was not on his own ash-pit, as they say in the Five Towns. The -countess and her escort went forward. Edward Henry sat down again. - -He gave the red and the blue hats one calm glance, which they failed to -withstand. The affair of the artichoke was forever wiped out. - -After lunch he went forth again in his electric brougham. The weather -had cleared. The opulent streets were full of pride and sunshine. And -as he penetrated into one shop after another, receiving kowtows, -obeisances, curtsies, homage, surrender, resignation, submission, he -gradually comprehended that it takes all sorts to make a world, and that -those who are called to greatness must accept with dignity the -ceremonials inseparable from greatness. And the world had never seemed -to him so fine, nor any adventure so diverting and uplifting as this -adventure. - -When he returned to his suite, his private corridor was piled up with a -numerous and excessively attractive assortment of parcels. Joseph took -his overcoat and hat and a new umbrella, and placed an easy chair -conveniently for him in the drawing-room. - -"Get my bill," he said shortly to Joseph as he sank into the gilded -fauteuil. - -"Yes, sir." - -One advantage of a valet, he discovered, is that you can order him to do -things which to do yourself would more than exhaust your moral courage. - -The black-calved gentleman in waiting brought the bill. It lay on a -salver, and was folded, conceivably so as to break the shock of it to -the recipient. - -Edward Henry took it. - -"Wait a minute," he said. - -He read on the bill: "Apartment L8. Dinner L1-2-0. Breakfast 6s. 6d. -Lunch 18s. Half Chablis 6s. 6d. Valet's board 10s. Tooth-brush 2s. -6d. - -"That's a bit thick, half a crown for that toothbrush!" he said to -himself. "However--" - -The next instant he blenched once more. - -"Gosh!" he privately exclaimed as he read: "Paid driver of taxicab -L2-3-6." - -He had forgotten the taxi. But he admired the _sang-froid_ of -Wilkins's, which paid such trifles as a matter of course, without -deigning to disturb a guest by an enquiry. Wilkins's rose again in his -esteem. - -The total of the bill exceeded thirteen pounds. - -"All right," he said to the gentleman in waiting. - -"Are you leaving to-day, sir?" the being permitted himself to ask. - -"Of course I'm not leaving to-day! Haven't I hired an electric brougham -for a week?" Edward Henry burst out. "But I suppose I'm entitled to -know how much I'm spending!" - -The gentleman in waiting humbly bowed, and departed. - -Alone in the splendid chamber, Edward Henry drew out a swollen -pocketbook and examined its crisp, crinkly contents, which made a -beauteous and a reassuring sight. - -"Pooh!" he muttered. - -He reckoned he would be living at the rate of about fifteen pounds a -day, or five thousand five hundred a year. (He did not count the cost -of his purchases, because they were in the nature of a capital -expenditure.) - -"Cheap!" he muttered. "For once I'm about living up to my income!" - -The sensation was exquisite in its novelty. - -He ordered tea, and afterwards, feeling sleepy, he went fast asleep. - -He awoke to the ringing of the telephone-bell. It was quite dark. The -telephone-bell continued to ring. - -"Joseph!" he called. - -The valet entered. - -"What time is it?" - -"After ten o'clock, sir." - -"The deuce it is!" - -He had slept over four hours! - -"Well, answer that confounded telephone." - -Joseph obeyed. - -"It's a Mr. Bryany, sir, if I catch the name right," said Joseph. - -Bryany! For twenty-four hours he had scarcely thought of Bryany, or the -option either. - -"Bring the telephone here," said Edward Henry. - -The cord would just reach to his chair. - -"Hello! Bryany! Is that you?" cried Edward Henry gaily. - -And then he heard the weakened voice of Mr. Bryany in his ear: - -"How d'ye do, Mr. Machin. I've been after you for the better part of -two days, and now I find you're staying in the same hotel as Mr. Sachs -and me!" - -"Oh!" said Edward Henry. - -He understood now why on the previous day the dandy introducing him to -his suite had smiled a welcome at the name of Alderman Machin, and why -Joseph had accepted so naturally the command to take a bath. Bryany had -been talking. Bryany had been recounting his exploits as a card. - -The voice of Bryany in his ear continued: - -"Look here! I've got Miss Euclid here and some friends of hers. Of -course she wants to see you at once. Can you come down?" - -"Er--" He hesitated. - -He could not come down. He would have no evening wear till the next day -but one. - -Said the voice of Bryany: - -"What?" - -"I can't," said Edward Henry. "I'm not very well. But listen. All of -you come up to my rooms here and have supper, will you? Suite 48." - -"I'll ask the lady," said the voice of Bryany, altered now, and a few -seconds later: "We're coming." - -"Joseph," Edward Henry gave orders rapidly as he took off his coat and -removed the pocketbook from it. "I'm ill, you understand. Anyhow, not -well. Take this," handing him the coat, "and bring me the new -dressing-gown out of that green cardboard box from Rollet's--I think it -is. And then get the supper menu. I'm very hungry. I've had no -dinner." - -Within sixty seconds he sat in state, wearing a grandiose yellow -dressing-gown. The change was accomplished just in time. Mr. Bryany -entered, and not only Mr. Bryany, but Mr. Seven Sachs, and not only -these, but the lady who had worn a red hat at lunch. - -"Miss Rose Euclid," said Mr. Bryany, puffing and bending. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - ENTRY INTO THE THEATRICAL WORLD - - I. - -Once, on a short visit to London, Edward Henry had paid half a crown to -be let into a certain enclosure with a very low ceiling. This enclosure -was already crowded with some three hundred people, sitting and -standing. Edward Henry had stood in the only unoccupied spot he could -find, behind a pillar. When he had made himself as comfortable as -possible by turning up his collar against the sharp winds that -continually entered from the street, he had peered forward, and seen in -front of this enclosure another and larger enclosure also crowded with -people, but more expensive people. After a blank interval of thirty -minutes a band had begun to play at an incredible distance in front of -him, extinguishing the noises of traffic in the street. After another -interval an oblong space, rather further off even than the band, -suddenly grew bright, and Edward Henry, by curving his neck, first to -one side of the pillar and then to the other, had had tantalising -glimpses of the interior of a doll's drawing-room and of male and female -dolls therein. - -He could only see, even partially, the interior half of the -drawing-room,--a little higher than the heads of the dolls,--because the -rest was cut off from his vision by the lowness of his own ceiling. - -The dolls were talking, but he could not catch clearly what they said, -save at the rare moments when an omnibus or a van did not happen to be -thundering down the street behind him. Then one special doll had come -exquisitely into the drawing-room, and at the sight of her the five -hundred people in front of him, and numbers of other people perched -hidden beyond his ceiling, had clapped fervently and even cried aloud in -their excitement. And he, too, had clapped fervently, and had muttered -"Bravo!" This special doll was a marvel of touching and persuasive -grace, with a voice--when Edward Henry could hear it--that melted the -spine. This special doll had every elegance, and seemed to be in the -highest pride of youth. At the close of the affair, as this special -doll sank into the embrace of a male doll from whom she had been -unjustly separated, and then straightened herself, deliciously and -confidently smiling, to take the tremendous applause of Edward Henry and -the rest, Edward Henry thought that he had never assisted at a triumph -so genuine and so inspiring. Oblivious of the pain in his neck, and of -the choking foul atmosphere of the enclosure, accurately described as -the pit, he had gone forth into the street with a subconscious notion in -his head that the special doll was more than human, was half divine. -And he had said afterwards, with immense satisfaction, at Bursley: "Yes, -I saw Rose Euclid in 'Flower of the Heart.'" - -He had never set eyes on her since. - -And now, on this day at Wilkins's, he had seen in the restaurant, and he -saw again before him in his private parlour, a faded and stoutish woman, -negligently if expensively dressed, with a fatigued, nervous, watery -glance, an unnatural, pale-violet complexion, a wrinkled skin, and dyed -hair; a woman of whom it might be said that she had escaped -grandmotherhood, if indeed she had escaped it, by mere luck--and he was -pointblank commanded to believe that she and Rose Euclid were the same -person. - -It was one of the most shattering shocks of all his career, which, -nevertheless, had not been untumultuous. And within his -dressing-gown--which nobody remarked upon--he was busy picking up and -piecing together, as quickly as he could, the shivered fragments of his -ideas. - -He literally did not recognise Rose Euclid. True, fifteen years had -passed since the night in the pit! And he himself was fifteen years -older. But in his mind he had never pictured any change in Rose Euclid. -True, he had been familiar with the enormous renown of Rose Euclid as -far back as he could remember taking any interest in theatrical -advertisements! But he had not permitted her to reach an age of more -than about thirty-one or two. Whereas he now perceived that even the -exquisite doll in paradise that he had gloated over from his pit must -have been quite thirty-five--then.... - -Well, he scornfully pitied Rose Euclid. He blamed her for not having -accomplished the miracle of eternal youth. He actually considered that -she had cheated him. "Is this all? What a swindle!" he thought, as he -was piecing together the shivered fragments of his ideas into a new -pattern. He had felt much the same as a boy, at Bursley Annual Wakes -once, on entering a booth which promised horrors and did not supply -them. He had been "done" all these years.... - -Reluctantly he admitted that Rose Euclid could not help her age. But, -at any rate, she ought to have grown older beautifully, with charming -dignity and vivacity--in fact, she ought to have contrived to be old and -young simultaneously. Or, in the alternative, she ought to have -modestly retired into the country and lived on her memories and such -money as she had not squandered. She had no right to be abroad. At -worst, she ought to have _looked_ famous. And, because her name and -fame and photographs, as an emotional actress had been continually in -the newspapers, therefore she ought to have been refined, delicate, -distinguished, and full of witty and gracious small talk. That she had -played the heroine of "Flower of the Heart" four hundred times, and the -heroine of "The Grenadier" four hundred and fifty times, and the heroine -of "The Wife's Ordeal" nearly five hundred times, made it incumbent upon -her, in Edward Henry's subconscious opinion, to possess all the talents -of a woman of the world and all the virgin freshness of a girl. Which -shows how cruelly stupid Edward Henry was in comparison with the -enlightened rest of us. - -Why (he protested secretly), she was even tongue-tied! - -"Glad to meet you, Mr. Machin," she said awkwardly, in a weak voice, -with a peculiar gesture as she shook hands. Then, a mechanical nervous -giggle--and then silence. - -"Happy to make your acquaintance, sir," said Mr. Seven Sachs, and the -arch-famous American actor-author also lapsed into silence. But the -silence of Mr. Seven Sachs was different from Rose Euclid's. He was not -shy. A dark and handsome, tranquil, youngish man, with a redoubtable -square chin, delicately rounded at the corners, he strikingly resembled -his own figure on the stage; and, moreover, he seemed to regard silence -as a natural and proper condition. He simply stood, in a graceful -posture, with his muscles at ease, and waited. - -Mr. Bryany, behind, seemed to be reduced in stature, and to have become -apologetic for himself in the presence of greatness. - -Still, Mr. Bryany did say something. - -Said Mr. Bryany: - -"Sorry to hear you've been seedy, Mr. Machin!" - -"Oh, yes!" Rose Euclid blurted out, as if shot. "It's very good of you -to ask us up here." - -Mr. Seven Sachs concurred, adding that he hoped the illness was not -serious. - -Edward Henry said it was not. - -"Won't you sit down, all of you?" said Edward Henry. -"Miss--er--Euclid--" - -They all sat down except Mr. Bryany. - -"Sit down, Bryany," said Edward Henry. "I'm glad to be able to return -your hospitality at the Turk's Head." - -This was a blow for Mr. Bryany, who obviously felt it, and grew even -more apologetic as he fumbled with assumed sprightliness at a chair. - -"Fancy your being here all the time!" said he, "and me looked for you -everywhere--" - -"Mr. Bryany," Seven Sachs interrupted him calmly, "have you got those -letters off?" - -"Not yet, sir." - -Seven Sachs urbanely smiled. "I think we ought to get them off -to-night." - -"Certainly," agreed Mr. Bryany with eagerness, and moved towards the -door. - -"Here's the key of my sitting-room," Seven Sachs stopped him, producing -a key. - -Mr. Bryany, by a mischance catching Edward Henry's eye as he took the -key, blushed. - -In a moment Edward Henry was alone with the two silent celebrities. - -"Well," said Edward Henry to himself, "I've let myself in for it this -time--no mistake! What in the name of common sense am I doing here?" - -Rose Euclid coughed, and arranged the folds of her dress. - -"I suppose, like most Americans, you see all the sights," said Edward -Henry to Seven Sachs, "the Five Towns is much visited by Americans. -What do you think of my dressing-gown?" - -"Bully!" said Seven Sachs, with the faintest twinkle. And Rose Euclid -gave the mechanical nervous giggle. - -"I can do with this chap," thought Edward Henry. - -The gentleman in waiting entered with the supper menu. - -"Thank Heaven!" thought Edward Henry. - -Rose Euclid, requested to order a supper after her own mind, stared -vaguely at the menu for some moments, and then said that she did not -know what to order. - -"Artichokes?" Edward Henry blandly suggested. - -Again the giggle, followed this time by a flush! And suddenly Edward -Henry recognised in her the entrancing creature of fifteen years ago! -Her head thrown back, she had put her left hand behind her, and was -groping with her long fingers for an object to touch. Having found at -length the arm of another chair, she drew her fingers feverishly along -its surface. He vividly remembered the gesture in "Flower of the -Heart." She had used it with terrific effect at every grand emotional -crisis of the play. He now recognised even her face! - -"Did Mr. Bryany tell you that my two boys are coming up?" said she. "I -left them behind to do some telephoning for me." - -"Delighted!" said Edward Henry. "The more the merrier!" - -And he hoped that he spoke true. - -But her two boys! - -"Mr. Marrier--he's a young manager. I don't knew whether you know him; -very, very talented. And Carlo Trent." - -"Same name as my dog," Edward Henry indiscreetly murmured; and his fancy -flew back to the home he had quitted, and Wilkins's and everybody in it -grew transiently unreal to him. - -"Delighted!" he said again. - -He was relieved that her two boys were not her offspring. That at least -was something gained. - -"_You_ know--the dramatist," said Rose Euclid, apparently disappointed -by the effect on Edward Henry of the name of Carlo Trent. - -"Really!" said Edward Henry. "I hope he won't mind me being in a -dressing-gown." - -The gentleman in waiting, obsequiously restive, managed to choose the -supper himself. Leaving, he reached the door just in time to hold it -open for the entrance of Mr. Marrier and Mr. Carlo Trent, who were -talking, with noticeable freedom and emphasis, in an accent which in the -Five Towns is known as the "haw-haw," the "lah-di-dah," or the -"Kensingtonian" accent. - - - - II. - - -Within ten minutes, within less than ten minutes, Alderman Edward Henry -Machin's supper-party at Wilkins's was so wonderfully changed for the -better that Edward Henry might have been excused for not recognising it -as his own. - -The service at Wilkins's, where they profoundly understood human nature, -was very intelligent. Somewhere in a central bureau at Wilkins's sat a -psychologist who knew, for example, that a supper commanded on the spur -of the moment must be produced instantly if it is to be enjoyed. Delay -in these capricious cases impairs the ecstasy, and therefore lessens the -chance of other similar meals being commanded at the same establishment. -Hence, no sooner had the gentleman in waiting disappeared with the -order, than certain esquires appeared with the limbs and body of a table -which they set up in Edward Henry's drawing-room; and they covered the -board with a damask cloth and half covered the damask cloth with -flowers, glasses, and plates, and laid a special private wire from the -skirting-board near the hearth to a spot on the table beneath Edward -Henry's left hand, so that he could summon courtiers on the slightest -provocation with the minimum of exertion. Then immediately brown bread -and butter and lemons and red-pepper came, followed by oysters, followed -by bottles of pale wine, both still and sparkling. Thus, before the -principal dishes had even begun to frizzle in the distant kitchens, the -revellers were under the illusion that the entire supper was waiting -just outside the door. - -Yes, they were revellers now! For the advent of her young men had -transformed Rose Euclid, and Rose Euclid had transformed the general -situation. At the table, Edward Henry occupied one side of it, Mr. Seven -Sachs occupied the side opposite, Mr. Marrier, the very, very talented -young manager, occupied the side to Edward Henry's left, and Rose Euclid -and Carlo Trent together occupied the side to his right. - -Trent and Marrier were each about thirty years of age. Trent, with a -deep voice, had extremely lustrous eyes, which eyes continually dwelt on -Rose Euclid in admiration. Apparently, all she needed in this valley -was oysters and admiration, and she now had both in unlimited -quantities. - -"Oysters are darlings," she said, as she swallowed the first. - -Carlo Trent kissed her hand respectfully--for she was old enough to be -his mother. - -"And you are the greatest tragic actress in the world, Ra-ose!" said he -in the Kensingtonian bass. - -A few moments earlier Rose Euclid had whispered to Edward Henry that -Carlo Trent was the greatest dramatic poet in the world. She flowered -now beneath the sun of those dark lustrous eyes and the soft rain of -that admiration from the greatest dramatic poet in the world. It really -did seem to Edward Henry that she grew younger. Assuredly she grew more -girlish, and her voice improved. And then the bottles began to pop, and -it was as though the action of uncorking wine automatically uncorked -hearts also. Mr. Seven Sachs, sitting square and upright, smiled gaily -at Edward Henry across the gleaming table, and raised a glass. Little -Marrier, who at nearly all times had a most enthusiastic smile, did the -same. In the result, five glasses met over the central bed of -chrysanthemums. Edward Henry was happy. Surrounded by enigmas,--for he -had no conception whatever why Rose Euclid had brought any of the three -men to his table,--he was nevertheless uplifted. - -As he looked about him, at the rich table, and at the glittering -chandelier overhead (albeit the lamps thereof were inferior to his own), -and at the expanses of soft carpet, and at the silken-textured walls, -and at the voluptuous curtains, and at the couple of impeccable -gentlemen in waiting, and at Joseph who knew his place behind his -master's chair,--he came to the justifiable conclusion that money was a -marvellous thing, and the workings of commerce mysterious and beautiful. -He had invented the Five Towns Thrift Club; working men and their wives -in the Five Towns were paying their two-pences, and sixpences, and -shillings weekly into his Club, and finding the transaction a real -convenience--and lo! he was entertaining celebrities at Wilkins's. - -For, mind you, they were celebrities. He knew Seven Sachs was a -celebrity because he had verily seen him act--and act very well--in his -own play, and because his name in letters a foot high had dominated all -the hoardings of the Five Towns. As for Rose Euclid, could there be a -greater celebrity? Such was the strange power of the popular legend -concerning her, that even now, despite the first fearful shock of -disappointment, Edward Henry could not call her by her name, without -self-consciously stumbling over it, without a curious thrill. And -further, he was revising his judgment of her, as well as lowering her -age slightly. On coming into the room she had doubtless been almost as -startled as himself, and her constrained muteness had been probably due -to a guilty feeling in the matter of passing too open remarks to a -friend about a perfect stranger's manner of eating artichokes. The -which, supposition flattered him. (By the way, he wished she had -brought the young friend who had shared her amusement over his -artichoke.) With regard to the other two men, he was quite ready to -believe that Carlo Trent was the world's greatest poet, and to admit the -exceeding talent of Mr. Marrier as a theatrical manager.... In fact, -unmistakable celebrities, one and all! He himself was a celebrity. A -certain quality in the attitude of each of his guests showed clearly -that they considered him a celebrity, and not only a celebrity, but a -card,--Bryany must have been talking,--and the conviction of this -rendered him happy. His magnificent hunger rendered him still happier. -And the reflection that Brindley owed him half a crown put a top on his -bliss! - -"I like your dressing-gown, Mr. Machin," said Carlo Trent suddenly, -after his first spoonful of soup. - -"Then I needn't apologise for it!" Edward Henry replied. - -"It is the dressing-gown of my dreams," Carlo Trent went on. - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "as we're on the subject, I like your -shirt-front." - -Carlo Trent was wearing a soft shirt. The other three shirts were all -rigidly starched. Hitherto Edward Henry had imagined that a fashionable -evening shirt should be, before aught else, bullet-proof. He now -appreciated the distinction of a frilled and gently flowing breastplate, -especially when a broad purple eye-glass ribbon wandered across it. -Rose Euclid gazed in modest transport at Carlo's chest. - -"The colour," Carlo proceeded, ignoring Edward Henry's compliment, "the -colour is inspiring. So is the texture. I have a woman's delight in -textures. I could certainly produce better hexameters in such a -dressing-gown." - -Although Edward Henry, owing to an unfortunate hiatus in his education, -did not know what a hexameter might be, he was artist enough to -comprehend the effect of attire on creative work, for he had noticed -that he himself could make more money in one necktie than in another, -and he would instinctively take particular care in the morning choice of -a cravat on days when he meditated a great coup. - -"Why don't you get one?" Marrier suggested. - -"Do you really think I could?" asked Carlo Trent, as if the possibility -were shimmering far out of his reach like a rainbow. - -"Rather!" smiled Marrier. "I don't mind laying a fiver that Mr. -Machin's dressing-gown came from Drook's in Old Bond Street." But -instead of saying "old" he said "ehoold." - -"It did," Edward Henry admitted. - -Mr. Marrier beamed with satisfaction. - -"Drook's, you say?" murmured Carlo Trent. "Old Bond Street?" and wrote -down the information on his shirt-cuff. - -Rose Euclid watched him write. - -"Yes, Carlo," said she. "But don't you think we'd better begin to talk -about the theatre? You haven't told me yet if you got hold of Longay on -the 'phone." - -"Of course we got hold of him," said Marrier. "He agrees with me that -'The Intellectual' is a better name for it." - -Rose Euclid clapped her hands. - -"I'm so glad!" she cried. "Now what do you think of it as a name, Mr. -Machin,--'The Intellectual Theatre?' You see it's most important we -should settle on the name, isn't it?" - -It is no exaggeration to say that Edward Henry felt a wave of cold in -the small of his back, and also a sinking away of the nevertheless quite -solid chair on which he sat. He had more than the typical Englishman's -sane distrust of that morbid word "Intellectual." His attitude towards -it amounted to active dislike. If ever he used it, he would on no -account use it alone; he would say, "Intellectual, and all that sort of -thing!" with an air of pushing violently away from him everything that -the phrase implied. The notion of baptising a theatre with the fearsome -word horrified him. Still he had to maintain his nerve and his repute. -So he drank some champagne, and smiled nonchalantly as the imperturbable -duellist smiles while the pistols are being examined. - -"Well--" he murmured. - -"You see," Marrier broke in, with the smile ecstatic, almost dancing on -his chair. "There's no use in compromise. Compromise is and always has -been the curse of this country. The unintellectual drahma is -dead--dead. Naoobody can deny that. All the box-offices in the West are -proclaiming it." - -"Should you call your play intellectual, Mr. Sachs?" Edward Henry -inquired across the table. - -"I scarcely know," said Mr. Seven Sachs calmly. "I know I've played it -myself fifteen hundred and two times, and that's saying nothing of my -three subsidiary companies on the road." - -"What is Mr. Sach's play?" asked Carlo Trent fretfully. - -"Don't you know, Carlo?" Rose Euclid patted him. "'Overheard.'" - -"Oh! I've never seen it." - -"But it was on all the hoardings!" - -"I never read the hoardings," said Carlo. "Is it in verse?" - -"No, it isn't," Mr. Seven Sachs briefly responded. "But I've made over -six hundred thousand dollars out of it." - -"Then of course it's intellectual!" asserted Mr. Marrier positively. -"That proves it. I'm very sorry I've not seen it either; but it must be -intellectual. The day of the unintellectual drama is over. The people -won't have it. We must have faith in the people, and we can't show our -faith better than by calling our theatre by its proper name--'The -Intellectual Theatre!'" - -("_His_ theatre!" thought Edward Henry. "What's he got to do with it?") - -"I don't know that I'm so much in love with your 'Intellectual,'" -muttered Carlo Trent. - -"_Aren't_ you?" protested Rose Euclid, shocked. - -"Of course I'm not," said Carlo. "I told you before, and I tell you -now, that there's only one name for the theatre--'The Muses' Theatre!'" - -"Perhaps you're right!" Rose agreed, as if a swift revelation had come -to her. "Yes, you're right." - -("She'll make a cheerful sort of partner for a fellow," thought Edward -Henry, "if she's in the habit of changing her mind like that every -thirty seconds." His appetite had gone. He could only drink.) - -"Naturally, I'm right! Aren't we going to open with my play, and isn't -my play in verse? ... I'm sure you'll agree with me, Mr. Machin, that -there is no real drama except the poetical drama." - -Edward Henry was entirely at a loss. Indeed, he was drowning in his -dressing-gown, so favourable to the composition of hexameters. - -"Poetry..." he vaguely breathed. - -"Yes, sir," said Carlo Trent. "Poetry." - -"I've never read any poetry in my life," said Edward Henry, like a -desperate criminal. "Not a line." - -Whereupon Carlo Trent rose up from his seat, and his eye-glasses dangled -in front of him. - -"Mr. Machin," said he with the utmost benevolence. "This is the most -interesting thing I've ever come across. Do you know, you're precisely -the man I've always been wanting to meet? ... The virgin mind. The -clean slate.... Do you know, you're precisely the man that it's my -ambition to write for?" - -"It's very kind of you," said Edward Henry feebly, beaten, and -consciously beaten. - -(He thought miserably: "What would Nellie think if she saw me in this -gang?") - -Carlo Trent went on, turning to Rose Euclid: - -"Rose, will you recite those lines of Nashe?" - -Rose Euclid began to blush. - -"That bit you taught me the day before yesterday?" - -"Only the three lines! No more! They are the very essence of -poetry--poetry at its purest. We'll see the effect of them on Mr. -Machin. We'll just see. It's the ideal opportunity to test my theory. -Now, there's a good girl!" - -"Oh! I can't. I'm too nervous," stammered Rose. - -"You can, and you must," said Carlo, gazing at her in homage. "Nobody -in the world can say them as well as you can. Now!" - -Rose Euclid stood up. - -"One moment," Carlo stopped her. "There's too much light. We can't do -with all this light. Mr. Machin--do you mind?" - -A wave of the hand, and all the lights were extinguished, save a lamp on -the mantelpiece, and in the disconcertingly darkened room Rose Euclid -turned her face towards the ray from this solitary silk-shaded globe. - -Her hand groped out behind her, found the table-cloth and began to -scratch it agitatedly. She lifted her head. She was the actress, -impressive and subjugating, and Edward Henry felt her power. Then she -intoned: - - "_Brightness falls from the air;_ - _Queens have died young and fair;_ - _Dust hath closed Helen's eye._" - - -And she ceased and sat down. There was a silence. - -"_Bravo!_" murmured Carlo Trent. - -"_Bravo!_" murmured Mr. Marrier. - -Edward Henry in the gloom caught Mr. Seven Sachs's unalterable observant -smile across the table. - -"Well, Mr. Machin?" said Carlo Trent. - -Edward Henry had felt a tremor at the vibrations of Rose Euclid's voice. -But the words she uttered had set up no clear image in his mind, unless -it might be of some solid body falling from the air, or of a young woman -named Helen walking along Trafalgar Road, Bursley, on a dusty day, and -getting the dust in her eyes. He knew not what to answer. - -"Is that all there is of it?" he asked at length. - -Carlo Trent said: - -"It's from Thomas Nashe's 'Song in Time of Pestilence.' The closing -lines of the verse are: - - "_I am sick, I must die--_ - _Lord, have mercy on me!_" - - -"Well," said Edward Henry, recovering, "I rather like the end. I think -the end's very appropriate." - -Mr. Seven Sachs choked over his wine, and kept on choking. - - - - III. - - -Mr. Marrier was the first to recover from this blow to the prestige of -poetry. Or perhaps it would be more honest to say that Mr. Marrier had -suffered no inconvenience from the contretemps. His apparent gleeful -zest in life had not been impaired. He was a born optimist, of an -extreme type unknown beyond the circumferences of theatrical circles. - -"I _say_," he emphasised, "I've got an ideah. We ought to be -photographed like that. Do you no end of good." He glanced -encouragingly at Rose Euclid. "Don't you see it in the illustrated -papers? 'A prayvate supper-party at Wilkins's Hotel. Miss Ra-ose Euclid -reciting verse at a discussion of the plans for her new theatre in -Piccadilly Circus. The figures reading from left to right are: Mr. Seven -Sachs, the famous actor-author; Miss Rose Euclid; Mr. Carlo Trent, the -celebrated dramatic poet; Mr. Alderman Machin, the well-known Midlands -capitalist,' and so on!" Mr. Marrier repeated, "and so on." - -"It's a notion," said Rose Euclid dreamily. - -"But how _can_ we be photographed?" Carlo Trent demanded with -irritation. - -"Perfectly easy." - -"Now?" - -"In ten minutes. I know a photographer in Brook Street." - -"Would he come at once?" Carlo Trent frowned at his watch. - -"Rather!" Mr. Marrier gaily soothed him, as he went over to the -telephone. And Mr. Marrier's bright boyish face radiated forth the -assurance that nothing in all his existence had more completely filled -him with sincere joy than this enterprise of procuring a photograph of -the party. Even in giving the photographer's number,--he was one of -those prodigies who remember infallibly all telephone numbers,--his -voice seemed to gloat upon his project. - -(And while Mr. Marrier, having obtained communication with the -photographer, was saying gloriously into the telephone: "Yes, Wilkins's. -No. Quite private. I've got Miss Rose Euclid here, and Mr. Seven -Sachs--" while Mr. Marrier was thus proceeding with his list of star -attractions, Edward Henry was thinking: "'_Her_ new theatre,'--now! It -was 'his' a few minutes back!... - -"The well-known Midland capitalist, eh? Oh! Ah!") - -He drank again. He said to himself: "I've had all I can digest of this -beastly balloony stuff." (He meant the champagne.) "If I finish this -glass, I'm bound to have a bad night." And he finished the glass, and -planked it down firmly on the table. - -"Well," he remarked aloud cheerfully, "if we're to be photographed, I -suppose we shall want a bit more light on the subject." - -Joseph sprang to the switches. - -"Please!" Carlo Trent raised a protesting hand. - -The switches were not turned. In the beautiful dimness the greatest -tragic actress in the world and the greatest dramatic poet in the world -gazed at each other, seeking and finding solace in mutual esteem. - -"I suppose it wouldn't do to call it the Euclid Theater?" Rose -questioned casually, without moving her eyes. - -"Splendid!" cried Mr. Marrier from the telephone. - -"It all depends whether there are enough mathematical students in London -to fill the theater for a run," said Edward Henry. - -"Oh! D'you think so?" murmured Rose, surprised and vaguely puzzled. - -At that instant Edward Henry might have rushed from the room and taken -the night mail back to the Five Towns, and never any more have ventured -into the perils of London, if Carlo Trent had not turned his head and -signified by a curt reluctant laugh that he saw the joke. For Edward -Henry could no longer depend on Mr. Seven Sachs. Mr. Seven Sachs had to -take the greatest pains to keep the muscles of his face in strict order. -The slightest laxity with them--and he would have been involved in -another and more serious suffocation. - -"No," said Carlo Trent, "'The Muses' Theatre' is the only possible -title. There is money in the poetical drama." He looked hard at Edward -Henry, as though to stare down the memory of the failure of Nashe's -verse. "I don't want money. I hate the thought of money. But money is -the only proof of democratic appreciation, and that is what I need, and -what every artist needs.... Don't you think there's money in the -poetical drama, Mr. Sachs?" - -"Not in America," said Mr. Sachs. "London is a queer place." - -"Look at the runs of Stephen Phillips's plays!" - -"Yes.... I only reckon to know America." - -"Look at what Pilgrim's made out of Shakespeare." - -"I thought you were talking about poetry," said Edward Henry too -hastily. - -"And isn't Shakespeare poetry?" Carlo Trent challenged. - -"Well, I suppose if you put it in that way, he _is_!" Edward Henry -cautiously admitted, humbled. He was under the disadvantage of never -having seen or read "Shakespeare." His sure instinct had always warned -him against being drawn into "Shakespeare." - -"And has Miss Euclid ever done anything finer than Constance?" - -"I don't know," Edward Henry pleaded. "Why--Miss Euclid in 'King -John'--" - -"I never saw 'King John,'" said Edward Henry. - -"_Do you mean to say,_" expostulated Carlo Trent in italics, "_that you -never saw Rose Euclid as Constance?_" - -And Edward Henry, shaking his abashed head, perceived that his life had -been wasted. - -Carlo, for a few moments, grew reflective and softer. - -"It's one of my earliest and most precious boyish memories," he -murmured, as he examined the ceiling. "It must have been in eighteen--" - -Rose Euclid abandoned the ice with which she had just been served, and -by a single gesture drew Carlo's attention away from the ceiling and -towards the fact that it would be clumsy on his part to indulge further -in the chronology of her career. She began to blush again. - -Mr. Marrier, now back at the table after a successful expedition, beamed -over his ice: - -"It was your 'Constance' that led to your friendship with the Countess -of Chell, wasn't it, Ra-ose? You know," he turned to Edward Henry, "Miss -Euclid and the countess are virry intimate." - -"Yes, I know," said Edward Henry. - -Rose Euclid continued to blush. Her agitated hand scratched the back of -the chair behind her. - -"Even Sir John Pilgrim admits I can act Shakespeare," she said in a -thick, mournful voice, looking at the cloth as she pronounced the august -name of the head of the dramatic profession. "It may surprise you to -know, Mr. Machin, that about a month ago, after he'd quarrelled with -Selina Gregory, Sir John asked me if I'd care to star with him on his -Shakespearean tour round the world next spring, and I said I would if -he'd include Carlo's poetical play, 'The Orient Pearl,' and he wouldn't! -No, he wouldn't! And now he's got little Cora Pryde! She isn't -twenty-two, and she's going to play Juliet! Can you imagine such a -thing? As if a mere girl could play Juliet!" - -Carlo observed the mature actress with deep satisfaction, proud of her, -and proud also of himself. - -"I wouldn't go with Pilgrim now," exclaimed Rose passionately, "not if -he went down on his knees tome!" - -"And nothing on earth would induce me to let him have 'The Orient -Pearl'!" Carlo Trent asseverated with equal passion. "He's lost that -forever," he added grimly. "It won't be he who'll collar the profits -out of that! It'll just be ourselves!" - -"Not if he went down on his knees to me!" Rose was repeating to herself -with fervency. - -The calm of despair took possession of Edward Henry. He felt that he -must act immediately--he knew his own mood, by long experience. -Exploring the pockets of the dressing-gown which had aroused the longing -of the greatest dramatic poet in the world, he discovered in one of them -precisely the piece of apparatus he required; namely, a slip of paper -suitable for writing. It was a carbon duplicate of the bill for the -dressing-gown, and showed the word "Drook" in massive printed black, and -the figures L4-4-0 in faint blue. He drew a pencil from his waistcoat -and inscribed on the paper: - -"Go out, and then come back in a couple of minutes and tell me someone -wants to speak to me urgently in the next room." - -With a minimum of ostentation he gave the document to Joseph, who, -evidently well trained under Sir Nicholas, vanished into the next room -before attempting to read it. - -"I hope," said Edward Henry to Carlo Trent, "that this money-making play -is reserved for the new theatre." - -"Utterly," said Carlo Trent. - -"With Miss Euclid in the principal part?" - -"Rather!" sang Mr. Marrier. "Rather!" - -"I shall never, never appear at any other theatre, Mr. Machin!" said -Rose with tragic emotion, once more feeling with her fingers along the -back of her chair. "So I hope the building will begin at once. In less -than six months we ought to open." - -"Easily!" sang the optimist. - -Joseph returned to the room, and sought his master's attention in a -whisper. - -"What is it?" Edward Henry asked irritably. "Speak up!" - -"A gentleman wishes to know if he can speak to you in the next room, -sir." - -"Well, he can't." - -"He said it was urgent, sir." - -Scowling, Edward Henry rose. "Excuse me," he said. "I won't be a -moment. Help yourselves to the liqueurs. You chaps can go, I fancy." -The last remark was addressed to the gentlemen in waiting. - -The next room was the vast bedroom with two beds in it. Edward Henry -closed the door carefully, and drew the portiere across it. Then he -listened. No sound penetrated from the scene of the supper. - -"There _is_ a telephone in this room, isn't there?" he said to Joseph. -"Oh, yes; there it is! Well, you can go." - -"Yes, sir." - -Edward Henry sat down on one of the beds by the hook on which hung the -telephone. And he cogitated upon the characteristics of certain members -of the party which he had just left. "I'm a 'virgin mind,' am I?" he -thought. "I'm a 'clean slate'? Well! ... Their notion of business is -to begin by discussing the name of the theatre! And they haven't even -taken up the option! Ye gods! 'Intellectual!' 'Muses!' 'The Orient -Pearl.' And she's fifty--that I swear! Not a word yet of real -business--not one word! He may be a poet. I dare say he is. He's a -conceited ass. Why, even Bryany was better than that lot. Only Sachs -turned Bryany out. I like Sachs. But he won't open his mouth.... -'Capitalist!' Well, they spoilt my appetite, and I hate champagne! ... -The poet hates money.... No, he 'hates the thought of money.' And -she's changing her mind the whole blessed time! A month ago she'd have -gone over to Pilgrim, and the poet too, like a house a fire! ... -Photographed indeed! The bally photographer will be here in a minute! -... They take me for a fool! ... Or don't they know any better? ... -Anyhow, I am a fool.... I must teach 'em summat!" - -He seized the telephone. - -"Hello!" he said into it. "I want you to put me on to the drawing-room -of Suite No. 48, please. Who? Oh, me! I'm in the bedroom of Suite No. -48. Machin, Alderman Machin. Thanks. That's all right." - -He waited. Then he heard Marrier's Kensingtonian voice in the -telephone, asking who he was. - -"Is that Mr. Machin's room?" he continued, imitating with a broad -farcical effect the acute Kensingtonianism of Mr. Marrier's tones. "Is -Miss Ra-ose Euclid there? Oh! She is? Well, you tell her that Sir -John Pilgrim's private secretary wishes to speak to her. Thanks. All -right. _I'll_ hold the line." - -A pause. Then he heard Rose's voice in the telephone, and he resumed: - -"Miss Euclid? Yes. Sir John Pilgrim. I beg pardon! Banks? Oh, -_Banks_! No, I'm not Banks. I suppose you mean my predecessor. He's -left. Left last week. No, I don't know why. Sir John instructs me to -ask if you and Mr. Trent could lunch with him to-morrow at wun-thirty? -What? Oh! At his house. Yes. I mean flat. Flat! I said flat. You -think you could?" - -Pause. He could hear her calling to Carlo Trent. - -"Thanks. No, I don't know exactly," he went on again. "But I know the -arrangement with Miss Pryde is broken off. And Sir John wants a play at -once. He told me that. At once! Yes. 'The Orient Pearl.' That was -the title. At the Royal first, and then the world's tour. Fifteen -months at least, in all, so I gathered. Of course I don't speak -officially. Well, many thanks. Saoo good of you. I'll tell Sir John -it's arranged. One-thirty to-morrow. Good-bye!" - -He hung up the telephone. The excited, eager, effusive tones of Rose -Euclid remained in his ears. Aware of a strange phenomenon on his -forehead, he touched it. He was perspiring. - -"I'll teach 'em a thing or two," he muttered. - -And again: - -"Serves her right.... 'Never, never appear at any other theatre, Mr. -Machin!' ... 'Bended knees!' ... 'Utterly!' ... Cheerful partners! Oh, -cheerful partners!" - -He returned to his supper-party. Nobody said a word about the -telephoning. But Rose Euclid and Carlo Trent looked even more like -conspirators than they did before; and Mr. Marrier's joy in life seemed -to be just the least bit diminished. - -"So sorry!" Edward Henry began hurriedly, and, without consulting the -poet's wishes, subtly turned on all the lights. "Now, don't you think -we'd better discuss the question of taking up the option? You know, it -expires on Friday." - -"No," said Rose Euclid girlishly. "It expires to-morrow. That's why -it's so _fortunate_ we got hold of you to-night." - -"But Mr. Bryany told me Friday. And the date was clear enough on the -copy of the option he gave me." - -"A mistake of copying," beamed Mr. Marrier. "However, it's all right." - -"Well," observed Edward Henry with heartiness, "I don't mind telling you -that for sheer calm coolness you take the cake. However, as Mr. Marrier -so ably says, it's all right. Now, I understand if I go into this -affair I can count on you absolutely, and also on Mr. Trent's services." -He tried to talk as if he had been diplomatising with actresses and -poets all his life. - -"Absolutely!" said Rose. - -And Mr. Carlo Trent nodded. - -"You Iscariots!" Edward Henry addressed them, in the silence of the -brain, behind his smile. "You Iscariots!" - -The photographer arrived with certain cases, and at once Rose Euclid and -Carlo Trent began instinctively to pose. - -"To think," Edward Henry pleasantly reflected, "that they are hugging -themselves because Sir John Pilgrim's secretary happened to telephone -just while I was out of the room!" - - - - - CHAPTER V - - MR. SACHS TALKS - - I. - -It was the sudden flash of the photographer's magnesium light, plainly -felt by him through his closed lids, that somehow instantly inspired -Edward Henry to a definite and ruthless line of action. He opened his -eyes and beheld the triumphant group, and the photographer himself, -victorious over even the triumphant, in a superb pose that suggested -that all distinguished mankind in his presence was naught but food for -the conquering camera. The photographer smiled indulgently, and his -smile said: "Having been photographed by me, you have each of you -reached the summit of your career. Be content. Retire! Die! Destiny -is accomplished!" - -"Mr. Machin," said Rose Euclid, "I do believe your eyes were shut!" - -"So do I!" Edward Henry curtly agreed. - -"But you'll spoil the group!" - -"Not a bit of it!" said Edward Henry. "I always shut my eyes when I'm -being photographed by flash-light. I open my mouth instead. So long as -something's open, what does it matter?" - -The truth was that only in the nick of time had he, by a happy miracle -of ingenuity, invented a way of ruining the photograph. The absolute -necessity for its ruin had presented itself to him rather late in the -proceedings, when the photographer had already finished arranging the -hands and shoulders of everybody in an artistic pattern. The photograph -had to be spoilt for the imperative reason that his mother, though she -never read a newspaper, did as a fact look at a picture newspaper, _The -Daily Film_, which from pride she insisted on paying for out of her own -purse, at the rate of one halfpenny a day. Now _The Daily Film_ -specialised in theatrical photographs, on which it said it spent large -sums of money; and Edward Henry in a vision had seen the historic group -in a future issue of the _Film_. He had also, in the same vision, seen -his mother conning the said issue, and the sardonic curve of her lips as -she recognised her son therein, and he had even heard her dry, cynical, -contemptuous exclamation: "Bless us!" He could never have looked -squarely in his mother's face again if that group had appeared in her -chosen organ! Her silent and grim scorn would have crushed his -self-conceit to a miserable, hopeless pulp. Hence his resolve to render -the photograph impossible. - -"Perhaps I'd better take another one?" the photographer suggested. -"Though I think Mr.--er--Machin was all right." At the supreme crisis -the man had been too busy with his fireworks to keep a watch on every -separate eye and mouth of the assemblage. - -"Of course I was all right!" said Edward Henry, almost with brutality. -"Please take that thing away as quickly as you can. We have business to -attend to." - -"Yes, sir," agreed the photographer, no longer victorious. - -Edward Henry rang the bell, and two gentlemen in waiting arrived. - -"Clear this table immediately!" - -The tone of the command startled everybody except the gentlemen in -waiting and Mr. Seven Sachs. Rose Euclid gave vent to her nervous -giggle. The poet and Mr. Marrier tried to appear detached and -dignified, and succeeded in appearing guiltily confused--for which they -contemned themselves. Despite their volition, the glances of all three -of them too clearly signified: "This capitalist must be humoured. He -has an unlimited supply of actual cash, and therefore he has the right -to be peculiar. Moreover, we know that he is a card...." And, -curiously, Edward Henry himself was deriving great force of character -from the simple reflection that he had indeed a lot of money, real -available money, his to do utterly as he liked with it, hidden in a -secret place in that very room. "I'll show 'em what's what!" he -privately mused. "Celebrities or not, I'll show 'em! If they think -they can come it over me--!" - -It was, I regret to say, the state of mind of a bully. Such is the -noxious influence of excessive coin! - -He reproached the greatest actress and the greatest dramatic poet for -deceiving him, and quite ignored the nevertheless fairly obvious fact -that he had first deceived them. - -"Now then," he began, with something of the pomposity of a chairman at a -directors' meeting, as soon as the table had been cleared and the room -emptied of gentlemen in waiting and photographer and photographic -apparatus, "let us see exactly where we stand." - -He glanced specially at Rose Euclid, who with an air of deep business -acumen returned the glance. - -"Yes," she eagerly replied, as one seeking after righteousness, "_do_ -let's see." - -"The option must be taken up to-morrow. Good! That's clear. It came -rather casual-like, but it's now clear. L4,500 has to be paid down to -buy the existing building on the land and so on.... Eh?" - -"Yes. Of course Mr. Bryany told you all that, didn't he?" said Rose -brightly. - -"Mr. Bryany did tell me," Edward Henry admitted sternly. "But if Mr. -Bryany can make a mistake in the day of the week he might make a mistake -in a few naughts at the end of a sum of money." - -Suddenly Mr. Seven Sachs startled them all by emerging from his silence -with the words: - -"The figure is O.K." - -Instinctively Edward Henry waited for more; but no more came. Mr. Seven -Sachs was one of those rare and disconcerting persons who do not keep on -talking after they have finished. He resumed his tranquillity, he -re-entered into his silence, with no symptom of self-consciousness, -entirely cheerful and at ease. And Edward Henry was aware of his -observant and steady gaze. Edward Henry said to himself: "This man is -expecting me to behave in a remarkable way. Bryany has been telling him -all about me, and he is waiting to see if I really am as good as my -reputation. I have just got to be as good as my reputation!" He looked -up at the electric chandelier, almost with regret that it was not gas. -One cannot light one's cigarette by twisting a hundred-pound bank-note -and sticking it into an electric chandelier. Moreover, there were some -thousands of matches on the table. Still further, he had done the -cigarette-lighting trick once for all. A first-class card must not -repeat himself. - -"This money," Edward Henry proceeded, "has to be paid to Slossons, Lord -Woldo's solicitors, to-morrow, Wednesday, rain or shine?" He finished -the phrase on a note of interrogation, and as nobody offered any reply, -he rapped on the table, and repeated, half menacingly: "Rain or shine!" - -"Yes," said Rose Euclid, leaning timidly forward, and taking a cigarette -from a gold case that lay on the table. All her movements indicated an -earnest desire to be thoroughly businesslike. - -"So that, Miss Euclid," Edward Henry continued impressively but with a -wilful touch of incredulity, "you are in a position to pay your share of -this money to-morrow?" - -"Certainly!" said Miss Euclid. And it was as if she had said, -aggrieved: "Can you doubt my honour?" - -"To-morrow morning?" - -"Ye-es." - -"That is to say, to-morrow morning you will have L2,250 in actual -cash--coin, notes--actually in your possession?" - -Miss Euclid's disengaged hand was feeling out behind her again for some -surface upon which to express its emotion and hers. - -"Well--" she stopped, flushing. - -("These people are astounding," Edward Henry reflected, like a god. -"She's not got the money. I knew it!") - -"It's like this, Mr. Machin," Marrier began. - -"Excuse me, Mr. Marrier," Edward Henry turned on him, determined if he -could to eliminate the optimism from that beaming face. "Any friend of -Miss Euclid's is welcome here, but you've already talked about this -theatre as 'ours,' and I just want to know where you come in." - -"Where I come in?" Marrier smiled, absolutely unperturbed. "Miss Euclid -has appointed me general manajah." - -"At what salary, if it isn't a rude question?" - -"Oh! We haven't settled details yet. You see the theatre isn't built -yet." - -"True!" said Edward Henry. "I was forgetting! I was thinking for the -moment that the theatre was all ready and going to be opened to-morrow -night with 'The Orient Pearl.' Have you had much experience of managing -theatres, Mr. Marrier? I suppose you have." - -"Eho, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Marrier. "I began life as a lawyah's clerk, -but--" - -"So did I," Edward Henry interjected. - -"How interesting!" Rose Euclid murmured with fervency, after puffing -forth a long shaft of smoke. - -"However, I threw it up," Marrier went on. - -"I didn't," said Edward Henry. "I got thrown out!" - -Strange that in that moment he was positively proud of having been -dismissed from his first situation! Strange that all the company, too, -thought the better of him for having been dismissed! Strange that -Marrier regretted that he also had not been dismissed! But so it was. -The possession of much ready money emits a peculiar effluence in both -directions--back to the past, forward into the future. - -"I threw it up," said Marrier, "because the stage had an irresistible -attraction for me. I'd been stage-manajah for an amateur company, you -knaoo. I found a shop as stage-manajah of a company touring 'Uncle -Tom's Cabin.' I stuck to that for six years, and then I threw that up -too. Then I've managed one of Miss Euclid's provincial tours. And since -I met our friend Trent, I've had the chance to show what my ideas about -play-producing really are. I fancy my production of Trent's one-act -play won't be forgotten in a hurry.... You know--'The Nymph?' You read -about it, didn't you?" - -"I did not," said Edward Henry. "How long did it run?" - -"Oh! it didn't run. It wasn't put on for a run. It was part of one of -the Sunday-night shows of the Play-Producing Society, at the Court -Theatre. Most intellectual people in London, you know. No such audience -anywhere else in the wahld!" His rather chubby face glistened and -shimmered with enthusiasm. "You bet!" he added. "But that was only by -the way. My real game is management--general management. And I think I -may say I know what it is." - -"Evidently!" Edward Henry concurred. "But shall you have to give up any -other engagement in order to take charge of the Muses' Theatre? Because -if so--" - -Mr. Marrier replied: - -"No." - -Edward Henry observed: - -"Oh!" - -"But," said Marrier reassuringly, "if necessary I would throw up any -engagement--you understand me, any--in favour of the Intellectual -Theatah as I prefer to call it. You see, as I own part of the option--" - -By these last words Edward Henry was confounded, even to muteness. - -"I forgot to mention, Mr. Machin," said Rose Euclid very quickly. "I've -disposed of a quarter of my half of the option to Mr. Marrier. He fully -agreed with me it was better that he should have a proper interest in -the theatre." - -"Why of course!" cried Mr. Marrier, uplifted. - -"Let me see," said Edward Henry, after a long breath, "a quarter--that -makes it that you have to find L562 10s, to-morrow, Mr. Marrier." - -"Yes." - -"To-morrow morning--you'll be all right?" - -"Well, I won't swear for the morning, but I shall turn up with the stuff -in the afternoon anyhow. I've two men in tow, and one of them's a -certainty." - -"Which?" - -"I don't know which," said Mr. Marrier. "Howevah, you may count on yours -sincerely, Mr. Machin." - -There was a pause. - -"Perhaps I ought to tell you," Rose Euclid smiled, "perhaps I ought to -tell you that Mr. Trent is also one of our partners. He has taken -another quarter of my half." - -Edward Henry controlled himself. - -"Excellent!" said he with glee. "Mr. Trent's money all ready too?" - -"I am providing most of it--temporarily," said Rose Euclid. - -"I see. Then I understand you have your three quarters of L2,250 all -ready in hand." - -She glanced at Mr. Seven Sachs. - -"Have I, Mr. Sachs?" - -And Mr. Sachs, after an instant's hesitation, bowed in assent. - -"Mr. Sachs is not exactly going into the speculation, but he is lending -us money on the security of our interests. That's the way to put it, -isn't it, Mr. Sachs?" - -Mr. Sachs once more bowed. - -And Edward Henry exclaimed: - -"Now I really do see!" - -He gave one glance across the table at Mr. Seven Sachs, as who should -say: "And have you too allowed yourself to be dragged into this affair? -I really thought you were cleverer. Don't you agree with me that we're -both fools of the most arrant description?" And under the brief glance -Mr. Seven Sachs's calm deserted him as it had never deserted him on the -stage, where for over fifteen hundred nights he had withstood the menace -of revolvers, poison, and female treachery through three hours and four -acts without a single moment of agitation. - -Apparently Miss Rose Euclid could exercise a siren's charm upon nearly -all sorts of men. But Edward Henry knew one sort of men upon whom she -could not exercise it; namely, the sort of men who are born and bred in -the Five Towns. His instinctive belief in the Five Towns as the sole -cradle of hard practical common sense was never stronger than just now. -You might by wiles get the better of London and America, but not of the -Five Towns. If Rose Euclid were to go around and about the Five Towns -trying to do the siren business, she would pretty soon discover that she -was up against something rather special in the way of human nature! - -Why, the probability was that these three--Rose Euclid (only a few hours -since a glorious name and legend to him), Carlo Trent, and Mr. -Marrier--could not at that moment produce even ten pounds between them! -... And Marrier offering to lay fivers! ... He scornfully pitied them. -And he was not altogether without pity for Seven Sachs, who had -doubtless succeeded in life by sheer accident and knew no more than an -infant what to do with his too easily earned money. - - - - II. - - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "shall I tell you what I've decided?" - -"Please do!" Rose Euclid entreated him. - -"I've decided to make you a present of my half of the option." - -"But aren't you going in with us?" exclaimed Rose, horror-struck. - -"No, madam." - -"But Mr. Bryany told us positively you were! He said it was all -arranged!" - -"Mr. Bryany ought to be more careful," said Edward Henry. "If he -doesn't mind, he'll be telling a downright lie some day." - -"But you bought half the option!" - -"Well," said Edward Henry, reasoning. "What _is_ an option? What does -it mean? It means you are free to take something or leave it. I'm -leaving it." - -"But why?" demanded Mr. Marrier, gloomier. - -Carlo Trent played with his eye-glasses and said not a word. - -"Why?" Edward Henry replied. "Simply because I feel I'm not fitted for -the job. I don't know enough. I don't understand. I shouldn't go the -right way about the affair. For instance, I should never have guessed -by myself that it was the proper thing to settle the name of the theatre -before you'd got the lease of the land you're going to build it on. -Then I'm old-fashioned. I hate leaving things to the last moment; but -seemingly there's only one proper moment in these theatrical affairs, -and that's the very last. I'm afraid there'd be too much trusting in -Providence for my taste. I believe in trusting in Providence, but I -can't bear to see Providence overworked. And I've never even tried to -be intellectual, and I'm a bit frightened of poetry plays--" - -"But you've not read my play!" Carlo Trent mutteringly protested. - -"That is so," admitted Edward Henry. - -"Will you read it?" - -"Mr. Trent," said Edward Henry. "I'm not so young as I was." - -"We're ruined!" sighed Rose Euclid with a tragic gesture. - -"Ruined?" Edward Henry took her up, smiling. "Nobody is ruined who -knows where he can get a square meal. Do you mean to tell me you don't -know where you're going to lunch to-morrow?" And he looked hard at her. - -It was a blow. She blenched under it. - -"Oh, yes," she said, with her giggle, "I know that." - -("Well you just don't!" he answered her in his heart. "You think you're -going to lunch with John Pilgrim. And you aren't. And it serves you -right!") - -"Besides," he continued aloud, "how can you say you're ruined when I'm -making you a present of something that I paid L100 for?" - -"But where am I to find the other half of the money--L2,250?" she burst -out. "We were depending absolutely on you for it. If I don't get it, -the option will be lost, and the option's very valuable." - -"All the easier to find the money then!" - -"What? In less than twenty-four hours? It can't be done. I couldn't -get it in all London." - -"Mr. Marrier will get it for you ... one of his certainties!" Edward -Henry smiled in the Five Towns' manner. - -"I might, you knaoo!" said Marrier, brightening to full hope in the -fraction of a second. - -But Rose Euclid only shook her head. - -"Mr. Seven Sachs, then?" Edward Henry suggested. - -"I should have been delighted," said Mr. Sachs with the most perfect -gracious tranquillity. "But I cannot find another L2,250 to-morrow." - -"I shall just speak to that Mr. Bryany!" said Rose Euclid, in the -accents of homicide. - -"I think you ought to," Edward Henry concurred. "But that won't help -things. I feel a little responsible, especially to a lady. You have a -quarter of the whole option left in your hands, Miss Euclid. I'll pay -you at the same rate as Bryany sold to me. I gave L100 for half. Your -quarter is therefore worth L50. Well, I'll pay you L50." - -"And then what?" - -"Then let the whole affair slide." - -"But that won't help me to my theatre!" Rose Euclid said, pouting. She -was now decidedly less unhappy than her face pretended, because Edward -Henry had reminded her of Sir John Pilgrim, and she had dreams of world -triumphs for herself and for Carlo Trent's play. She was almost glad to -be rid of all the worry of the horrid little prospective theatre. - -"I have bank-notes," cooed Edward Henry softly. - -Her head sank. - -Edward Henry rose in the incomparable yellow dressing-gown and walked to -and fro a little, and then from his secret store he produced a bundle of -notes, and counted out five tens and, coming behind Rose, stretched out -his arm and laid the treasure on the table in front of her under the -brilliant chandelier. - -"I don't want you to feel you have anything against me," he cooed still -more softly. - -Silence reigned. Edward Henry resumed his chair and gazed at Rose -Euclid. She was quite a dozen years older than his wife, and she looked -more than a dozen years older. She had no fixed home, no husband, no -children, no regular situation. She accepted the homage of young men, -who were cleverer than herself save in one important respect. She was -always in and out of restaurants and hotels and express trains. She was -always committing hygienic indiscretions. She could not refrain from a -certain girlishness which, having regard to her years, her waist, and -her complexion, was ridiculous. His wife would have been afraid of her, -and would have despised her, simultaneously. She was coarsened by the -continual gaze of the gaping public. No two women could possibly be more -utterly dissimilar than Rose Euclid and the cloistered Nellie.... And -yet, as Rose Euclid's hesitant fingers closed on the bank-notes with a -gesture of relief, Edward Henry had an agreeable and kindly sensation -that all women were alike, after all, in the need of a shield, a -protection, a strong and generous male hand. He was touched by the -spectacle of Rose Euclid, as naive as any young lass when confronted by -actual bank-notes; and he was touched also by the thought of Nellie and -the children afar off, existing in comfort and peace, but utterly, -wistfully, dependent on himself. - -"And what about me?" growled Carlo Trent. - -"You?" - -The fellow was only a poet. He negligently dropped him five fivers, his -share of the option's value. - -Mr. Marrier said nothing, but his eye met Edward Henry's, and in silence -five fivers were meted out to Mr. Marrier also.... It was so easy to -delight these persons who apparently seldom set eyes on real ready -money. - -"You might sign receipts, all of you, just as a matter of form," said -Edward Henry. - -A little later, the three associates were off. - -"As we're both in the hotel, Mr. Sachs," said Edward Henry, "you might -stay for a chat and a drink." - -Mr. Seven Sachs politely agreed. - -Edward Henry accompanied the trio of worshippers and worshipped to the -door of his suite, but no further, because of his dressing-gown. Rose -Euclid had assumed a resplendent opera-cloak. They rang imperially for -the lift. Lackeys bowed humbly before them. They spoke of taxicabs and -other luxuries. They were perfectly at home in the grandeur of the -hotel. As the illuminated lift carried them down out of sight, their -smiling heads disappearing last, they seemed exactly like persons of -extreme wealth. And indeed for the moment they were wealthy. They had -parted with certain hopes, but they had had a windfall; and two of them -were looking forward with absolute assurance to a profitable meal and -deal with Sir John Pilgrim on the morrow. - -"Funny place, London!" said the provincial to himself as he re-entered -his suite to rejoin Mr. Seven Sachs. - - - - III. - - -"Well, sir," said Mr. Seven Sachs, "I have to thank you for getting me -out of a very unsatisfactory situation." - -"Did you really want to get out of it?" asked Edward Henry. - -Mr. Sachs replied simply. - -"I did, sir. There were too many partners for my taste." - -They were seated more familiarly now in the drawing-room, being indeed -separated only by a small table upon which were glasses. And whereas on -a night in the previous week Edward Henry had been entertained by Mr. -Bryany in a private parlour at the Turk's Head, Hanbridge, on this night -he was in a sort repaying the welcome to Mr. Bryany's master in a -private parlour at Wilkins's, London. The sole difference in favour of -Mr. Bryany was that, while Mr. Bryany provided cigarettes and whisky, -Edward Henry was providing only cigarettes and Vichy water. Mr. Seven -Sachs had said that he never took whisky; and though Edward Henry's -passion for Vichy water was not quite ungovernable, he thought well to -give rein to it on the present occasion, having read somewhere that -Vichy water placated the stomach. - -Joseph had been instructed to retire. - -"And not only that," resumed Mr. Seven Sachs, "but you've got a very -good thing entirely into your own hands! Masterly, sir! Masterly! -Why, at the end you positively had the air of doing them a favour! You -made them believe you _were_ doing them a favour." - -"And don't you think I was?" - -Mr. Sachs reflected, and then laughed. - -"You were," he said. "That's the beauty of it. But at the same time you -were getting away with the goods!" - -It was by sheer instinct, and not by learning, that Edward Henry fully -grasped, as he did, the deep significance of the American idiom employed -by Mr. Seven Sachs. He, too, laughed, as Mr. Sachs had laughed. He was -immeasurably flattered. He had not been so flattered since the Countess -of Chell had permitted him to offer her China tea, meringues, and Berlin -pancakes at the Sub Rosa tea-rooms in Hanbridge--and that was a very -long time ago. - -"You really _do_ think it's a good thing?" Edward Henry ventured, for he -had not yet been convinced of the entire goodness of theatrical -enterprise near Piccadilly Circus. - -Mr. Seven Sachs convinced him--not by argument, but by the sincerity of -his gestures and tones; for it was impossible to question that Mr. Seven -Sachs knew what he was talking about. The shape of Mr. Seven Sachs' -chin was alone enough to prove that Mr. Sachs was incapable of a mere -ignorant effervescence. Everything about Mr. Sachs was persuasive and -confidence-inspiring. His long silences had the easy vigour of oratory, -and they served also to make his speech peculiarly impressive. -Moreover, he was a handsome and a dark man, and probably half a dozen -years younger than Edward Henry. And the discipline of lime-light had -taught him the skill to be forever graceful. And his smile, rare enough, -was that of a boy. - -"Of course," said he, "if Miss Euclid and the others had had any sense, -they might have done very well for themselves. If you ask me, the -option alone is worth ten thousand dollars. But then they haven't any -sense! And that's all there is to it!" - -"So you'd advise me to go ahead with the affair on my own?" - -Mr. Seven Sachs, his black eyes twinkling, leaned forward and became -rather intimately humorous: - -"You look as if you wanted advice, don't you?" said he. - -"I suppose I do, now I come to think of it!" agreed Edward Henry with a -most admirable quizzicalness; in spite of the fact that he had not -really meant to "go ahead with the affair," being in truth a little -doubtful of his capacity to handle it. - -But Mr. Seven Sachs was, all unconsciously, forcing Edward Henry to -believe in his own capacities; and the two, as it were, suddenly -developed a more cordial friendliness. Each felt the quick lifting of -the plane of their relations, and was aware of a pleasurable emotion. - -"I'm moving onwards--gently onwards," crooned Edward Henry to himself. -"What price Brindley and his half-crown now?" Londoners might call him -a provincial, and undoubtedly would call him a provincial; he admitted, -even, that he felt like a provincial in the streets of London. And yet -here he was, "doing Londoners in the eye all over the place," and -receiving the open homage of Mr. Seven Sachs, whose name was the basis -of a cosmopolitan legend. - -And now he made the cardinal discovery, which marks an epoch in the life -of every man who arrives at it, that world-celebrated persons are very -like other persons. And he was happy and rather proud in this -discovery, and began to feel a certain vague desire to tell Mr. Seven -Sachs the history of his career--or at any rate the picturesque portions -of it. For he, too, was famous in his own sphere; and in the -drawing-room of Wilkins's one celebrity was hobnobbing with another! -("Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Brindley!") Yes, he was -happy, both in what he had already accomplished, and in the -contemplation of romantic adventures to come. - -And yet his happiness was marred--not fatally, but quite appreciably--by -a remorse that no amount of private argument with himself would conjure -away. Which was the more singular in that a morbid tendency to remorse -had never been among Edward Henry's defects! He was worrying, foolish -fellow, about the false telephone-call in which, for the purpose of -testing Rose Euclid's loyalty to the new enterprise, he had pretended to -be the new private secretary of Sir John Pilgrim. Yet what harm had it -done? And had it not done a lot of good? Rose Euclid and her youthful -worshipper were no worse off than they had been before being victimised -by the deceit of the telephone-call. Prior to the call they had assumed -themselves to be deprived forever of the benefits which association with -Sir John Pilgrim could offer, and as a fact they were deprived forever -of such benefits. Nothing changed there! Before the call they had had -no hope of lunching with the enormous Sir John on the morrow, and as a -fact they would not lunch with the enormous Sir John on the morrow. -Nothing changed there either! Again, in no event would Edward Henry -have joined the trio in order to make a quartette in partnership. Even -had he been as convinced of Rose's loyalty as he was convinced of her -disloyalty, he would never have been rash enough to co-operate with such -a crew. Again, nothing changed! - -On the other hand, he had acquired an assurance of the artiste's -duplicity, which assurance had made it easier for him to disappoint her, -while the prospect of a business repast with Sir John had helped her to -bear the disappointment as a brave woman should. It was true that on -the morrow, about lunch-time, Rose Euclid and Carlo Trent might have to -live through a few rather trying moments, and they would certainly be -very angry; but these drawbacks would have been more than compensated -for in advance by the pleasures of hope. And had they not between them -pocketed seventy-five pounds which they had stood to lose? - -Such reasoning was unanswerable, and his remorse did not attempt to -answer it. His remorse was not open to reason; it was one of those -stupid, primitive sentiments which obstinately persist in the refined -and rational fabric of modern humanity. - -He was just sorry for Rose Euclid. - -"Do you know what I did?" he burst out confidentially, and confessed the -whole telephone trick to Mr. Seven Sachs. - -Mr. Seven Sachs, somewhat to Edward Henry's surprise, expressed high -admiration of the device. - -"A bit mean, though, don't you think?" Edward Henry protested weakly. - -"Not at all!" cried Mr. Sachs. "You got the goods on her. And she -deserved it." - -(Again this enigmatic and mystical word "goods"! But he understood it.) - -Thus encouraged, he was now quite determined to give Mr. Seven Sachs a -brief episodic account of his career. A fair conversational opening was -all he wanted in order to begin. - -"I wonder what will happen to her--ultimately?" he said, meaning to work -back from the ends of careers to their beginnings, and so to himself. - -"Rose Euclid?" - -"Yes." - -Mr. Sachs shook his head compassionately. - -"How did Mr. Bryany get in with her?" asked Edward Henry. - -"Bryany is a highly peculiar person," said Mr. Seven Sachs familiarly. -"He's all right so long as you don't unstrap him. He was born to -convince newspaper reporters of his own greatness." - -"I had a bit of talk with him myself," said Edward Henry. - -"Oh, yes! He told me all about you." - -"But _I_ never told him anything about myself," said Edward Henry -quickly. - -"No, but he has eyes, you know, and ears too. Seems to me the people of -the Five Towns do little else of a night but discuss you, Mr. Machin. -_I_ heard a good bit when _I_ was down there, though I don't go about -much when I'm on the road. I reckon I could write a whole biography of -you." - -Edward Henry smiled self-consciously. He was of course enraptured, but -at the same time it was disappointing to find Mr. Sachs already so fully -informed as to the details of his career. However, he did not intend to -let that prevent him from telling the story afresh, in his own manner. - -"I suppose you've had your adventures too," he remarked with -nonchalance, partly from politeness, but mainly in order to avoid the -appearance of hurry in his egotism. - - - - IV. - - -"You bet I have!" Mr. Seven Sachs cordially agreed, abandoning the end -of a cigarette, putting his hands behind his head, and crossing his -legs. - -Whereupon there was a brief pause. - -"I remember--" Edward Henry began. - -"I dare say you've heard--" began Mr. Seven Sachs simultaneously. - -They were like two men who by inadvertence had attempted to pass through -a narrow doorway abreast. Edward Henry, as the host, drew back. - -"I beg your pardon!" he apologised. - -"Not at all," said Seven Sachs. "I was only going to say you've -probably heard that I was always up against Archibald Florance." - -"Really!" murmured Edward Henry, impressed in spite of himself; for the -renown of Archibald Florance exceeded that of Seven Sachs as the sun the -moon, and was older and more securely established than it as the sun the -moon. The renown of Rose Euclid was as naught to it. Doubtful it was -whether, in the annals of modern histrionics, the grandeur and the -romance of that American name could be surpassed by any renown save that -of the incomparable Henry Irving. The retirement of Archibald Florance -from the stage a couple of years earlier had caused crimson gleams of -sunset splendour to shoot across the Atlantic and irradiate even the -Garrick Club, London, so that the members thereof had to shade their -offended eyes. Edward Henry had never seen Archibald Florance, but it -was not necessary to have seen him in order to appreciate the majesty of -his glory. No male in the history of the world was ever more -photographed, and few have been the subject of more anecdotes. - -"I expect he's a wealthy chap in his old age," said Edward Henry. - -"Wealthy!" exclaimed Mr. Sachs. "He's the richest actor in America, and -that's saying in the world. He had the greatest reputation. He's still -the handsomest man in the United States--that's admitted--with his white -hair! They used to say he was the cruellest, but it's not so. Though -of course he could be a perfect terror with his companies." - -"And so you knew Archibald Florance?" - -"You bet I did. He never had any friends--never--but I knew him as well -as anybody could. Why, in San Francisco, after the show, I've walked -with him back to his hotel, and he's walked with me back to mine, and so -on, and so on, till three or four o'clock in the morning. You see, we -couldn't stop until it happened that he finished a cigar at the exact -moment when we got to his hotel door. If the cigar wasn't finished, -then he must needs stroll back a bit, and before I knew where I was he'd -be lighting a fresh one. He smoked the finest cigars in America. I -remember him telling me they cost him three dollars apiece." - -And Edward Henry then perceived another profound truth, his second -cardinal discovery on that notable evening; namely, that no matter how -high you rise, you will always find that others have risen higher. Nay, -it is not until you have achieved a considerable peak that you are able -to appreciate the loftiness of those mightier summits. He himself was -high, and so he could judge the greater height of Seven Sachs; and it -was only through the greater height of Seven Sachs that he could form an -adequate idea of the pinnacle occupied by the unique Archibald Florance. -Honestly, he had never dreamt that there existed a man who habitually -smoked twelve-shilling cigars--and yet he reckoned to know a thing or -two about cigars! - -"I am nothing!" he thought modestly. Nevertheless, though the savour of -the name of Archibald Florance was agreeable, he decided that he had -heard enough for the moment about Archibald Florance, and that he would -relate to Mr. Sachs the famous episode of his own career in which the -Countess of Chell and a mule had so prominently performed. - -"I remember--" he recommenced. - -"My first encounter with Archibald Florance was very funny," proceeded -Mr. Seven Sachs, blandly deaf. "I was starving in New York,--trying to -sell a new razor on commission,--and I was determined to get on to the -stage. I had one visiting card left--just one. I wrote 'Important' on -it, and sent it up to Wunch. I don't know whether you've ever heard of -Wunch. Wunch was Archibald Florence's stage-manager, and nearly as -famous as Archibald himself. Well, Wunch sent for me up-stairs to his -room, but when he found I was only the usual youngster after the usual -job he just had me thrown out of the theatre. He said I'd no right to -put 'Important' on a visiting card. 'Well,' I said to myself, 'I'm -going to get back into that theatre somehow!' So I went up to -Archibald's private house--Sixtieth Street I think it was, and asked to -see him, and I saw him. When I got into his room, he was writing. He -kept on writing for some minutes, and then he swung round on his chair. - -"'And what can I do for you, sir?' he said. - -"'Do you want any actors, Mr. Florance?' I said. - -"'Are you an actor?' he said. - -"'I want to be one,' I said. - -"'Well,' he said, 'there's a school round the corner.' - -"'Well,' I said, 'you might give me a card of introduction, Mr. -Florance.' - -"He gave me the card. I didn't take it to the school. I went straight -back to the theatre with it, and had it sent up to Wunch. It just said, -'Introducing Mr. Sachs, a young man anxious to get on.' Wunch took it -for a positive order to find me a place. The company was full, so he -threw out one poor devil of a super to make room for me. Curious -thing--old Wunchy got it into his head that I was a _protege_ of -Archibald's, and he always looked after me. What d'ye think about -that?" - -"Brilliant!" said Edward Henry. And it was! The simplicity of the thing -was what impressed him. Since winning a scholarship at school by -altering the number of marks opposite his name on a paper lying on the -master's desk, Edward Henry had never achieved advancement by a device -so simple. And he thought: "I am nothing! The Five Towns is nothing! -All that one hears about Americans and the United States is true. As -far as getting on goes, they can make rings round us. Still, I shall -tell him about the countess and the mule--" - -"Yes," continued Mr. Seven Sachs, "Wunch was very kind to me. But he -was pretty well down and out, and he left, and Archibald got a new -stage-manager, and I was promoted to do a bit of assistant -stage-managing. But I got no increase of salary. There were two women -stars in the play Archibald was doing then--'The Forty-Niners.' -Romantic drama, you know! Melodrama you'd call it over here. He never -did any other sort of play. Well, these two women stars were about -equal, and when the curtain fell on the first act they'd both make a -bee-line for Archibald to see who'd get to him first and engage him in -talk. They were jealous enough, of each other to kill. Anybody could -see that Archibald was frightfully bored, but he couldn't escape. They -got him on both sides, you see, and he just _had_ to talk to 'em, both -at once. I used to be fussing around fixing the properties for the next -act. Well, one night he comes up to me, Archibald does, and he says: - -"'Mr.--what's your name?' - -"'Sachs, sir,' I says. - -"'You notice when those two ladies come up to me after the first act. -Well, when you see them talking to me, I want you to come right along -and interrupt,' he says. - -"'What shall I say, sir?' - -"'Tap me on the shoulder, and say I'm wanted about something very -urgent. You see?' - -"So the next night when those women got hold of him, sure enough, I went -up between them and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Mr. Florance,' I said, -'something very urgent.' He turned on me and scowled: 'What is it?' he -said, and he looked very angry. It was a bit of the best acting the old -man ever did in his life. It was so good that at first I thought it was -real. He said again louder, 'What is it?' So I said, 'Well, Mr. -Florance, the most urgent thing in this theatre is that I should have an -increase in salary!' I guess I licked the stuffing out of him that -time." - -Edward Henry gave vent to one of those cordial and violent guffaws which -are a specialty of the humorous side of the Five Towns. And he said to -himself: "I should never have thought of anything as good as that." - -"And did you get it?" he asked. - -"The old man said not a word," Mr. Seven Sachs went on in the same even -tranquil smiling voice. "But next pay-day I found I'd got a rise of ten -dollars a week. And not only that, but Mr. Florance offered me a -singing part in his new drama, if I could play the mandolin. I -naturally told him I'd played the mandolin all my life. I went out and -bought a mandolin and hired a teacher. He wanted to teach me the -mandolin, but I only wanted him to teach me that one accompaniment. So I -fired him, and practised by myself night and day for a week. I got -through all the rehearsals without ever singing that song. Cleverest -dodging I ever did! On the first night I was so nervous I could -scarcely hold the mandolin. I'd never played the infernal thing before -anybody at all--only up in my bedroom. I struck the first chord, and -found the darned instrument was all out of tune with the orchestra. So -I just pretended to play it, and squawked away with my song, and never -let my fingers touch the strings at all. Old Florance was waiting for -me in the wings. I knew he was going to fire me. But no! 'Sachs,' he -said, 'that accompaniment was the most delicate piece of playing I ever -heard. I congratulate you.' He was quite serious. Everybody said the -same! Luck, eh?" - -"I should say so," said Edward Henry, gradually beginning to be -interested in the odyssey of Mr. Seven Sachs. "I remember a funny thing -that happened to me--" - -"However," Mr. Sachs swept smoothly along, "that piece was a failure. -And Archibald arranged to take a company to Europe with 'Forty-Miners.' -And I was left out! This rattled me, specially after the way he liked -my mandolin-playing. So I went to see him about it in his dressing-room -one night, and I charged around a bit. He did rattle me! Then I raided -him. I would get an answer out of him. He said: - -"'I'm not in the habit of being cross-examined in my own dressing-room.' - -"I didn't care what happened then, so I said: - -"'And I'm not in the habit of being treated as you're treating me.' - -"All of a sudden he became quite quiet, and patted me on the shoulder. -'You're getting on very well, Sachs,' he said. 'You've only been at it -one year. It's taken me twenty-five years to get where I am.' - -"However, I was too angry to stand for that sort of talk. I said to -him: - -"'I dare say you're a very great and enviable man, Mr. Florance, but I -propose to save fifteen years on your twenty-five. I'll equal or better -your position in ten years.' - -"He shoved me out--just shoved me out of the room.... It was that that -made me turn to play-writing. Florance wrote his own plays sometimes, -but it was only his acting and his face that saved them. And they were -too American. He never did really well outside America except in one -play, and that wasn't his own. Now, I was out after money. And I still -am. I wanted to please the largest possible public. So I guessed there -was nothing for it but the universal appeal. I never write a play that -won't appeal to England, Germany, France, just as well as to America. -America's big, but it isn't big enough for me.... Well, as I was -saying, soon after that I got a one-act play produced at Hannibal, -Missouri. And the same week there was a company at another theatre -there playing the old man's 'Forty-Niners.' And the next morning the -theatrical critic's article in the Hannibal _Courier-Post_ was headed: -'Rival attractions. Archibald Florance's "Forty-Niners" and new play by -Seven Sachs.' I cut that heading out and sent it to the old man in -London, and I wrote under it, 'See how far I've got in six months.' -When he came back he took me into his company again.... What price that, -eh?" - -Edward Henry could only nod his head. The customarily silent Seven -Sachs had little by little subdued him to an admiration as mute as it -was profound. - -"Nearly five years after that I got a Christmas card from old Florance. -It had the usual printed wishes,--'Merriest possible Christmas, and so -on,'--but underneath that Archibald had written in pencil, 'You've still -five years to go.' That made me roll my sleeves up, as you may say. -Well, a long time after that I was standing at the corner of Broadway -and Forty-fourth Street, and looking at my own name in electric letters -on the Criterion Theatre. First time I'd ever seen it in electric -letters on Broadway. It was the first night of 'Overheard.' Florance -was playing at the Hudson Theatre, which is a bit higher up Forty-fourth -Street, and _his_ name was in electric letters too, but further off -Broadway than mine. I strolled up, just out of idle curiosity, and -there the old man was standing in the porch of the theatre, all alone! -'Hullo, Sachs,' he said, 'I'm glad I've seen you. It's saved me -twenty-five cents.' I asked how. He said, 'I was just going to send -you a telegram of congratulations.' He liked me, old Archibald did. He -still does. But I hadn't done with him. I went to stay with him at his -house on Long Island in the spring. 'Excuse me, Mr. Florance,' I says -to him. 'How many companies have you got on the road?' He said, 'Oh! -I haven't got many now. Five, I think.' 'Well,' I says. 'I've got six -here in the United States, two in England, three in Austria, and one in -Italy.' He said, 'Have a cigar, Sachs; you've got the goods on me!' He -was living in that magnificent house all alone, with a whole regiment of -servants." - - - - V. - - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "you're a great man!" - -"No, I'm not," said Mr. Seven Sachs. "But my income is four hundred -thousand dollars a year, and rising. I'm out after the stuff, that's -all." - -"I say you are a great man!" Edward Henry repeated. Mr. Sachs' recital -had inspired him. He kept saying to himself: "And I'm a great man too. -And I'll show 'em." - -Mr. Sachs, having delivered himself of his load, had now lapsed -comfortably back into his original silence, and was prepared to listen. -But Edward Henry somehow had lost the desire to enlarge on his own -variegated past. He was absorbed in the greater future. - -At length he said very distinctly: - -"You honestly think I could run a theatre?" - -"You were born to run a theatre," said Seven Sachs. - -Thrilled, Edward Henry responded: - -"Then I'll write to those lawyer people, Slossons, and tell 'em I'll be -around with the brass about eleven to-morrow." - -Mr. Sachs rose. A clock had delicately chimed two. - -"If ever you come to New York, and I can do anything for you--" said Mr. -Sachs heartily. - -"Thanks," said Edward Henry. They were shaking hands. "I say," Edward -Henry went on, "there's one thing I want to ask you. Why _did_ you -promise to back Rose Euclid and her friends? You must surely have -known--" He threw up his hands. - -Mr. Sachs answered: - -"I'll be frank with you. It was her cousin that persuaded me into -it--Elsie April." - -"Elsie April? Who's she?" - -"Oh! You must have seen them about together--her and Rose Euclid. -They're nearly always together." - -"I saw her in the restaurant here to-day with a rather jolly girl--blue -hat." - -"That's the one. As soon as you've made her acquaintance you'll -understand what I mean," said Mr. Seven Sachs. - -"Ah! But I'm not a bachelor like you," Edward Henry smiled archly. - -"Well, you'll see when you meet her," said Mr. Sachs. Upon which -enigmatic warning he departed, and was lost in the immense glittering -nocturnal silence of Wilkins's. - -Edward Henry sat down to write to Slossons by the three A.M. post. But -as he wrote he kept saying to himself: "So Elsie April's her name, is -it? And she actually persuaded Sachs--Sachs--to make a fool of himself!" - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - LORD WOLDO AND LADY WOLDO - - II. - -The next morning Joseph, having opened wide the window, informed his -master that the weather was bright and sunny, and Edward Henry arose -with just that pleasant degree of fatigue which persuades one that one -is, if anything, rather more highly vitalised than usual. He sent for -Mr. Bryany, as for a domestic animal, and Mr. Bryany, ceremoniously -attired, was received by a sort of jolly king who happened to be -trimming his beard in the royal bathroom, but who was too good-natured -to keep Mr. Bryany waiting. It is remarkable how the habit of royalty, -having once taken root, will flourish in the minds of quite -unmonarchical persons. Edward Henry first enquired after the health of -Mr. Seven Sachs, and then obtained from Mr. Bryany all remaining papers -and trifles of information concerning the affair of the option. -Whereupon Mr. Bryany, apparently much elated by the honour of an -informal reception, effusively retired. And Edward Henry too was so -elated, and his faith in life so renewed and invigorated that he said to -himself: - -"It might be worth while to shave my beard off after all!" - -As in his electric brougham he drove along muddy and shining Piccadilly, -he admitted that Joseph's account of the weather had been very accurate. -The weather was magnificent; it presented the best features of summer -combined with the salutary pungency of autumn. And flags were flying -over the establishments of tobacconists, soothsayers, and insurance -companies in Piccadilly. And the sense of empire was in the very air, -like an intoxication. And there was no place like London. When, -however, having run through Piccadilly into streets less superb, he -reached the Majestic, it seemed to him that the Majestic was not a part -of London, but a bit of the provinces surrounded by London. He was very -disappointed with the Majestic, and took his letters from the clerk with -careless condescension. In a few days the Majestic had sunk from being -one of "London's huge caravanserais" to the level of a swollen Turk's -Head. So fragile are reputations! - -From the Majestic, Edward Henry drove back into the regions of Empire, -between Piccadilly and Regent Street, and deigned to call upon his -tailors. A morning suit which he had commanded being miraculously -finished, he put it on, and was at once not only spectacularly but -morally regenerated. The old suit, though it had cost five guineas in -its time, looked a paltry and a dowdy thing as it lay, flung down -anyhow, on one of Messrs. Quayther and Cuthering's cane chairs in the -mirrored cubicle where baronets and even peers showed their braces to -the benign Mr. Cuthering. - -"I want to go to Piccadilly Circus now. Stop at the fountain," said -Edward Henry to his chauffeur. He gave the order somewhat defiantly, -because he was a little self-conscious in the new and gleaming suit, and -because he had an absurd idea that the chauffeur might guess that he, a -provincial from the Five Towns, was about to venture into West End -theatrical enterprise, and sneer at him accordingly. - -But the chauffeur merely touched his cap with an indifferent lofty -gesture, as if to say: - -"Be at ease. I have driven more persons more moonstruck even than you. -Human eccentricity has long since ceased to surprise me." - -The fountain in Piccadilly Circus was the gayest thing in London. It -mingled the fresh tingling of water with the odour and flame of autumn -blossoms and the variegated colours of shawled women who passed their -lives on its margin engaged in the commerce of flowers. Edward Henry -bought an aster from a fine, bold, red-cheeked, blowsy, dirty wench with -a baby in her arms, and left some change for the baby. He was in a very -tolerant and charitable mood, and could excuse the sins and the -stupidity of all mankind. He reflected forgivingly that Rose Euclid and -her friends had perhaps not displayed an abnormal fatuity in discussing -the name of the theatre before they had got the lease of the site for -it. Had not he himself bought all the option without having even seen -the site? The fact was that he had had no leisure in his short royal -career for such details as seeing the site. He was now about to make -good the omission. - -It is a fact that as he turned northward from Piccadilly Circus, to the -right of the County Fire Office, in order to spy out the land upon which -his theatre was to be built, he hesitated, under the delusion that all -the passers-by were staring at him! He felt just as he might have felt -had he been engaged upon some scheme nefarious. He even went back and -pretended to examine the windows of the County Fire Office. Then, -glancing self-consciously about, he discerned--not unnaturally--the -words "Regent Street" on a sign. - -"There you are!" he murmured with a thrill. "There you are! There's -obviously only one name for that theatre--'The Regent.' It's close to -Regent Street. No other theatre is called 'The Regent.' Nobody before -ever had the idea of 'Regent' as a name for a theatre. 'Muses' indeed! -... 'Intellectual!' ... 'The Regent Theatre!' How well it comes off the -tongue! It's a great name! It'll be the finest name of any theatre in -London! And it took yours truly to think of it!" - -Then he smiled privately at his own weakness.... He too, like the -despised Rose, was baptising the unborn! Still, he continued to dream -of the theatre, and began to picture to himself the ideal theatre. He -discovered that he had quite a number of startling ideas about -theatre-construction, based on his own experience as a playgoer. - -When, with new courage, he directed his feet towards the site, upon -which he knew there was an old chapel known as Queen's Glasshouse -Chapel, whose ownership had slipped from the nerveless hand of a dying -sect of dissenters, he could not find the site, and he could not see the -chapel. For an instant he was perturbed by a horrid suspicion that he -had been victimised by a gang of swindlers posing as celebrated persons. -Everything was possible in this world and century. None of the people -who had appeared in the transaction had resembled his previous -conceptions of such people! And confidence-thieves always operated in -the grandest hotels! He immediately decided that if the sequel should -prove him to be a simpleton and gull he would at any rate be a silent -simpleton and gull. He would stoically bear the loss of two hundred -pounds, and breathe no word of woe. - -But then he remembered with relief that he had genuinely recognised both -Rose Euclid and Seven Sachs; and also that Mr. Bryany, among other -documents, had furnished him with a photograph of the chapel and -surrounding property. The chapel therefore existed. He had a plan in -his pocket. He now opened this plan and tried to consult it in the -middle of the street, but his agitation was such that he could not make -out on it which was north and which was south. After he had been nearly -prostrated by a taxicab, a policeman came up to him and said with all -the friendly disdain of a London policeman addressing a provincial: - -"Safer to look at that on the pavement, sir!" - -Edward Henry glanced up from the plan. - -"I was trying to find the Queen's Glasshouse Chapel, Officer," said he. -"Have you ever heard of it?" (In Bursley, members of the town council -always flattered members of the force by addressing them as "Officer"; -and Edward Henry knew exactly the effective intonation.) - -"It _was there_, sir," said the policeman, less disdainful, pointing to -a narrow hoarding behind which could be seen the back walls of high -buildings in Shaftesbury Avenue. "They've just finished pulling it -down." - -"Thank you," said Edward Henry quietly, with a superb and successful -effort to keep as much colour in his face as if the policeman had not -dealt him a dizzying blow. - -He then walked towards the hoarding, but could scarcely feel the ground -under his feet. From a wide aperture in the palisades a cartful of -earth was emerging; it creaked and shook as it was dragged by a -labouring horse over loose planks into the roadway; a whip-cracking -carter hovered on its flank. Edward Henry approached the aperture and -gazed within. An elegant young man stood solitary inside the hoarding -and stared at a razed expanse of land in whose furthest corner some -navvies were digging a hole.... - -The site! - -But what did this sinister destructive activity mean? Nobody was -entitled to interfere with property on which he, Alderman Machin, held -an unexpired option! But was it the site? He perused the plan again -with more care. Yes, there could be no doubt that it was the site. His -eye roved round, and he admitted the justice of the boast that an -electric sign displayed at the southern front corner of the theatre -would be visible from Piccadilly Circus, lower Regent Street, -Shaftesbury Avenue, etc. He then observed a large noticeboard, raised -on posts above the hoardings, and read the following: - - _Site - of the - First New Thought Church - to be opened next Spring. - Subscriptions invited. - Rollo Wrissell, Senior Trustee. - Ralph Alloyd, Architect. - Dicks and Pato, Builders._ - -The name of Rollo Wrissell seemed familiar to him, and after a few -moments' searching he recalled that Rollo Wrissell was one of the -trustees and executors of the late Lord Woldo, the other being the -widow, and the mother of the new Lord Woldo. In addition to the -lettering, the notice-board held a graphic representation of the First -New Thought Church as it would be when completed. - -"Well," said Edward Henry, not perhaps unjustifiably, "this really is a -bit thick! Here I've got an option on a plot of land for building a -theatre, and somebody else has taken it to put up a church!" - -He ventured inside the hoarding, and, addressing the elegant young man, -asked: - -"You got anything to do with this, Mister?" - -"Well," said the young man, smiling humorously, "I'm the architect. -It's true that nobody ever pays any attention to an architect in these -days." - -"Oh! You're Mr. Alloyd?" - -"I am." - -Mr. Alloyd had black hair, intensely black, changeful eyes, and the -expressive mouth of an actor. - -"I thought they were going to build a theatre here," said Edward Henry. - -"I wish they had been!" said Mr. Alloyd. "I'd just like to design a -theatre! But of course I shall never get the chance." - -"Why not?" - -"I know I sha'n't," Mr. Alloyd insisted with gloomy disgust. "Only -obtained this job by sheer accident! ... You got any ideas about -theatres?" - -"Well, I have," said Edward Henry. - -Mr. Alloyd turned on him with a sardonic and half-benevolent gleam. - -"And what are your ideas about theatres?" - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "I should like to meet an architect who had -thoroughly got it into his head that when people pay for seats to see a -play they want to be able to _see_ it, and not just get a look at it now -and then over other people's heads and round corners of boxes and -things. In most theatres that I've been in, the architects seemed to -think that iron pillars and wooden heads are transparent. Either that, -or the architects were rascals. Same with hearing. The pit costs half a -crown, and you don't pay half a crown to hear glasses rattled in a bar, -or motor-omnibuses rushing down the street. I was never yet in a London -theatre where the architect had really understood that what the people -in the pit wanted to hear was the play, and nothing but the play." - -"You're rather hard on us," said Mr. Alloyd. - -"Not so hard as you are on _us_!" said Edward Henry. "And then -draughts! I suppose you think a draught on the back of the neck is good -for us! ... But of course you'll say all this has nothing to do with -architecture!" - -"Oh, no, I sha'n't! Oh, no, I sha'n't!" exclaimed Mr. Alloyd. "I quite -agree with you!" - -"You _do_?" - -"Certainly. You seem to be interested in theatres?" - -"I am a bit." - -"You come from the North?" - -"No, I don't," said Edward Henry. Mr. Alloyd had no right to be aware -that he was not a Londoner. - -"I beg your pardon." - -"I come from the Midlands." - -"Oh! ... Have you seen the Russian ballet?" - -Edward Henry had not, nor heard of it. "Why?" he asked. - -"Nothing," said Mr. Alloyd. "Only I saw it the night before last in -Paris. You never saw such dancing. It's enchanted--enchanted! The -most lovely thing I ever saw in my life. I couldn't sleep for it. Not -that I ever sleep very well! I merely thought, as you were interested -in theatres--and Midland people are so enterprising! ... Have a -cigarette?" - -Edward Henry, who had begun to feel sympathetic, was somewhat repelled -by these odd last remarks. After all the man, though human enough, was -an utter stranger. - -"No, thanks," he said. "And so you're going to put up a church here?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I wonder whether you are." - -He walked abruptly away under Alloyd's riddling stare, and he could -almost hear the man saying, "Well, he's a queer lot, if you like." - -At the corner of the site, below the spot where his electric sign was to -have been, he was stopped by a well-dressed middle aged lady who bore a -bundle of papers. - -"Will you buy a paper for the cause?" she suggested in a pleasant, -persuasive tone. "One penny." - -He obeyed, and she handed him a small blue-printed periodical of which -the title was, _Azure_, "the Organ of the New Thought Church." He -glanced at it, puzzled, and then at the middle-aged lady. - -"Every penny of profit goes to the Church-Building Fund," she said, as -if in defence of her action. - -Edward Henry burst out laughing; but it was a nervous, half-hysterical -laugh that he laughed. - - - - II. - - -In Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, he descended from his brougham in -front of the offices of Messrs. Slosson, Hodge, Budge, Slosson, -Maveringham, Slosson, and Vulto, Solicitors, known in the profession by -the compendious abbreviation of Slossons. Edward Henry, having been a -lawyer's clerk some twenty-five years earlier, was aware of Slossons. -Although on the strength of his youthful clerkship he claimed, and was -admitted, to possess a very special knowledge of the law,--enough to -silence argument when his opponent did not happen to be an actual -solicitor,--he did not in truth possess a very special knowledge of the -law,--how should he, seeing that he had only been a practitioner of -shorthand?--but the fame of Slosson he positively was acquainted with! -He had even written letters to the mighty Slossons. - -Every lawyer and lawyer's clerk in the realm knew the greatness of -Slossons, and crouched before it, and also, for the most part, impugned -its righteousness with sneers. For Slossons acted for the ruling -classes of England, who only get value for their money when they are -buying something that they can see, smell, handle, or intimidate--such -as a horse, a motor-car, a dog, or a lackey. Slossons, those crack -solicitors, like the crack nerve specialists in Harley Street and the -crack fortune-tellers in Bond Street, sold their invisible, inodorous, -and intangible wares of advice at double, treble, or decuple their -worth, according to the psychology of the customer. They were great -bullies. And they were, further, great money-lenders--on behalf of -their wealthier clients. In obedience to a convenient theory that it is -imprudent to leave money too long in one place, they were continually -calling in mortgages and re-lending the sums so collected on fresh -investments, thus achieving two bills of costs on each transaction, and -sometimes three, besides employing an army of valuers, surveyors, and -mortgage-insurance brokers. In short, Slossons had nothing to learn -about the art of self-enrichment. - -Three vast motor-cars waited in front of their ancient door, and Edward -Henry's hired electric vehicle was diminished to a trifle. - -He began by demanding the senior partner, who was denied to him by an -old clerk with a face like a stone wall. Only his brutal Midland -insistence, and the mention of the important letter which he had written -to the firm in the middle of the night, saved him from the ignominy of -seeing no partner at all. At the end of the descending ladder of -partners he clung desperately to Mr. Vulto, and he saw Mr. Vulto--a -youngish and sarcastic person with blue eyes, lodged in a dark room at -the back of the house. It occurred fortunately that his letter had been -allotted to precisely Mr. Vulto for the purpose of being answered. - -"You got my letter?" said Edward Henry cheerfully as he sat down at Mr. -Vulto's flat desk on the side opposite from Mr. Vulto. - -"We got it, but frankly we cannot make head or tail of it! ... _What_ -option?" Mr. Vulto's manner was crudely sarcastic. - -"_This_ option!" said Edward Henry, drawing papers from his pocket and -putting down the right paper in front of Mr. Vulto with an -uncompromising slap. - -Mr. Vulto picked up the paper with precautions, as if it were a -contagion, and, assuming eye-glasses, perused it with his mouth open. - -"We know nothing of this," said Mr. Vulto, and it was as though he had -added, "Therefore this does not exist." He glanced with sufferance at -the window, which offered a close-range view of a whitewashed wall. - -"Then you weren't in the confidence of your client?" - -"The late Lord Woldo?" - -"Yes." - -"Pardon me." - -"Obviously you weren't in his confidence as regards this particular -matter." - -"As you say," said Mr. Vulto with frigid irony. - -"Well, what are you going to do about it?" - -"Well--nothing." Mr. Vulto removed his eye-glasses and stood up. - -"Well, good morning. I'll walk round to my solicitors." Edward Henry -seized the option. - -"That will be simpler," said Mr. Vulto. Slossons much preferred to deal -with lawyers than with laymen, because it increased costs and vitalised -the profession. - -At that moment a stout, red-faced, and hoary man puffed very -authoritatively into the room. - -"Vulto," he cried sharply, "Mr. Wrissell's here. Didn't they tell you?" - -"Yes, Mr. Slosson," answered Vulto, suddenly losing all his sarcastic -quality and becoming a very junior partner. "I was just engaged with -Mr.--" (he paused to glance at his desk)--"Machin, whose singular letter -we received this morning about an alleged option on the lease of the -chapel-site at Piccadilly Circus--the Woldo estate, sir. You remember, -sir?" - -"This the man?" enquired Mr. Slosson, ex-president of the Law Society, -with a jerk of the thumb. - -Edward Henry said: "This is the man." - -"Well," said Mr. Slosson, lifting his chin and still puffing, "it would -be extremely interesting to hear his story, at any rate. I was just -telling Mr. Wrissell about it. Come this way, sir. I've heard some -strange things in my time, but--" He stopped. "Please follow me, sir," -he ordained. - -"I'm dashed if I'll follow you!" Edward Henry desired to say, but he had -not the courage to say it. And because he was angry with himself he -determined to make matters as unpleasant as possible for the innocent -Mr. Slosson, who was used to bullying, and so well paid for bullying, -that really no blame could be apportioned to him. It would have been as -reasonable to censure an ordinary person for breathing as to censure Mr. -Slosson for bullying. And so Edward Henry was steeling himself: "I'll do -him in the eye for that, even if it costs me every cent I've got." (A -statement characterised by poetical licence!) - - - - III. - - -Mr. Slosson, senior, heard Edward Henry's story, but seemingly did not -find it quite as interesting as he had prophesied it would be. When -Edward Henry had finished the old man drummed on an enormous table, and -said: - -"Yes, yes. And then?" His manner was far less bullying than in the -room of Mr. Vulto. - -"It's your turn now, Mr. Slosson," said Edward Henry. - -"My turn? How?" - -"To go on with the story." He glanced at the clock. "I've brought it -up to date--eleven fifteen o'clock this morning, _anno domini_." And as -Mr. Slosson continued to drum on the table and to look out of the -window, Edward Henry also drummed on the table and looked out of the -window. - -The chamber of the senior partner was a very different matter from Mr. -Vulto's. It was immense. It was not disfigured by japanned boxes -inartistically lettered in white, as are most lawyers' offices. Indeed, -in aspect it resembled one of the cosier rooms in a small and decaying -but still comfortable club. It had easy chairs and cigar-boxes. -Moreover, the sun got into it, and there was a view of the comic yet -stately Victorian Gothic of the Law Courts. The sun enheartened Edward -Henry. And he felt secure in an unimpugnable suit of clothes; in the -shape of his collar, the colour of his necktie, the style of his -creaseless boots; and in the protuberance of his pocketbook in his -pocket. - -As Mr. Slosson had failed to notice the competition of his drumming, he -drummed still louder. Whereupon Mr. Slosson stopped drumming. Edward -Henry gazed amiably around. Right at the back of the room, before a -back window that gave on the whitewashed wall, a man was rapidly putting -his signature to a number of papers. But Mr. Slosson had ignored the -existence of this man, treating him apparently as a figment of the -disordered brain, or as an optical illusion. - -"I've nothing to say," said Mr. Slosson. - -"Or to do?" - -"Or to do." - -"Well, Mr. Slosson," said Edward Henry, "your junior partner has already -outlined your policy of masterly inactivity. So I may as well go. I -did say I'd go to my solicitors; but it's occurred to me that as I'm a -principal I may as well first of all see the principals on the other -side. I only came here because it mentions in the option that the -matter is to be completed here; that's all." - -"You a principal!" exclaimed Mr. Slosson. "It seems to me you're a long -way removed from a principal. The alleged option is given to a Miss -Rose Euclid." - -"Excuse me--_the_ Miss Rose Euclid." - -"Miss Rose Euclid. She divides up her alleged interest into fractions -and sells them here and there, and you buy them up one after another." -Mr. Slosson laughed, not unamiably. "You're a principal about five -times removed." - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "whatever I am, I have a sort of idea I'll go -and see this Mr. Gristle or Wrissell. Can you--" - -The man at the distant desk turned his head. Mr. Slosson coughed. The -man rose. - -"This is Mr. Wrissell," said Mr. Slosson with a gesture from which -confusion was not absent. - -"Good morning," said the advancing Mr. Rollo Wrissell, and he said it -with an accent more Kensingtonian than any accent that Edward Henry had -ever heard. His lounging and yet elegant walk assorted well with the -accent. His black clothes were loose and untidy. Such boots as his -could not have been worn by Edward Henry even in the Five Towns without -blushing shame, and his necktie looked as if a baby or a puppy had been -playing with it. Nevertheless, these shortcomings made absolutely no -difference whatever to the impressiveness of Mr. Rollo Wrissell, who was -famous for having said once: "I put on whatever comes to hand first, and -people don't seem to mind." - -Mr. Rollo Wrissell belonged to one of the seven great families which -once governed--and, by the way, still do govern--England, Scotland, and -Ireland. The members of these families may be divided into two species: -those who rule, and those who are too lofty in spirit even to -rule--those who exist. Mr. Rollo Wrissell belonged to the latter -species. His nose and mouth had the exquisite refinement of the -descendant of generations of art-collectors and poet-patronisers. He -enjoyed life, but not with rude activity, like the grosser members of -the ruling caste, rather with a certain rare languor. He sniffed and -savoured the whole spherical surface of the apple of life with those -delicate nostrils rather than bit into it. His one conviction was that -in a properly managed world nothing ought to occur to disturb or agitate -the perfect tranquillity of his existing. And this conviction was so -profound, so visible even in his lightest gesture and glance, that it -exerted a mystic influence over the entire social organism, with the -result that practically nothing ever did occur to disturb or agitate the -perfect tranquillity of Mr. Rollo Wrissell's existing. For Mr. Rollo -Wrissell the world was indeed almost ideal. - -Edward Henry breathed to himself: - -"This is the genuine article." - -And, being an Englishman, he was far more impressed by Mr. Wrissell than -he had been by the much vaster reputations of Rose Euclid, Seven Sachs, -Mr. Slosson, senior. At the same time he inwardly fought against Mr. -Wrissell's silent and unconscious dominion over him, and all the defiant -Midland belief that one body is as good as anybody else surged up in -him--but stopped at his lips. - -"Please don't rise," Mr. Wrissell entreated, waving both hands. "I'm -very sorry to hear of this unhappy complication," he went on to Edward -Henry with the most adorable and winning politeness. "It pains me." -(His martyred expression said: "And really I ought not to be pained.") -"I'm quite convinced that you are here in absolute good faith--the most -absolute good faith, Mr.--" - -"Machin," suggested Mr. Slosson. - -"Ah! Pardon me, Mr. Machin. And, naturally, in the management of -enormous estates such as Lord Woldo's little difficulties are apt to -occur.... I'm sorry you've been put in a false position. You have all my -sympathies. But of course you understand that in this particular -case.... I myself have taken up the lease from the estate. I happen to -be interested in a great movement. The plans of my church have been -passed by the county council. Building operations have indeed begun." - -"Oh, chuck it!" said Edward Henry inexcusably--but such were his words. -A surfeit of Mr. Wrissell's calm egotism and accent and fatigued -harmonious gestures drove him to commit this outrage upon the very -fabric of civilisation. - -Mr. Wrissell, if he had ever met with the phrase,--which is -doubtful,--had certainly never heard it addressed to himself; -conceivably he might have once come across it in turning over the pages -of a slang dictionary. A tragic expression traversed his bewildered -features; and then he recovered himself somewhat. - -"I--" - -"Go and bury yourself!" said Edward Henry, with increased savagery. - -Mr. Wrissell, having comprehended, went. He really did go. He could -not tolerate scenes, and his glance showed that any forcible derangement -of his habit of existing smoothly would nakedly disclose the unyielding -adamantine selfishness that was the basis of the Wrissell philosophy. -His glance was at least harsh and bitter. He went in silence, and -rapidly. Mr. Slosson, senior, followed him at a great pace. - -Edward Henry was angry. Strange though it may seem, the chief cause of -his anger was the fact that his own manners and breeding were lower, -coarser, clumsier, more brutal, than Mr. Wrissell's. - -After what appeared to be a considerable absence Mr. Slosson, senior, -returned into the room. Edward Henry, steeped in peculiar meditations, -was repeating: - -"So this is Slosson's!" - -"What's that?" demanded Mr. Slosson with a challenge in his ancient but -powerful voice. - -"Nowt!" said Edward Henry. - -"Now, sir," said Mr. Slosson, "we'd better come to an understanding -about this so-called option. It's not serious, you know." - -"You'll find it is." - -"It's not commercial." - -"I fancy it is--for me!" said Edward Henry. - -"The premium mentioned is absurdly inadequate, and the ground-rent is -quite improperly low." - -"That's just why I look on it as commercial--from my point of view," -said Edward Henry. - -"It isn't worth the paper it's written on," said Mr. Slosson. - -"Why?" - -"Because, seeing the unusual form of it, it ought to be stamped, and it -isn't stamped." - -"Listen here, Mr. Slosson," said Edward Henry, "I want you to remember -that you're talking to a lawyer." - -"A lawyer?" - -"I was in the law for years," said Edward Henry. "And you know as well -as I do that I can get the option stamped at any time by paying a -penalty, which at worst will be a trifle compared to the value of the -option." - -"Ah!" Mr. Slosson paused, and resumed his puffing, which -exercise--perhaps owing to undue excitement--he had pretermitted. "Then -further, the deed isn't drawn up." - -"That's not my fault." - -"Further, the option is not transferable." - -"We shall see about that." - -"And the money ought to be paid down to-day, even on your own -showing--every cent of it, in cash." - -"Here is the money," said Edward Henry, drawing his pocketbook from his -breast. "Every cent of it, in the finest brand of bank-notes!" - -He flung down the notes with the impulsive gesture of an artist; then, -with the caution of a man of the world, gathered them in again. - -"The whole circumstances under which the alleged option is alleged to -have been given would have to be examined," said Mr. Slosson. - -"_I_ sha'n't mind," said Edward Henry; "others might." - -"There is such a thing as undue influence." - -"Miss Euclid is fifty if she's a day," replied Edward Henry. - -"I don't see what Miss Euclid's age has to do with the matter." - -"Then your eyesight must be defective, Mr. Slosson." - -"The document might be a forgery." - -"It might. But I've got an autograph letter written entirely in the -last Lord Woldo's hand, enclosing the option." - -"Let me see it, please." - -"Certainly, but in a court of law," said Edward Henry. "You know you're -hungry for a good action, followed by a bill of costs as long as from -here to Jericho." - -"Mr. Wrissell will assuredly fight," said Mr. Slosson. "He has already -given me the most explicit instructions. Mr. Wrissell's objection to a -certain class of theatres is well-known." - -"And does Mr. Wrissell settle everything?" - -"Mr. Wrissell and Lady Woldo settle everything between them, and Lady -Woldo is guided by Mr. Wrissell. There is an impression abroad that -because Lady Woldo was originally connected--er--with the stage, she and -Mr. Wrissell are not entirely at one in the conduct of her and her son's -interests. Nothing could be further from the fact." - -Edward Henry's thoughts dwelt for a few moments upon the late Lord -Woldo's picturesque and far-resounding marriage. - -"Can you give me Lady Woldo's address?" - -"I can't," said Mr. Slosson after an instant's hesitation. - -"You mean you won't!" - -Mr. Slosson pursed his lips. - -"Well, you can do the other thing!" said Edward Henry, insolent to the -last. - -As he left the premises he found Mr. Rollo Wrissell and his own new -acquaintance, Mr. Alloyd, the architect, chatting in the portico. Mr. -Wrissell was calm, bland, and attentive; Mr. Alloyd was eager, excited, -and deferential. - -Edward Henry caught the words "Russian ballet." He reflected upon an -abstract question oddly disconnected with the violent welter of his -sensations: "Can a man be a good practical architect who isn't able to -sleep because he's seen a Russian ballet?" - -The alert chauffeur of the electric brougham, who had an excellent idea -of effect, brought the admirable vehicle to the curb exactly in front of -Edward Henry as Edward Henry reached the edge of the pavement. -Ejaculating a brief command, Edward Henry disappeared within the -vehicle, and was whirled away in a style whose perfection no scion of a -governing family could have bettered. - - - - IV. - - -The next scene in the exciting drama of Edward Henry's existence that -day took place in a building as huge as Wilkins's itself. As the -brougham halted at its portals an old and medalled man rushed forth, -touched his cap, and assisted Edward Henry to alight. Within the -groined and echoing hall of the establishment a young boy sprang out -and, with every circumstance of deference, took Edward Henry's hat and -stick. Edward Henry then walked a few steps to a lift, and said -"Smoking-room!" to another menial, who bowed humbly before him, and at -the proper moment bowed him out of the lift. Edward Henry, crossing a -marble floor, next entered an enormous marble apartment chiefly -populated by easy chairs and tables. He sat down to a table, and -fiercely rang a bell which reposed thereon. Several other menials -simultaneously appeared out of invisibility, and one of them hurried -obsequiously towards him. - -"Bring me a glass of water and a peerage," said Edward Henry. - -"I beg pardon, sir. A glass of water and--" - -"A peerage. P double e-r-a-g-e." - -"I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't catch. Which peerage, sir? We have -several." - -"All of them." - -In a hundred seconds, the last menial having thanked him for kindly -taking the glass and the pile of books, Edward Henry was sipping water -and studying peerages. In two hundred seconds he was off again. A -menial opened the swing-doors of the smoking-room for him, and bowed. -The menial of the lift bowed, wafted him downwards, and bowed. The -infant menial produced his hat and stick and bowed. The old and -medalled menial summoned his brougham with a frown at the chauffeur and -a smile at Edward Henry, bowed, opened the door of the brougham, helped -Edward Henry in, bowed, and shut the door. - -"Where to, sir?" - -"262 Eaton Square," said Edward Henry. - -"Thank you, sir," said the aged menial, and repeated in a curt and -peremptory voice to the chauffeur, "262 Eaton Square!" Lastly he -touched his cap. - -And Edward Henry swiftly left the precincts of the headquarters of -political democracy in London. - - - - V. - - -As he came within striking distance of 262 Eaton Square he had the -advantage of an unusual and brilliant spectacle. - -Lord Woldo was one of the richest human beings in England--and -incidentally he was very human. If he had been in a position to realise -all his assets and go to America with the ready money, his wealth was -such that even amid the luxurious society of Pittsburg he could have cut -quite a figure for some time. He owned a great deal of the land between -Oxford Street and Regent Street, and again a number of the valuable -squares north of Oxford Street were his, and as for Edgware Road--just -as auctioneers advertise a couple of miles of trout-stream or -salmon-river as a pleasing adjunct to a country estate, so, had Lord -Woldo's estate come under the hammer, a couple of miles of Edgware Road -might have been advertised as among its charms. Lord Woldo owned four -theatres, and to each theatre he had his private entrance, and in each -theatre his private box, over which the management had no sway. The -Woldos in their leases had always insisted on this. - -He never built in London; his business was to let land for others to -build upon, the condition being that what others built should ultimately -belong to him. Thousands of people in London were only too delighted to -build on these terms: he could pick and choose his builders. (The -astute Edward Henry himself, for example, wanted furiously to build for -him, and was angry because obstacles stood in the path of his desire.) -It was constantly happening that under legal agreements some fine -erection put up by another hand came into the absolute possession of -Lord Woldo without one halfpenny of expense to Lord Woldo. Now and then -a whole street would thus tumble all complete into his hands. The -system, most agreeable for Lord Woldo and about a dozen other landlords -in London, was called the leasehold system; and when Lord Woldo became -the proprietor of some bricks and mortar that had cost him nothing, it -was said that one of Lord Woldo's leases had "fallen in," and everybody -was quite satisfied by this phrase. - -In the provinces, besides castles, forests, and moors, Lord Woldo owned -many acres of land under which was coal, and he allowed enterprising -persons to dig deep for this coal, and often explode themselves to death -in the adventure, on the understanding that they paid him sixpence for -every ton of coal brought to the surface, whether they made any profit -on it or not. This arrangement was called "mining rights"--another -phrase that apparently satisfied everybody. - -It might be thought that Lord Woldo was, as they say, on velvet. But -the velvet, if it could be so described, was not of so rich and -comfortable a pile after all; for Lord Woldo's situation involved many -and heavy responsibilities, and was surrounded by grave dangers. He was -the representative of an old order going down in the unforeseeable -welter of twentieth-century politics. Numbers of thoughtful students of -English conditions spent much of their time in wondering what would -happen one day to the Lord Woldos of England. And when a really great -strike came, and a dozen ex-artisans met in a private room of a West End -hotel and decided, without consulting Lord Woldo, or the Prime Minister, -or anybody, that the commerce of the country should be brought to a -standstill, these thoughtful students perceived that even Lord Woldo's -situation was no more secure than other people's; in fact, that it was -rather less so. - -There could be no doubt that the circumstances of Lord Woldo furnished -him with food for thought, and very indigestible food too.... Why, at -least one hundred sprightly female creatures were being brought up in -the hope of marrying him. And they would all besiege him, and he could -only marry one of them--at once! - -Now, as Edward Henry stopped as near to No. 262 as the presence of a -waiting two-horse carriage permitted, he saw a gray-haired and -blue-cloaked woman solemnly descending the steps of the portico of No. -262. She was followed by another similar woman, and watched by a butler -and a footman at the summit of the steps, and by a footman on the -pavement, and by the coachman on the box of the carriage. She carried a -thick and lovely white shawl, and in this shawl was Lord Woldo and all -his many and heavy responsibilities. It was his fancy to take the air -thus, in the arms of a woman. He allowed himself to be lifted into the -open carriage, and the door of the carriage was shut; and off went the -two ancient horses, slowly, and the two adult fat men and the two mature -spinsters, and the vehicle weighing about a ton; and Lord Woldo's -morning promenade had begun. - -"Follow that!" said Edward Henry to the chauffeur, and nipped into his -brougham again. Nobody had told him that the being in the shawl was Lord -Woldo, but he was sure that it must be so. - -In twenty minutes he saw Lord Woldo being carried to and fro amid the -groves of Hyde Park (one of the few bits of London earth that did not -belong to him nor to his more or less distant connections) while the -carriage waited. Once Lord Woldo sat on a chair, but the chief nurse's -lap was between him and the chair-seat. Both nurses chattered to him in -Kensingtonian accents, but he offered no replies. - -"Go back to 262," said Edward Henry to his chauffeur. - -Arrived again in Eaton Square, he did not give himself time to be -imposed upon by the grandiosity of the square in general nor of No. 262 -in particular. He just ran up the steps and rang the visitors' bell. - -"After all," he said to himself as he waited, "these houses aren't even -semi detached! They're just houses in a row, and I bet every one of 'em -can hear the piano next door!" - -The butler whom he had previously caught sight of opened the great -portal. - -"I want to see Lady Woldo." - -"Her ladyship--" began the formidable official. - -"Now look here my man," said Edward Henry rather in desperation, "I must -see Lady Woldo instantly. It's about the baby--" - -"About his lordship?" - -"Yes. And look lively, please." - -He stepped into the sombre and sumptuous hall. - -"Well," he reflected, "I am going it--no mistake!" - - - - VI. - - -He was in a large back drawing-room, of which the window, looking north, -was in rich stained glass. "No doubt because they're ashamed of the -view," he said to himself. The size of the chimneypiece impressed him, -and also its rich carving. "But what an old-fashioned grate!" he said -to himself. "They need gilt radiators here." The doorway was a marvel -of ornate sculpture, and he liked it. He liked too the effect of the -oil-paintings--mainly portraits--on the walls, and the immensity of the -brass fender, and the rugs, and the leatherwork of the chairs. But -there could be no question that the room was too dark for the taste of -any householder clever enough to know the difference between a house and -a church. - -There was a plunging noise at the door behind him. - -"What's amiss?" he heard a woman's voice. And as he heard it he thrilled -with sympathetic vibrations. It was not a North Staffordshire voice, -but it was a South Yorkshire voice, which is almost the same thing. It -seemed to him to be the first un-Kensingtonian voice to soothe his ears -since he had left the Five Towns. Moreover, nobody born south of the -Trent would have said, "What's amiss?" A Southerner would have said, -"What's the matter?" Or, more probably, "What's the mattah?" - -He turned and saw a breathless and very beautiful woman of about -twenty-nine or thirty, clothed in black, and she was in the act of -removing from her lovely head what looked like a length of red flannel. -He noticed too, simultaneously, that she was suffering from a heavy -cold. A majestic footman behind her closed the door and disappeared. - -"Are you Lady Woldo?" Edward Henry asked. - -"Yes," she said. "What's this about my baby?" - -"I've just seen him in Hyde Park," said Edward Henry. "And I observed -that a rash had broken out all over his face." - -"I know that," she replied. "It began this morning, all of a sudden -like. But what of it? I was rather alarmed myself, as it's the first -rash he's had, and he's the first baby I've had--and he'll be the last -too. But everybody said it was nothing. He's never been out without me -before, but I had such a cold. Now, you don't mean to tell me that -you've come down specially from Hyde Park to inform me about that rash. -I'm not such a simpleton as all that." She spoke in one long breath. - -"I'm sure you're not," said he. "But we've had a good deal of rash in -our family, and it just happens that I've got a remedy--a good, sound, -north-country remedy, and it struck me you might like to know of it. -So, if you like, I'll telegraph to my missis for the recipe. Here's my -card." - -She read his name, title, and address. - -"Well," she said, "it's very kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Machin. I knew -you must come from up there the moment ye spoke. It does one good above -a bit to hear a plain north-country voice after all this fal-lalling." - -She blew her lovely nose. - -"Doesn't it!" Edward Henry agreed. "That was just what I thought when I -heard you say 'Bless us!' Do you know, I've been in London only a -two-three days, and I assure you I was beginning to feel lonely for a -bit of the Midland accent!" - -"Yes," she said, "London's lonely!" and sighed. - -"My eldest was bitten by a dog the other day," he went on in the vein of -gossip. - -"Oh, don't!" she protested. - -"Yes. Gave us a lot of anxiety. All right now! You might like to know -that cyanide gauze is a good thing to put on a wound--supposing anything -should happen to yours--" - -"Oh, don't!" she protested. "I do hope and pray Robert will never be -bitten by a dog. Was it a big dog?" - -"Fair," said Edward Henry. "So his name's Robert! So's my eldest's!" - -"Really now! They wanted him to be called Robert Philip Stephen Darrand -Patrick. But I wouldn't have it. He's just Robert. I did have my own -way _there_! You know he was born six months after his father's death." - -"And I suppose he's ten months now?" - -"No; only six." - -"Great Scott! He's big!" said Edward Henry. - -"Well," said she, "he is. I am, you see." - -"Now, Lady Woldo," said Edward Henry in a new tone, "as we're both from -the same part of the country, I want to be perfectly straight and above -board with you. It's quite true--all that about the rash. And I _did_ -think you'd like to know. But that's not really what I came to see you -about. You understand, not knowing you, I fancied there might be some -difficulty in getting at you--" - -"Oh, no!" she said simply. "Everybody gets at me." - -"Well, I didn't know, you see. So I just mentioned the baby to begin -with, like!" - -"I hope you're not after money," she said almost plaintively. - -"I'm not," he said. "You can ask anybody in Bursley or Hanbridge -whether I'm the sort of man to go out on the cadge." - -"I once was in the chorus in a panto at Hanbridge," she said. "Don't -they call Bursley 'Bosley' down there--'owd Bosley'?" - -Edward Henry dealt suitably with these remarks, and then gave her a -judicious version of the nature of his business, referring several time -to Mr. Rollo Wrissell. - -"Mr. Wrissell!" she murmured, smiling. - -"In the end I told Mr. Wrissell to go and bury himself," said Edward -Henry. "And that's about as far as I've got." - -"Oh, don't!" she said, her voice weak from suppressed laughter, and then -the laughter burst forth uncontrollable. - -"Yes," he said, delighted with himself and her, "I told him to go and -bury himself!" - -"I suppose you don't like Mr. Wrissell?" - -"Well--" he temporised. - -"I didn't at first," she said. "I hated him. But I like him now, -though I must say I adore teasing him. Mr. Wrissell is what I call a -gentleman. You know he was Lord Woldo's heir. And when Lord Woldo -married me it was a bit of a blow for him! But he took it like a lamb. -He never turned a hair, and he was more polite than any of them. I dare -say you know Lord Woldo saw me in a musical comedy at Scarborough--he -has a place near there, ye know. Mr. Wrissell had made him angry about -some of his New Thought fads, and I do believe he asked me to marry him -just to annoy Mr. Wrissell. He used to say to me, my husband did, that -he'd married me in too much of a hurry, and that it was too bad on Mr. -Wrissell. And then he laughed, and I laughed too. 'After all,' he used -to say, my husband did, 'to marry an actress is an accident that might -happen to any member of the House of Lords; and it does happen to a lot -of 'em, but they don't marry anything as beautiful as you, Blanche,' he -used to say. 'And you stick up for yourself, Blanche,' he used to say. -'I'll stand by you,' he said. He was a straight 'un, my husband was. - -"They left me alone until he died. And then they began--I mean _his_ -folks. And when Bobby was born it got worse. Only I must say even then -Mr. Wrissell never turned a hair. Everybody seemed to make out that I -ought to be very grateful to him, and I ought to think myself very -lucky. Me--a peeress of the realm! They wanted me to change. But how -could I change? I was Blanche Wilmot, on the road for ten years,--never -got a show in London,--and Blanche Wilmot I shall ever be, peeress or no -peeress! It was no joke being Lord Woldo's wife, I can tell you; and -it's still less of a joke being Lord Woldo's mother. You imagine it. -It's worse than carrying about a china vase all the time on a slippery -floor. Am I any happier now than I was before I married? Well, I _am_! -There's more worry in one way, but there's less in another. And of -course I've got Bobby! But it isn't all beer and skittles, and I let -'em know it, too. I can't do what I like. And I'm just a sort of exile, -you know. I used to enjoy being on the stage, and showing myself off. -A hard life, but one does enjoy it. And one gets used to it. One gets -to need it. Sometimes I feel I'd give anything to be able to go on the -stage again--oh--oh--!" - -She sneezed; then took breath. - -"Shall I put some more coal on the fire?" Edward Henry suggested. - -"Perhaps I'd better ring," she hesitated. - -"No, I'll do it." - -He put coal on the fire. - -"And if you'd feel easier with that flannel round your head, please do -put it on again." - -"Well," she said, "I will. My mother used to say there was naught like -red flannel for a cold." - -With an actress' skill she arranged the flannel, and from its encircling -folds her face emerged bewitching--and she knew it. Her complexion had -suffered in ten years of the road, but its extreme beauty could not yet -be denied. And Edward Henry thought: "All the _really_ pretty girls -come from the Midlands!" - -"Here I am rambling on," she said. "I always was a rare rambler. What -do you want me to do?" - -"Exert your influence," he replied. "Don't you think it's rather hard -on Rose Euclid--treating her like this? Of course people say all sorts -of things about Rose Euclid--" - -"I won't hear a word against Rose Euclid," cried Lady Woldo. "Whenever -she was on tour, if she knew any of us were resting in the town where -she was, she'd send us seats. And many's the time I've cried and cried -at her acting. And then she's the life and soul of the Theatrical -Ladies' Guild." - -"And isn't that your husband's signature?" he demanded, showing the -precious option. - -"Of course it is." - -He did not show her the covering letter. - -"And I've no doubt my husband _wanted_ a theatre built there, and he -wanted to do Rose Euclid a good turn. And I'm quite positive certain -sure that he didn't want any of Mr. Wrissell's rigmaroles on his land. -He wasn't that sort, my husband wasn't.... You must go to law about -it," she finished. - -"Yes," said Edward Henry protestingly. "And a pretty penny it would -cost me! And supposing I lost, after all? ... You never know. There's -a much easier way than going to law." - -"What is it?" - -"As I say, you exert your influence, Lady Woldo. Write and tell them -I've seen you and you insist--" - -"Eh! Bless you! They'd twist me round their little finger. I'm not a -fool, but I'm not very clever; I know that. I shouldn't know whether I -was standing on my head or my heels by the time they'd done with me. -I've tried to face them out before--about things." - -"Who, Mr. Wrissell or Slossons?" - -"Both! Eh, but I should like to put a spoke in Mr. Wrissell's wheel, -gentleman as he is. You see, he's just one of those men you can't help -wanting to tease. When you're on the road you meet lots of 'em." - -"I tell you what you can do!" - -"What?" - -"Write and tell Slossons that you don't wish them to act for you any -more, and you'll go to another firm of solicitors. That would bring 'em -to their senses." - -"Can't! They're in the will. _He_ settled that. That's why they're so -cocky." - -Edward Henry persisted, and this time with an exceedingly impressive and -conspiratorial air: - -"I tell you another thing you could do--you really _could_ do--and it -depends on nobody but yourself." - -"Well," she said with decision, "I'll do it." - -"Whatever it is?" - -"If it's straight." - -"Of course it's straight. And it would be a grand way of teasing Mr. -Wrissell and all of 'em! A simply grand way! I should die of -laughing." - -"Well--" - -At this critical point the historic conversation was interrupted by -phenomena in the hall which Lady Woldo recognised with feverish -excitement. Lord Woldo had safely returned from Hyde Park. Starting up, -she invited Edward Henry to wait a little. A few moments later they -were bending over the infant together, and Edward Henry was offering his -views on the cause and cure of rash. - - - - VII. - - -Early on the same afternoon Edward Henry managed by a somewhat excessive -obstreperousness to penetrate once more into the private room of Mr. -Slosson, senior, who received him in silence. - -He passed a document to Mr. Slosson. - -"It's only a copy," he said, "but the original is in my pocket, and -to-morrow it will be duly stamped. I'll give you the original in -exchange for the stamped lease of my Piccadilly Circus plot of land. You -know the money is waiting." - -Mr. Slosson perused the document; and it was certainly to his credit -that he did so without any superficial symptoms of dismay. - -"What will Mr. Wrissell and the Woldo family say about that, do you -think?" asked Edward Henry. - -"Lady Woldo will never be allowed to carry it out," said Mr. Slosson. - -"Who's going to stop her? She must carry it out. She wants to carry it -out. She's dying to carry it out. Moreover, I shall communicate it to -the papers to-night--unless you and I come to an arrangement. And if by -any chance she doesn't carry it out--well, there'll be a fine society -action about it, you can bet your boots, Mr. Slosson." - -The document was a contract made between Blanche Lady Woldo of the one -part and Edward Henry Machin of the other part, whereby Blanche Lady -Woldo undertook to appear in musical comedy at any West End theatre to -be named by Edward Henry, at a salary of two hundred pounds a week, for -the period of six months. - -"You've not got a theatre," said Mr. Slosson. - -"I can get half a dozen in an hour--with that contract in my hand," said -Edward Henry. - -And he knew from Mr. Slosson's face that he had won. - - - - VIII. - - -That evening, feeling that he had earned a little recreation, he went to -the Empire Theatre--not in Hanbridge, but in Leicester Square, London. -The lease, with a prodigious speed hitherto unknown at Slossons, had -been drawn up, engrossed, and executed. The Piccadilly Circus land was -his for sixty-four years. - -"And I've got the old chapel pulled down for nothing," he said to -himself. - -He was rather happy as he wandered about amid the brilliance of the -Empire Promenade. But after half an hour of such exercise, and of vain -efforts to see or hear what was afoot on the stage, he began to feel -rather lonely. Then it was that he caught sight of Mr. Alloyd the -architect, also lonely. - -"Well," said Mr. Alloyd curtly, with a sardonic smile, "they've -telephoned me all about it. I've seen Mr. Wrissell. Just my luck! So -you're the man! He pointed you out to me this morning. My design for -that church would have knocked the West End! Of course Mr. Wrissell -will pay me compensation, but that's not the same thing. I wanted the -advertisement of the building.... Just my luck! Have a drink, will -you?" - -Edward Henry ultimately went with the plaintive Mr. Alloyd to his rooms -in Adelphi Terrace. He quitted those rooms at something after two -o'clock in the morning. He had practically given Mr. Alloyd a definite -commission to design the Regent Theatre. Already he was practically the -proprietor of a first-class theatre in the West End of London! - -"I wonder whether Master Seven Sachs could have bettered my day's work -to-day!" he reflected as he got into a taxicab. He had dismissed his -electric brougham earlier in the evening. "I doubt if even Master Seven -Sachs himself wouldn't be proud of my little scheme in Eaton Square!" -said he.... "Wilkins's Hotel, please, driver." - - - - - THE OLD ADAM - - PART II - - - - CHAPTER VII - - CORNER-STONE - - I. - -On a morning in spring Edward Henry got out of an express at Euston, -which had come, not from the Five Towns, but from Birmingham. Having on -the previous day been called to Birmingham on local and profitable -business, he had found it convenient to spend the night there and -telegraph home that London had summoned him. It was in this -unostentatious, this half-furtive fashion, that his visits to London now -usually occurred. Not that he was afraid of his wife! Not that he was -afraid even of his mother! Oh, no! He was merely rather afraid of -himself,--of his own opinion concerning the metropolitan, non-local, -speculative, and perhaps unprofitable business to which he was -committed. The fact was that he could scarcely look his women in the -face when he mentioned London. He spoke vaguely of "real estate" -enterprise, and left it at that. The women made no enquiries; they too, -left it at that. Nevertheless.... - -The episode of Wilkins's was buried, but it was imperfectly buried. The -Five Towns definitely knew that he had stayed at Wilklns's for a bet, -and that Brindley had discharged the bet. And rumours of his valet, his -electric brougham, his theatrical supper-parties, had mysteriously hung -in the streets of the Five Towns like a strange vapour. Wisps of the -strange vapour had conceivably entered the precincts of his home, but -nobody ever referred to them; nobody ever sniffed apprehensively, nor -asked anybody else whether there was not a smell of fire. The -discreetness of the silence was disconcerting. Happily his relations -with that angel, his wife, were excellent. She had carried angelicism -so far as not to insist on the destruction of Carlo; and she had -actually applauded, while sticking to her white apron, the sudden and -startling extravagances of his toilette. - -On the whole, though little short of thirty-five thousand pounds would -ultimately be involved,--not to speak of liability of nearly three -thousand a year for sixty-four years for ground-rent,--Edward Henry was -not entirely gloomy as to his prospects. He was indubitably thinner in -girth; novel problems and anxieties, and the constant annoyance of being -in complete technical ignorance of his job, had removed some flesh. -(And not a bad thing either!) But, on the other hand, his chin -exhibited one proof that life was worth living, and that he had -discovered new faith in life and a new conviction of youthfulness. - -He had shaved off his beard. - -"Well, sir!" a voice greeted him full of hope and cheer, immediately his -feet touched the platform. - -It was the voice of Mr. Marrier. Edward Henry and Mr. Marrier were now -in regular relations. Before Edward Henry had paid his final bill at -Wilkins's and relinquished his valet and his electric brougham, and -disposed forever of his mythical "man" on board the _Minnetonka_, and -got his original luggage away from the Hotel Majestic, Mr. Marrier had -visited him and made a certain proposition. And such was the influence -of Mr. Marrier's incurable smile, and of his solid optimism, and of his -obvious talent for getting things done on the spot (as witness the -photography), that the proposition had been accepted. Mr. Marrier was -now Edward Henry's "representative" in London. At the Green Room Club -Mr. Marrier informed reliable cronies that he was Edward Henry's -"confidential adviser." At the Turk's Head, Hanbridge, Edward Henry -informed reliable cronies that Mr. Marrier was a sort of clerk, -factotum, or maid of all work. A compromise between these two very -different conceptions of Mr. Marrier's position had been arrived at in -the word "representative." The real truth was that Edward Henry -employed Mr. Marrier in order to listen to Mr. Marrier. He turned to Mr. -Marrier like a tap, and nourished himself from a gushing stream of -useful information concerning the theatrical world. Mr. Marrier, quite -unconsciously, was bit by bit remedying Edward Henry's acute ignorance. - -The question of wages had caused Edward Henry some apprehension. He had -learnt in a couple of days that a hundred pounds a week was a trifle on -the stage. He had soon heard of performers who worked for "nominal" -salaries of forty and fifty a week. For a manager twenty pounds a week -seemed to be a usual figure. But in the Five Towns three pounds a week -is regarded as very goodish pay for any subordinate, and Edward Henry -could not rid himself all at once of native standards. He had -therefore, with diffidence, offered three pounds a week to the -aristocratic Marrier. And Mr. Marrier had not refused it, nor ceased to -smile. On three pounds a week he haunted the best restaurants, -taxicabs, and other resorts, and his garb seemed always to be smarter -than Edward Henry's, especially in such details as waistcoat slips. - -Of course Mr. Marrier had a taxicab waiting exactly opposite the coach -from which Edward Henry descended. It was just this kind of efficient -attention that was gradually endearing him to his employer. - -"How goes it?" said Edward Henry curtly, as they drove down to the Grand -Babylon Hotel, now Edward Henry's regular headquarters in London. - -Said Mr. Marrier: - -"I suppose you've seen another of 'em's got a knighthood?" - -"No," said Edward Henry. "Who?" He knew that by "'em" Mr. Marrier -meant the great race of actor-managers. - -"Gerald Pompey. Something to do with him being a sheriff in the City, -you know. I bet you what you laike he went in for the Common Council -simply in order to get even with old Pilgrim. In fact, I know he did. -And now a foundation-stone-laying has dan it!" - -"A foundation-stone-laying?" - -"Yes. The new City Guild's building, you knaow. Royalty--Temple Bar -business--sheriffs--knighthood. There you are!" - -"Oh!" said Edward Henry. And then after a pause added: "Pity _we_ can't -have a foundation-stone-laying!" - -"By the way, old Pilgrim's in the deuce and all of a haole, I heah. -It's all over the Clubs." (In speaking of the Clubs, Mr. Marrier always -pronounced them with a Capital letter.) "I told you he was going to -sail from Tilbury on his world-tour, and have a grand embarking ceremony -and seeing-off! Just laike him! Greatest advertiser the world ever saw! -Well, since that P. and O. boat was lost on the Goodwins, Cora Pryde has -absolutely declined to sail from Tilbury. Ab-so-lute-ly! Swears she'll -join the steamer at Marseilles. And Pilgrim has got to go with her, -too." - -"Why?" - -"Well, even Pilgrim couldn't have a grand embarking ceremony without his -leading lady! He's furious, I hear." - -"Why shouldn't he go with her?" - -"Why not? Because he's formally announced his grand embarking ceremony! -Invitations are out. Barge from London Bridge to Tilbury, and so on! -What he wants is a good excuse for giving it up. He'd never be able to -admit that he'd had to give it up because Cora Pryde made him! He wants -to save his face." - -"Well," said Edward Henry absently, "it's a queer world. You've got me -a room at the Grand Bab?" - -"Rather!" - -"Then let's go and have a look at the Regent first," said Edward Henry. - -No sooner had he expressed the wish than Mr. Marrier's neck curved round -through the window, and with three words to the chauffeur he had -deflected the course of the taxi. - -Edward Henry had an almost boyish curiosity about his edifice. He would -go and give it a glance at the oddest moments. And just now he had a -swift and violent desire to behold it. With all speed the taxi shot -down Shaftesbury Avenue and swerved to the right.... - -There it was! Yes, it really existed, the incredible edifice of his -caprice and of Mr. Alloyd's constructive imagination! It had already -reached a height of fifteen feet; and, dozens of yards above that, -cranes dominated the sunlit air, swinging loads of bricks in the azure; -and scores of workmen crawled about beneath these monsters. And he, -Edward Henry, by a single act of volition was the author of it! He -slipped from the taxi, penetrated within the wall of hoardings, and -gazed, just gazed! A wondrous thing--human enterprise! And also a -terrifying thing! ... That building might be the tomb of his reputation. -On the other hand it might be the seed of a new renown compared to which -the first would be as naught! He turned his eyes away, in fear--yes, in -fear! - -"I say," he said, "will Sir John Pilgrim be out of bed yet, d'ye think?" -He glanced at his watch. The hour was about eleven. - -"He'll be at breakfast." - -"I'm going to see him, then. What's his address?" - -"Twenty-five Queen Anne's Gate. But do you knaow him? I do. Shall I -cam with you?" - -"No," said Edward Henry shortly. "You go on with my bags to the Grand -Bab, and get me another taxi. I'll see you in my room at the hotel at a -quarter to one. Eh?" - -"Rather!" agreed Mr. Marrier, submissive. - - - - II. - - -"Sole proprietor of the Regent Theatre." - -These were the words which Edward Henry wrote on a visiting-card, and -which procured him immediate admittance to the unique spectacle--reputed -to be one of the most enthralling sights in London--of Sir John Pilgrim -at breakfast. - -In a very spacious front room of his flat (so celebrated for its -Gobelins tapestries and its truly wonderful parquet flooring) sat Sir -John Pilgrim at a large hexagonal mahogany table. At one side of the -table a small square of white diaper was arranged, and on this square -were an apparatus for boiling eggs, another for making toast, and a -third for making coffee. Sir John, with the assistance of a young -Chinaman and a fox-terrier who flitted around him, was indeed eating and -drinking. The vast remainder of the table was gleamingly bare, save for -newspapers and letters, opened and unopened, which Sir John tossed -about. Opposite to him sat a secretary whose fluffy hair, neat white -chemisette, and tender years gave her an appearance of helpless -fragility in front of the powerful and ruthless celebrity. Sir John's -crimson-socked left foot stuck out from the table, emerging from the -left half of a lovely new pair of brown trousers, and resting on a piece -of white paper. Before this white paper knelt a man in a frock-coat, -who was drawing an outline on the paper round Sir John's foot. - -"You _are_ a bootmaker, aren't you?" Sir John was saying airily. - -"Yes, Sir John." - -"Excuse me!" said Sir John. "I only wanted to be sure. I fancied from -the way you caressed my corn with that pencil that you might be an -artist on one of the illustrated papers. My mistake!" He was bending -down. Then suddenly straightening himself he called across the room: "I -say, Givington, did you notice my pose then--my expression as I used the -word 'caressed'? How would that do?" - -And Edward Henry now observed in a corner of the room a man standing in -front of an easel and sketching somewhat grossly thereon in charcoal. -This man said: - -"If you won't bother me, Sir John, I won't bother you." - -"Ah! Givington! Ah! Givington!" murmured Sir John still more -airily--at breakfast he was either airy or nothing. "You're getting on -in the world. You aren't merely an A.R.A.--you're making money. A year -ago you'd never have had the courage to address me in that tone. Well, -I sincerely congratulate you.... Here, Snip, here's my dentist's -bill--worry it, worry it! Good dog! Worry it!" - -(The dog growled now over a torn document beneath the table.) - -"Miss Taft, you might see that a _communique_ goes out to the effect -that I gave my first sitting to Mr. Saracen Givington, A.R.A., this -morning. The activities of Mr. Saracen Givington are of interest to the -world, and rightly so! You'd better come round to the other side for -the right foot, Mr. Bootmaker. The journey is simply nothing." - -And then, and not till then, did Sir John Pilgrim turn his large and -handsome middle-aged blond face in the direction of Alderman Edward -Henry Machin. - -"Pardon my curiosity," said Sir John, "but who are you?" - -"My name is Machin--Alderman Machin," said Edward Henry. "I sent up my -card and you asked me to come in." - -"Ha!" Sir John exclaimed, seizing an egg. "Will you crack an egg with -me, Alderman? I can crack an egg with anybody." - -"Thanks," said Edward Henry. "I'll be very glad to." And he advanced -towards the table. - -Sir John hesitated. The fact was that, though he dissembled his dismay -with marked histrionic skill, he was unquestionably overwhelmed by -astonishment. In the course of years he had airily invited hundreds of -callers to crack an egg with him,--the joke was one of his -favourites,--but nobody had ever ventured to accept the invitation. - -"Chung," he said weakly, "lay a cover for the alderman." - -Edward Henry sat down quite close to Sir John. He could discern all the -details of Sir John's face and costume. The tremendous celebrity was -wearing a lounge suit somewhat like his own, but instead of the coat--he -had a blue dressing-jacket with crimson facings; the sleeves ended in -rather long wristbands, which were unfastened, the opal cuff-links -drooping each from a single hole. Perhaps for the first time in his -life Edward Henry intimately understood what idiosyncratic elegance was. -He could almost feel the emanating personality of Sir John Pilgrim, and -he was intimidated by it; he was intimidated by its hardness, its -harshness, its terrific egotism, its utterly brazen quality. Sir John's -glance was the most purely arrogant that Edward Henry had ever -encountered. It knew no reticence. And Edward Henry thought: "When this -chap dies he'll want to die in public, with the reporters round his bed -and a private secretary taking down messages." - -"This is rather a lark," said Sir John, recovering. - -"It is," said Edward Henry, who now felicitously perceived that a lark -it indeed was, and ought to be treated as such. "It shall be a lark!" -he said to himself. - -Sir John dictated a letter to Miss Taft, and before the letter was -finished the grinning Chung had laid a place for Edward Henry, and Snip -had inspected him and passed him for one of the right sort. - -"Had I said that this is rather a lark?" Sir John enquired, the letter -accomplished. - -"I forget," said Edward Henry. - -"Because I don't like to say the same thing twice over if I can help it. -It is a lark though, isn't it?" - -"Undoubtedly," said Edward Henry, decapitating an egg. "I only hope -that I'm not interrupting you." - -"Not in the least," said Sir John. "Breakfast is my sole free time. In -another half-hour, I assure you, I shall be attending to three or four -things at once." He leant over towards Edward Henry. "But between you -and me, Alderman, quite privately, if it isn't a rude question, what did -you come for?" - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "as I wrote on my card, I'm the sole -proprietor of the Regent Theatre--" - -"But there is no Regent Theatre," Sir John interrupted him. - -"No; not strictly. But there will be. It's in course of construction. -We're up to the first floor." - -"Dear me! A suburban theatre, no doubt?" - -"Do you mean to say, Sir John," cried Edward Henry, "that you haven't -noticed it. It's within a few yards of Piccadilly Circus." - -"Really!" said Sir John. "You see my theatre is in Lower Regent Street, -and I never go to Piccadilly Circus. I make a point of not going to -Piccadilly Circus. Miss Taft, how long is it since I went to Piccadilly -Circus? Forgive me, young woman, I was forgetting--you aren't old -enough to remember. Well, never mind details.... And what is there -remarkable about the Regent Theatre, Alderman?" - -"I intend it to be a theatre of the highest class, Sir John," said -Edward Henry. "Nothing but the very best will be seen on its boards." - -"That's not remarkable, Alderman. We're all like that. Haven't you -noticed it?" - -"Then, secondly," said Edward Henry, "I am the sole proprietor. I have -no financial backers, no mortgages, no partners. I have made no -contracts with anybody." - -"That," said Sir John, "is not unremarkable. In fact, many persons who -do not happen to possess my own robust capacity for belief might not -credit your statement." - -"And thirdly," said Edward Henry, "every member of the audience--even in -the boxes, the most expensive seats--will have a full view of the whole -of the stage--or, in the alternative, at matinees, a full view of a -lady's hat." - -"Alderman," said Sir John gravely, "before I offer you another egg, let -me warn you against carrying remarkableness too far. You may be -regarded as eccentric if you go on like that. Some people, I am told, -don't want a view of the stage." - -"Then they had better not come to my theatre," said Edward Henry. - -"All which," commented Sir John, "gives me no clue whatever to the -reason why you are sitting here by my side and calmly eating my eggs and -toast and drinking my coffee." - -Admittedly, Edward Henry was nervous. Admittedly, he was a provincial -in the presence of one of the most illustrious personages of the empire. -Nevertheless he controlled his nervousness, and reflected: - -"Nobody else from the Five Towns would or could have done what I am -doing. Moreover, this chap is a mountebank. In the Five Towns they -would kowtow to him, but they would laugh at him. They would mighty soon -add _him_ up. Why should I be nervous? I'm as good as he is." He -finished with the thought which has inspired many a timid man with new -courage in a desperate crisis: "The fellow can't eat me." - -Then he said aloud: - -"I want to ask you a question, Sir John." - -"One?" - -"One. Are you the head of the theatrical profession, or is Sir Gerald -Pompey?" - -"_Sir_ Gerald Pompey?" - -"_Sir_ Gerald Pompey. Haven't you seen the papers this morning?" - -Sir John Pilgrim turned pale. Springing up, he seized the topmost of an -undisturbed pile of daily papers and feverishly opened it. - -"Bah!" he muttered. - -He was continually thus imitating his own behaviour on the stage. The -origin of his renowned breakfasts lay in the fact that he had once -played the part of a millionaire ambassador who juggled at breakfast -with his own affairs and the affairs of the world. The stage breakfast -of a millionaire ambassador created by a playwright on the verge of -bankruptcy had appealed to his imagination and influenced all the -mornings of his life. - -"They've done it just to irritate me as I'm starting off on my world's -tour," he muttered, coursing round the table. Then he stopped and gazed -at Edward Henry. "This is a political knighthood," said he. "It has -nothing to do with the stage. It is not like my knighthood, is it?" - -"Certainly not," Edward Henry agreed. "But you know how people will -talk, Sir John. People will be going about this very morning and saying -that Sir Gerald is at last the head of the theatrical profession. I -came here for your authoritative opinion. I know you're unbiased." - -Sir John resumed his chair. - -"As for Pompey's qualifications as a head," he murmured, "I know nothing -of them. I fancy his heart is excellent. I only saw him twice, once in -his own theatre, and once in Bond Street. I should be inclined to say -that on the stage he looks more like a gentleman than any gentleman -ought to look, and that in the street he might be mistaken for an -actor.... How will that suit you?" - -"It's a clue," said Edward Henry. - -"Alderman," exclaimed Sir John, "I believe that if I didn't keep a firm -hand on myself I should soon begin to like you! Have another cup of -coffee. Chung! ... Good-bye, Bootmaker, good-bye!" - -"I only want to know for certain who is the head," said Edward Henry, -"because I mean to invite the head of the theatrical profession to lay -the corner-stone of my new theatre." - -"Ah!" - -"When do you start on your world's tour, Sir John?" - -"I leave Tilbury with my entire company, scenery and effects, on the -morning of Tuesday week, by the _Kandahar_. I shall play first in -Cairo." - -"How awkward!" said Edward Henry. "I meant to ask you to lay the stone -on the very next afternoon--Wednesday, that is!" - -"Indeed!" - -"Yes, Sir John. The ceremony will be a very original affair--very -original!" - -"A foundation-stone-laying!" mused Sir John. "But if you're already up -to the first floor, how can you be laying the foundation-stone on -Wednesday week?" - -"I didn't say foundation-stone. I said corner-stone," Edward Henry -corrected him. "An entire novelty! That's why we can't be ready before -Wednesday week." - -"And you want to advertise your house by getting the head of the -profession to assist?" - -"That is exactly my idea." - -"Well," said Sir John. "Whatever else you may lack, Mr. Alderman, you -are not lacking in nerve, if you expect to succeed in _that_." - -Edward Henry smiled. - -"I have already heard, in a round-about way," he replied, "that Sir -Gerald Pompey would not be unwilling to officiate. My only difficulty -is that I'm a truthful man by nature. Whoever officiates, I shall of -course have to have him labelled, in my own interests, as the head of -the theatrical profession, and I don't want to say anything that isn't -true." - -There was a pause. - -"Now, Sir John, couldn't you stay a day or two longer in London and join -the ship at Marseilles instead of going on board at Tilbury?" - -"But I have made all my arrangements. The whole world knows that I am -going on board at Tilbury." - -Just then the door opened and a servant announced: - -"Mr. Carlo Trent." - -Sir John Pilgrim rushed like a locomotive to the threshold and seized -both Carlo Trent's hands with such a violence of welcome that Carlo -Trent's eyeglass fell out of his eye and the purple ribbon dangled to -his waist. - -"Come in, come in!" said Sir John. "And begin to read at once. I've -been looking out of the window for you for the last quarter of an hour. -Alderman, this is Mr. Carlo Trent, the well-known dramatic poet. Trent, -this is one of the greatest geniuses in London.... Ah! You know each -other? It's not surprising! No, don't stop to shake hands. Sit down -here, Trent. Sit down on this chair.... Here, Snip, take his hat. -Worry it! Worry it! Now, Trent, don't read to _me_. It might make you -nervous and hurried. Read to Miss Taft and Chung, and to Mr. Givington -over there. Imagine that they are the great and enlightened public. -You have imagination, haven't you, being a poet?" - -Sir John had accomplished the change of mood with the rapidity of a -transformation-scene--in which form of art, by the way, he was a great -adept. - -Carlo Trent, somewhat breathless, took a manuscript from his pocket, -opened it, and announced: "The Orient Pearl." - -"Oh!" breathed Edward Henry. - -For some thirty minutes Edward Henry listened to hexameters, the first -he had ever heard. The effect of them on his moral organism was worse -even than he had expected. He glanced about at the other auditors. -Givington had opened a box of tubes and was spreading colours on his -palette. The Chinaman's eyes were closed while his face still grinned. -Snip was asleep on the parquet. Miss Taft bit the end of a pencil with -her agreeable teeth. Sir John Pilgrim lay at full length on a sofa, -occasionally lifting his legs. Edward Henry despaired of help in his -great need. But just as his desperation was becoming too acute to be -borne, Carlo Trent ejaculated the word "Curtain." It was the first word -that Edward Henry had clearly understood. - -"That's the first act," said Carlo Trent, wiping his face. Snip -awakened. - -Edward Henry rose and, in the hush, tiptoed round the sofa. - -"Good-bye, Sir John," he whispered. - -"You're not going?" - -"I am, Sir John." - -The head of his profession sat up. "How right you are!" said he. "How -right you are. Trent, I knew from the first words it wouldn't do. It -lacks colour. I want something more crimson, more like the brighter -parts of this jacket, something--" He waved hands in the air. "The -alderman agrees with me. He's going. Don't trouble to read any more, -Trent. But drop in any time--any time. Chung, what o'clock is it?" - -"It is nearly noon," said Edward Henry in the tone of an old friend. -"Well, I'm sorry you can't oblige me, Sir John. I'm off to see Sir -Gerald Pompey now." - -"But who says I can't oblige you?" protested Sir John. "Who knows what -sacrifices I would not make in the highest interests of the profession? -Alderman, you jump to conclusions with the agility of an acrobat, but -they are false conclusions! Miss Taft, the telephone! Chung, my coat! -Good-bye, Trent, good-bye!" - -An hour later Edward Henry met Mr. Marrier at the Grand Babylon Hotel. - -"Well, sir," said Mr. Marrier, "you are the greatest man that ever -lived!" - -"Why?" - -Mr. Marrier showed him the stop-press news of a penny evening paper, -which read: "Sir John Pilgrim has abandoned his ceremonious departure -from Tilbury in order to lay the corner-stone of the new Regent Theatre -on Wednesday week. He and Miss Cora Pryde will join the _Kandahar_ at -Marseilles." - -"You needn't do any advertaysing," said Mr. Marrier. "Pilgrim will do -all the advertaysing for you." - - - - III. - - -Edward Henry and Mr. Marrier worked together admirably that afternoon on -the arrangements for the corner-stone-laying. And--such was the -interaction of their separate enthusiasms--it soon became apparent that -all London (in the only right sense of the word "all") must and would be -at the ceremony. Characteristically, Mr. Marrier happened to have a -list or catalogue of all London in his pocket, and Edward Henry -appreciated him more than ever. But towards four o'clock Mr. Marrier -annoyed and even somewhat alarmed Edward Henry by a mysterious change of -mien. His assured optimism slipped away from him. He grew uneasy, -darkly preoccupied, and inefficient. At last when the clock in the room -struck four, and Edward Henry failed to hear it, Mr. Marrier said: - -"I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me now." - -"Why?" - -"I told you I had an appointment for tea at four." - -"Did you? What is it?" Edward Henry demanded with an employer's -instinctive assumption that souls as well as brains can be bought for -such sums as three pounds a week. - -"I have a lady coming to tea, here; that is, downstairs." - -"In this hotel?" - -"Yes." - -"Who is it?" Edward Henry pursued lightly, for though he appreciated Mr. -Marrier, he also despised him. However, he found the grace to add: "May -one ask?" - -"It's Miss Elsie April." - -"Do you mean to say, Marrier," complained Edward Henry, "that you've -known Miss Elsie April all these months and never told me? ... There -aren't two, I suppose? It's the cousin or something of Rose Euclid?" - -Mr. Marrier nodded. "The fact is," he said, "she and I are joint -honorary organising secretaries for the annual conference of the Azure -Society. You know, it leads the New Thought movement in England." - -"You never told me that either." - -"Didn't I, sir? I didn't think it would interest you. Besides, both -Miss April and I are comparatively new members." - -"Oh!" said Edward Henry with all the canny provincial's conviction of -his own superior shrewdness; and he repeated, so as to intensify this -conviction and impress it on others, "Oh!" In the undergrowth of his -mind was the thought: "How dare this man, whose brains belong to me, be -the organising secretary of something that I don't know anything about -and don't want to know anything about?" - -"Yes," said Mr. Marrier modestly. - -"I say," Edward Henry enquired warmly, with an impulsive gesture, "who -is she?" - -"Who is she?" repeated Mr. Marrier blankly. - -"Yes. What does she do?" - -"Doesn't do anything," said Mr. Marrier. "Very good amateur actress. -Goes about a great deal. Her mother was on the stage. Married a -wealthy wholesale corset-maker." - -"Who did? Miss April?" Edward Henry had a twinge. - -"No; her mother. Both parents are dead, and Miss April has an income--a -considerable income." - -"What do you call considerable?" - -"Five or six thousand a year." - -"The deuce!" murmured Edward Henry. - -"May have lost a bit of it, of course," Mr. Marrier hedged. "But not -much, not much!" - -"Well," said Edward Henry, smiling. "What about _my_ tea? Am I to have -tea all by myself?" - -"Will you come down and meet her?" Mr. Marrier's expression approached -the wistful. - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "it's an idea, isn't it? Why should I be the -only person in London who doesn't know Miss Elsie April?" - -It was ten minutes past four when they descended into the electric -publicity of the Grand Babylon. Amid the music and the rattle of -crockery and the gliding waiters and the large nodding hats that -gathered more and more thickly round the tables, there was no sign of -Elsie April. - -"She may have been and gone away again," said Edward Henry, -apprehensive. - -"Oh, no! She wouldn't go away." Mr. Marrier was positive. - -In the tone of a man with an income of two hundred pounds a week he -ordered a table to be prepared for three. - -At ten minutes to five he said: - -"I hope she _hasn't_ been and gone away again!" - -Edward Henry began to be gloomy and resentful. The crowded and -factitious gaiety of the place actually annoyed him. If Elsie April had -been and gone away again, he objected to such silly feminine conduct. -If she was merely late, he equally objected to such unconscionable -inexactitude. He blamed Mr. Marrier. He considered that he had the -right to blame Mr. Marrier because he paid him three pounds a week. And -he very badly wanted his tea. - -Then their four eyes, which for forty minutes had scarcely left the -entrance staircase, were rewarded. She came in furs, gleaming white kid -gloves, gold chains, a gold bag, and a black velvet hat. - -"I'm not late, am I?" she said after the introduction. - -"No," they both replied. And they both meant it. For she was like fine -weather. The forty minutes of waiting were forgotten, expunged from the -records of time, just as the memory of a month of rain is obliterated by -one splendid sunny day. - - - - IV. - - -Edward Henry enjoyed the tea, which was bad, to an extraordinary degree. -He became uplifted in the presence of Miss Elsie April; whereas Mr. -Marrier, strangely, drooped to still deeper depths of unaccustomed inert -melancholy. Edward Henry decided that she was every bit as piquant, -challenging, and delectable as he had imagined her to be on the day when -he ate an artichoke at the next table to hers at Wilkins's. She -coincided exactly with his remembrance of her, except that she was now -slightly more plump. Her contours were effulgent--there was no other -word. Beautiful she was not, for she had a turned-up nose; but what -charm she radiated! Every movement and tone enchanted Edward Henry. He -was enchanted not at intervals, by a chance gesture, but all the -time--when she was serious, when she smiled, when she fingered her -teacup, when she pushed her furs back over her shoulders, when she spoke -of the weather, when she spoke of the social crisis, and when she made -fun, with a certain brief absence of restraint, rather in her artichoke -manner of making fun. - -He thought and believed: - -"This is the finest woman I ever saw!" He clearly perceived the -inferiority of other women, whom nevertheless he admired and liked, such -as the Countess of Chell and Lady Woldo. - -It was not her brains, nor her beauty, nor her stylishness that affected -him. No! It was something mysterious and dizzying that resided in -every particle of her individuality. - -He thought: - -"I've often and often wanted to see her again. And now I'm having tea -with her!" And he was happy. - -"Have you got that list, Mr. Marrier?" she asked in her low and -thrilling voice. So saying, she raised her eyebrows in expectation--a -delicious effect, especially behind her half-raised white veil. - -Mr. Marrier produced a document. - -"But that's _my_ list!" said Edward Henry. - -"Your list?" - -"I'd better tell you." Mr. Marrier essayed a rapid explanation. "Mr. -Machin wanted a list of the raight sort of people to ask to the -corner-stone-laying of his theatah. So I used this as a basis." - -Elsie April smiled again. "Ve-ry good!" she approved. - -"What is your list, Marrier?" asked Edward Henry. - -It was Elsie who replied: - -"People to be invited to the dramatic _soiree_ of the Azure Society. We -give six a year. No title is announced. Nobody except a committee of -three knows even the name of the author of the play that is to be -performed. Everything is kept a secret. Even the author doesn't know -that his play has been chosen. Don't you think it's a delightful idea? -... An offspring of the New Thought!" - -He agreed that it was a delightful idea. - -"Shall I be invited?" he asked. - -She answered gravely: "I don't know." - -"Are you going to play in it?" - -She paused.... "Yes." - -"Then you must let me come. Talking of plays--" - -He stopped. He was on the edge of facetiously relating the episode of -"The Orient Pearl" at Sir John Pilgrim's; but he withdrew in time. -Suppose that "The Orient Pearl" was the piece to be performed by the -Azure Society! It might well be. It was (in his opinion) just the sort -of play that that sort of society would choose. Nevertheless he was as -anxious as ever to see Elsie April act. He really thought that she -could and would transfigure any play. Even his profound scorn of New -Thought (a subject of which he was entirely ignorant) began to be -modified--and by nothing but the enchantment of the tone in which Elsie -April murmured the words, "Azure Society!" - -"How soon is the performance?" he demanded. - -"Wednesday week," said she. - -"That's the very day of my corner-stone-laying," he said. "However, it -doesn't matter. My little affair will be in the afternoon." - -"But it can't be," said she solemnly. "It would interfere with us, and -we should interfere with it. Our annual conference takes place in the -afternoon. All London will be there." - -Said Mr. Marrier rather shamefaced: - -"That's just it, Mr. Machin. It positively never occurred to me that -the Azure Conference is to be on that very day. I never thought of it -until nearly four o'clock. And then I scarcely knew how to explain it -to you. I really don't know how it escaped me." - -Mr. Marrier's trouble was now out, and he had declined in Edward Henry's -esteem. Mr. Marrier was afraid of him. Mr. Marrier's list of -personages was no longer a miracle of foresight; it was a mere -coincidence. He doubted if Mr. Marrier was worth even his three pounds -a week. Edward Henry began to feel ruthless, Napoleonic. He was -capable of brushing away the whole Azure Society and New Thought -movement into limbo. - -"You must please alter your date," said Elsie April. And she put her -right elbow on the table and leaned her chin on it, and thus somehow -established a domestic intimacy for the three amid all the blare and -notoriety of the vast tea-room. - -"Oh, but I can't!" he said easily, familiarly. It was her occasional -"artichoke" manner that had justified him in assuming this tone. "I -can't!" he repeated. "I've told Sir John I can't possibly be ready any -earlier, and on the day after he'll almost certainly be on his way to -Marseilles. Besides, I don't _want_ to alter my date. My date is in -the papers by this time." - -"You've already done quite enough harm to the movement as it is," said -Elsie April stoutly but ravishingly. - -"Me--harm to the movement?" - -"Haven't you stopped the building of our church?" - -"Oh! So you know Mr. Wrissell?" - -"Very well indeed." - -"Anybody else would have done the same in my place," Edward Henry -defended himself. "Your cousin, Miss Euclid, would have done it, and -Marrier here was in the affair with her." - -"Ah!" exclaimed Elsie April. "But we didn't belong to the movement -then! We didn't know.... Come now, Mr. Machin. Sir John Pilgrim will -of course be a great show. But even if you've got him and manage to -stick to him, we should beat you. You'll never get the audience you -want if you don't change from Wednesday week. After all, the number of -people who count in London is very small. And we've got nearly all of -them. You've no idea--" - -"I won't change from Wednesday week," said Edward Henry. This defiance -of her put him into an extremely agitated felicity. - -"Now, my dear Mr. Machin--" - -He was actually aware of the charm she was exerting, and yet he -discovered that he could easily withstand it. - -"Now, my dear Miss April, please don't try to take advantage of your -beauty!" - -She sat up. She was apparently measuring herself and him. - -"Then you won't change the day, truly?" Her urbanity was in no wise -impaired. - -"I won't," he laughed lightly. "I dare say you aren't used to people -like me, Miss April." - -(She might get the better of Seven Sachs, but not of him, Edward Henry -Machin from the Five Towns!) - -"Marrier," said he suddenly, with a bluff humorous downrightness, "you -know you're in a very awkward position here, and you know you've got to -see Alloyd for me before six o'clock. Be off with you. I will be -responsible for Miss April." - -("I'll show these Londoners!" he said to himself. "It's simple enough -when you once get into it.") - -And he did in fact succeed in dismissing Mr. Marrier, after the latter -had talked Azure business with Miss April for a couple of minutes. - -"I must go, too," said Elsie, imperturbable, impenetrable. - -"One moment," he entreated, and masterfully signalled Marrier to depart. -After all, he was paying the fellow three pounds a week. - -She watched Marrier thread his way out. Already she had put on her -gloves. - -"I must go," she repeated, her rich red lips then closed definitely. - -"Have you a motor here?" Edward Henry asked. - -"No." - -"Then, if I may, I'll see you home." - -"You may," she said, gazing full at him. - -Whereby he was somewhat startled and put out of countenance. - - - - V. - - -"Are we friends?" he asked roguishly. - -"I hope so," she said, with no diminution of her inscrutability. - -They were in a taxicab, rolling along the Embankment towards the -Buckingham Palace Hotel, where she said she lived. He was happy. "Why -am I happy?" he thought. "What is there in her that makes me happy?" -He did not know. But he knew that he had never been in a taxicab, or -anywhere else, with any woman half so elegant. Her elegance flattered -him enormously. Here he was, a provincial man of business, ruffling it -with the best of them! ... And she was young in her worldly maturity. -Was she twenty-seven? She could not be more. She looked straight in -front of her, faintly smiling.... Yes, he was fully aware that he was a -married man. He had a distinct vision of the angelic Nellie, of the -three children, and of his mother. But it seemed to him that his own -case differed in some very subtle and yet effective manner from the -similar case of any other married man. And he lived, unharassed by -apprehensions, in the lively joy of the moment. - -"But," she said, "I hope you won't come to see me act." - -"Why?" - -"Because I should prefer you not to. You would not be sympathetic to -me." - -"Oh, yes, I should." - -"I shouldn't feel it so." And then with a swift disarrangement of all -the folds of her skirt she turned and faced him. "Mr. Machin, do you -know why I've let you come with me?" - -"Because you're a good-natured woman," he said. - -She grew even graver, shaking her head. - -"No! I simply wanted to tell you that you've ruined Rose, my cousin." - -"Miss Euclid? Me ruined Miss Euclid?" - -"Yes. You robbed her of her theatre--her one chance." - -He blushed. "Excuse me," he said, "I did no such thing. I simply -bought her option from her. She was absolutely free to keep the option -or let it go." - -"The fact remains," said Elsie April, with humid eyes, "the fact remains -that she'd set her heart on having that theatre, and you failed her at -the last instant. And she has nothing, and you've got the theatre -entirely in your own hands. I'm not so silly as to suppose that you -can't defend yourself legally. But let me tell you that Rose went to -the United States heart-broken, and she's playing to empty houses -there--empty houses! Whereas she might have been here in London, -interested in her theatre, and preparing for a successful season." - -"I'd no idea of this," breathed Edward Henry. He was dashed. "I'm -awfully sorry!" - -"Yes, no doubt. But there it is!" - -Silence fell. He knew not what to say. He felt himself in one way -innocent, but he felt himself in another way blackly guilty. His -remorse for the telephone-trick which he had practised on Rose Euclid -burst forth again after a long period of quiescence simulating death, -and actually troubled him.... No, he was not guilty! He insisted in -his heart that he was not guilty! And yet--and yet-- - -No taxicab ever travelled so quickly as that taxi-cab. Before he could -gather together his forces it had arrived beneath the awning of the -Buckingham Palace Hotel. - -His last words to her were: - -"Now, I sha'nt change the day of my stone-laying. But don't worry about -your conference. You know it'll be perfectly all right." He spoke -archly, with a brave attempt at cajolery; but in the recesses of his -soul he was not sure that she had not defeated him in this their first -encounter. However, Seven Sachs might talk as he chose--she was not -such a persuasive creature as all that! She had scarcely even tried to -be persuasive. - -At about a quarter-past six, when he saw his underling again, he said to -Mr. Marrier: - -"Marrier, I've got a great idea. We'll have that corner-stone-laying at -night. After the theatres. Say half-past eleven. Torchlight! -Fireworks from the cranes! It'll tickle old Pilgrim to death. I shall -have a marquee with match-boarding sides fixed up inside, and heat it -with a few of those smokeless stoves. We can easily lay on electricity. -It will be absolutely the most sensational stone-laying that ever was. -It'll be in all the papers all over the blessed world. Think of it! -Torches! Fireworks from the cranes! ... But I won't change the -day--neither for Miss April nor anybody else." - -Mr. Marrier dissolved in laudations. - -"Well," Edward Henry agreed with false diffidence, "it'll knock spots -off some of 'em in this town!" - -He felt that he had snatched victory out of defeat. But the next moment -he was capable of feeling that Elsie April had defeated him even in his -victory. Anyhow, she was a most disconcerting and fancy-monopolising -creature. - -There was one source of unsullied gratification: he had shaved off his -beard. - - - - VI. - - -"Come up here, Sir John," Edward Henry called. "You'll see better, and -you'll be out of the crowd. And I'll show you something." - -He stood, in a fur coat, at the top of a short flight of rough-surfaced -steps between two unplastered walls--a staircase which ultimately was to -form part of an emergency exit from the dress-circle of the Regent -Theatre. Sir John Pilgrim, also in a fur coat, stood near the bottom of -the steps, with a glare of a Wells light full on him and throwing his -shadow almost up to Edward Henry's feet. Around, Edward Henry could -descry the vast mysterious forms of the building's skeleton--black in -places, but in other places lit up by bright rays from the gaiety below, -and showing glimpses of that gaiety in the occasional revelation of a -woman's cloak through slits in the construction. High overhead, two -gigantic cranes interlaced their arms; and even higher than the cranes, -shone the stars of the clear spring night. - -The hour was nearly half-past twelve. The ceremony was concluded--and -successfully concluded. All London had indeed been present. Half the -aristocracy of England, and far more than half the aristocracy of the -London stage! The entire preciosity of the metropolis! Journalists -with influence enough to plunge the whole of Europe into war! In one -short hour Edward Henry's right hand (peeping out from the superb fur -coat which he had had the wit to buy) had made the acquaintance of -scores upon scores of the most celebrated right hands in Britain. He -had the sensation that in future, whenever he walked about the best -streets of the West End, he would be continually compelled to stop and -chat with august and renowned acquaintances, and that he would always be -taking off his hat to fine ladies who flashed by nodding from powerful -motor-cars. Indeed, Edward Henry was surprised at the number of famous -people who seemed to have nothing to do but attend advertising rituals -at midnight or thereabouts. Sir John Pilgrim had, as Marrier predicted, -attended to the advertisements. But Edward Henry had helped. And on the -day itself the evening newspapers had taken the bit between their teeth -and run off with the affair at a great pace. The affair was on all the -contents-bills hours before it actually happened. Edward Henry had been -interviewed several times, and had rather enjoyed that. Gradually he -had perceived that his novel idea for a corner-stone-laying had caught -the facile imagination of the London populace. For that night at least -he was famous--as famous as anybody! - -Sir John had made a wondrous picturesque figure of himself as, in a -raised corner of the crowded and beflagged marquee, he had flourished a -trowel and talked about the great and enlightened public, and about the -highest function of the drama, and about the duty of the artist to -elevate, and about the solemn responsibility of theatrical managers, and -about the absence of petty jealousies in the world of the stage. -Everybody had vociferously applauded, while reporters turned rapidly the -pages of their note-books. "Ass!" Edward Henry had said to himself with -much force and sincerity,--meaning Sir John,--but he too had -vociferously applauded; for he was from the Five Towns, and in the Five -Towns people are like that! Then Sir John had declared the corner-stone -well and truly laid (it was on the corner which the electric sign of the -future was destined to occupy), and, after being thanked, had wandered -off shaking hands here and there absently, to arrive at length in the -office of the clerk of the works, where Edward Henry had arranged -suitably to refresh the stone-layer and a few choice friends of both -sexes. - -He had hoped that Elsie April would somehow reach that little office. -But Elsie April was absent, indisposed. Her absence made the one -blemish on the affair's perfection. Elsie April, it appeared, had been -struck down by a cold which had entirely deprived her of her voice, so -that the performance of the Azure Society's Dramatic Club, so eagerly -anticipated by all London, had had to be postponed. Edward Henry bore -the misfortune of the Azure Society with stoicism, but he had been -extremely disappointed by the invisibility of Elsie April at his -stone-laying. His eyes had wanted her. - -Sir John, awaking apparently out of a dream when Edward Henry had -summoned him twice, climbed the uneven staircase and joined his host and -youngest rival on the insecure planks and gangways that covered the -first floor of the Regent Theatre. - -"Come higher," said Edward Henry, mounting upward to the beginnings of -the second story, above which hung suspended from the larger crane the -great cage that was employed to carry brick and stone from the ground. - -The two fur coats almost mingled. - -"Well, young man," said Sir John Pilgrim, "your troubles will soon be -beginning." - -Now Edward Henry hated to be addressed as "young man," especially in the -patronising tone which Sir John used. Moreover, he had a suspicion that -in Sir John's mind was the illusion that Sir John alone was responsible -for the creation of the Regent Theatre--that without Sir John's aid as a -stone-layer it could never have existed. - -"You mean my troubles as a manager?" said Edward Henry grimly. - -"In twelve months from now, before I come back from my world's tour, -you'll be ready to get rid of this thing on any terms. You will be -wishing that you had imitated my example and kept out of Piccadilly -Circus. Piccadilly Circus is sinister, my Alderman--sinister." - -"Come up into the cage, Sir John," said Edward Henry. "You'll get a -still better view. Rather fine, isn't it, even from here?" - -He climbed up into the cage and helped Sir John to climb. - -And, standing there in the immediate silence, Sir John murmured with -emotion: - -"We are alone with London!" - -Edward Henry thought: - -"Cuckoo!" - -They heard footsteps resounding on loose planks in a distant corner. - -"Who's there?" Edward Henry called. - -"Only me!" replied a voice. "Nobody takes any notice of me!" - -"Who is it?" muttered Sir John. - -"Alloyd, the architect," Edward Henry answered, and then calling loud: -"Come up here, Alloyd." - -The muffled and coated figure approached, hesitated, and then joined the -other two in the cage. - -"Let me introduce Mr. Alloyd, the architect--Sir John Pilgrim," said -Edward Henry. - -"Ah!" said Sir John, bending towards Alloyd. "Are you the genius who -draws those amusing little lines and scrawls on transparent paper, Mr. -Alloyd? Tell me, are they really necessary for a building, or do you -only do them for your own fun? Quite between ourselves, you know! I've -often wondered." - -Said Mr. Alloyd with a pale smile: - -"Of course everyone looks on the architect as a joke!" The pause was -somewhat difficult. - -"You promised us rockets, Mr. Machin," said Sir John. "My mind yearns -for rockets." - -"Right you are!" Edward Henry complied. Close by, but somewhat above -them, was the crane-engine, manned by an engineer whom Edward Henry was -paying for overtime. A signal was given, and the cage containing the -proprietor and the architect of the theatre and Sir John Pilgrim bounded -most startlingly up into the air. Simultaneously it began to revolve -rapidly on its cable, as such cages will, whether filled with bricks or -with celebrities. - -"Oh!" ejaculated Sir John, terror-struck, clinging hard to the side of -the cage. - -"Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Alloyd, also clinging hard. - -"I want you to see London," said Edward Henry, who had been through the -experience before. - -The wind blew cold above the chimneys. - -The cage came to a standstill exactly at the peak of the other crane. -London lay beneath the trio. The curves of Regent Street and of -Shaftesbury Avenue, the right lines of Piccadilly, Lower Regent Street, -and Coventry Street, were displayed at their feet as on an illuminated -map, over which crawled mannikins and toy autobuses. At their feet a -long procession of automobiles were sliding off, one after another, with -the guests of the evening. The metropolis stretched away, lifting to -the north, and sinking to the south into jewelled river on whose curved -bank rose messages of light concerning whisky, tea, and beer. The -peaceful nocturnal roar of the city, dwindling every moment now, reached -them like an emanation from another world. - -"You asked for a rocket, Sir John," said Edward Henry. "You shall have -it." - -He had taken a box of fuses from his pocket. He struck one, and his -companions in the swaying cage now saw that a tremendous rocket was hung -to the peak of the other crane. He lighted the fuse.... An instant of -deathly suspense! ... And then with a terrific and a shattering bang and -splutter the rocket shot towards the kingdom of heaven, and there burst -into a vast dome of red blossoms which, irradiating a square mile of -roofs, descended slowly and softly on the West End like a benediction. - -"You always want crimson, don't you, Sir John?" said Edward Henry, and -the easy cheeriness of his voice gradually tranquillised the alarm -natural to two very earthly men who for the first time found themselves -suspended insecurely over a gulf. - -"I have seen nothing so impressive since the Russian ballet," murmured -Mr. Alloyd, recovering. - -"You ought to go to Siberia, Alloyd," said Edward Henry. - -Sir John Pilgrim, pretending now to be extremely brave, suddenly turned -on Edward Henry and in a convulsive grasp seized his hand. - -"My friend," he said hoarsely, "a thought has just occurred to me: you -and I are the two most remarkable men in London!" He glanced up as the -cage trembled. "How thin that steel rope seems!" - -The cage slowly descended, with many twists. - -Edward Henry said not a word. He was too deeply moved by his own -triumph to be able to speak. - -"Who else but me," he reflected, exultant, "could have managed this -affair as I've managed it? Did anyone else ever take Sir John Pilgrim -up into the sky like a load of bricks, and frighten his life out of -him?" - -As the cage approached the platforms of the first story he saw two -people waiting there; one he recognised as the faithful, harmless -Marrier; the other was a woman. - -"Someone here wants you urgently, Mr. Machin!" cried Marrier. - -"By Jove," exclaimed Alloyd under his breath, "what a beautiful figure! -No girl as attractive as that ever wanted _me_ urgently! Some folks do -have luck!" - -The woman had moved a little away when the cage landed. Edward Henry -followed her along the planking. - -It was Elsie April. - -"I thought you were ill in bed," he breathed, astounded. - -Her answering voice reached him, scarcely audible: - -"I'm only hoarse. My cousin Rose has arrived to-night in secret at -Tilbury by the _Minnetonka_." - -"The _Minnetonka_!" he muttered. Staggering coincidence! Mystic -heralding of misfortune! - -"I was sent for," the pale ghost of a delicate voice continued. "She's -broken, ruined; no courage left. Awful fiasco in Chicago! She's hiding -now at a little hotel in Soho. She absolutely declined to come to my -hotel. I've done what I could for the moment. As I was driving by here -just now I saw the rocket, and I thought of you. I thought you ought to -know it. I thought it was my duty to tell you." - -She held her muff to her mouth. She seemed to be trembling. - -A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. - -"Excuse me, sir," said a strong, rough voice. "Are you the gent that -fired off the rocket? It's against the law to do that kind o' thing -here, and you ought to know it. I shall have to trouble you--" - -It was a policeman of the C division. - -Sir John was disappearing, with his stealthy and conspiratorial air, -down the staircase. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - DEALING WITH ELSIE - - I. - -The headquarters of the Azure Society were situate in Marloes Road, for -no other reason than that it happened so. Though certain famous people -inhabit Marloes Road, no street could well be less fashionable than this -thoroughfare, which is very arid and very long, and a very long way off -the centre of the universe. - -"The Azure Society, you know!" Edward Henry added when he had given the -exact address to the chauffeur of the taxi. - -The chauffeur, however, did not know, and did not seem to be ashamed of -his ignorance. His attitude indicated that he despised Marloes Road, -and was not particularly anxious for his vehicle to be seen therein, -especially on a wet night, but that nevertheless he would endeavour to -reach it. When he did reach it, and observed the large concourse of -shining automobiles that struggled together in the rain in front of the -illuminated number named by Edward Henry, the chauffeur admitted to -himself that for once he had been mistaken, and his manner of receiving -money from Edward Henry was generously respectful. - -Originally the headquarters of the Azure Society had been a seminary and -schoolmistress' house. The thoroughness with which the buildings had -been transformed showed that money was not among the things which the -society had to search for. It had rich resources, and it had also high -social standing; and the deferential commissionaires at the doors and -the fluffy-aproned, appealing girls who gave away programmes in the -foyer were a proof that the society, while doubtless anxious about such -subjects as the persistence of individuality after death, had no desire -to reconstitute the community on a democratic basis. It was above such -transient trifles of reform, and its high endeavours were confined to -questions of immortality, of the infinite, of sex, and of art: which -questions it discussed in fine raiment and with all the punctilio of -courtly politeness. - -Edward Henry was late, in common with some two hundred other people of -whom the majority were elegant women wearing Paris or almost Paris gowns -with a difference. As on the current of the variegated throng he -drifted through corridors into the bijou theatre of the society, he -could not help feeling proud of his own presence there; and yet at the -same time he was scorning, in his Five Towns way, the preciosity and the -simperings of these his fellow creatures. Seated in the auditorium, at -the end of a row, he was aware of an even keener satisfaction as people -bowed and smiled at him; for the theatre was so tiny and the reunion so -choice that it was obviously an honour and a distinction to have been -invited to such an exclusive affair. To the evening first fixed for the -dramatic _soiree_ of the Azure Society he had received no invitation. -But shortly after the postponement due to Elsie April's indisposition an -envelope addressed by Marrier himself, and containing the sacred card, -had arrived for him in Bursley. His instinct had been to ignore it, and -for two days he had ignored it, and then he noticed in one corner the -initials "E.A." Strange that it did not occur to him immediately that -E.A. stood, or might stand, for Elsie April! - -Reflection brings wisdom and knowledge. In the end he was absolutely -convinced that E.A. stood for Elsie April; and at the last moment, -deciding that it would be the act of a fool and a coward to decline what -was practically a personal request from a young and enchanting woman, he -had come to London--short of sleep, it is true, owing to local -convivialities, but he had come. And, curiously, he had not -communicated with Marrier. Marrier had been extremely taken up with the -dramatic _soiree_ of the Azure Society, which Edward Henry justifiably -but quite privately resented. Was he not paying three pounds a week to -Marrier? - -And now, there he sat, known, watched, a notoriety, the card who had -raised Pilgrim to the skies, probably the only theatrical proprietor in -the crowded and silent audience; and he was expecting anxiously to see -Elsie April again--across the footlights! He had not seen her since the -night of the stone-laying, over a week earlier. He had not sought to -see her. He had listened then to the delicate tones of her weak, -whispering, thrilling voice, and had expressed regret for Rose Euclid's -plight. But he had done no more. What could he have done? Clearly he -could not have offered money to relieve the plight of Rose Euclid, who -was the cousin of a girl as wealthy and as sympathetic as Elsie April. -To do so would have been to insult Elsie. Yet he felt guilty none the -less. An odd situation! The delicate tones of Elsie's weak, -whispering, thrilling voice on the scaffolding haunted his memory, and -came back with strange clearness as he sat waiting for the curtain to -ascend. - -There was an outburst of sedate applause, and a turning of heads to the -right. Edward Henry looked in that direction. Rose Euclid herself was -bowing from one of the two boxes on the first tier. Instantly she had -been recognised and acknowledged, and the clapping had in nowise -disturbed her. Evidently she accepted it as a matter of course. How -famous, after all, she must be, if such an audience would pay her such a -meed! She was pale, and dressed glitteringly in white. She seemed -younger, more graceful, much more handsome, more in accordance with her -renown. She was at home and at ease up there in the brightness of -publicity. The imposing legend of her long career had survived the -eclipse in the United States. Who could have guessed that some ten days -before she had landed heart-broken and ruined at Tilbury from the -_Minnetonka_? - -Edward Henry was impressed. - -"She's none so dusty!" he said to himself in the incomprehensible slang -of the Five Towns. The phrase was a high compliment to Rose Euclid, -aged fifty and looking anything you like over thirty. It measured the -extent to which he was impressed. - -Yes, he felt guilty. He had to drop his eyes, lest hers should catch -them. He examined guiltily the programme, which announced "The New Don -Juan," a play "in three acts and in verse"--author unnamed. The curtain -went up. - - - - II. - - -And with the rising of the curtain began Edward Henry's torture and -bewilderment. The scene disclosed a cloth upon which was painted, to -the right, a vast writhing purple cuttlefish whose finer tentacles were -lost above the proscenium-arch, and to the left an enormous crimson -oblong patch with a hole in it. He referred to the programme, which -said: "Act. I. A castle in the forest," and also "Scenery and costumes -designed by Saracen Givington, A.R.A." The cuttlefish, then, was the -purple forest, or perhaps one tree in the forest, and the oblong patch -was the crimson castle. The stage remained empty, and Edward Henry had -time to perceive that the footlights were unlit, and that rays came only -from the flies and from the wings. - -He glanced round. Nobody had blenched. Quite confused, he referred -again to the programme and deciphered in the increasing gloom, "Lighting -by Cosmo Clark," in very large letters. - -Two yellow-clad figures of no particular sex glided into view, and at -the first words which they uttered Edward Henry's heart seemed in -apprehension to cease to beat. A fear seized him. A few more words, -and the fear became a positive assurance and realisation of evil. "The -New Don Juan" was simply a pseudonym for Carlo Trent's "Orient Pearl"! -... He had always known that it would be. Ever since deciding to accept -the invitation he had lived under just that menace. "The Orient Pearl" -seemed to be pursuing him like a sinister destiny. - -Weakly he consulted yet again the programme. Only one character bore a -name familiar to the Don Juan story; to wit, "Haidee"; and opposite that -name was the name of Elsie April. He waited for her,--he had no other -interest in the evening,--and he waited in resignation. A young female -troubadour (styled in the programme "the messenger") emerged from the -unseen depths of the forest in the wings and ejaculated to the hero and -his friend: "The woman appears." But it was not Elsie that appeared. -Six times that troubadour messenger emerged and ejaculated, "The woman -appears," and each time Edward Henry was disappointed. But at the -seventh heralding--the heralding of the seventh and highest heroine of -this drama in hexameters--Elsie did at length appear. - -And Edward Henry became happy. He understood little more of the play -than at the historic breakfast-party of Sir John Pilgrim; he was well -confirmed in his belief that the play was exactly as preposterous as a -play in verse must necessarily be; his manly contempt for verse was more -firmly established than ever--but Elsie April made an exquisite figure -between the castle and the forest; her voice did really set up physical -vibrations in his spine. He was deliciously convinced that if she -remained on the stage from everlasting to everlasting, just so long -could he gaze thereat without surfeit and without other desire. The -mischief was that she did not remain on the stage. With despair he saw -her depart; and the close of the act was ashes in his mouth. - -The applause was tremendous. It was not as tremendous as that which had -greeted the plate-smashing comedy at the Hanbridge Empire, but it was -far more than sufficiently enthusiastic to startle and shock Edward -Henry. In fact, his cold indifference was so conspicuous amid that -fever, that in order to save his face he had to clap and to smile. - -And the dreadful thought crossed his mind, traversing it like the -shudder of a distant earthquake that presages complete destruction: - -"Are the ideas of the Five Towns all wrong? Am I a provincial after -all?" - -For hitherto, though he had often admitted to himself that he was a -provincial, he had never done so with sincerity; but always in a manner -of playful and rather condescending badinage. - - - - III. - - -"Did you ever see such scenery and costumes?" some one addressed him -suddenly when the applause had died down. It was Mr. Alloyd, who had -advanced up the aisle from the back row of the stalls. - -"No, I never did!" Edward Henry agreed. - -"It's wonderful how Givington has managed to get away from the childish -realism of the modern theatre," said Mr. Alloyd, "without being -ridiculous." - -"You think so!" said Edward Henry judicially. "The question is, Has he?" - -"Do you mean it's too realistic for you?" cried Mr. Alloyd. "Well, you -_are_ advanced! I didn't know you were as anti-representational as all -that!" - -"Neither did I!" said Edward Henry. "What do you think of the play?" - -"Well," answered Mr. Alloyd low and cautiously, with a somewhat shamed -grin, "between you and me, I think the play's bosh." - -"Come, come!" Edward Henry murmured as if in protest. - -The word "bosh" was almost the first word of the discussion which he had -comprehended, and the honest familiar sound of it did him good. -Nevertheless, keeping his presence of mind, he had forborne to welcome -it openly. He wondered what on earth "anti-representational" could -mean. Similar conversations were proceeding around him, and each could -be very closely heard, for the reason that, the audience being frankly -intellectual and anxious to exchange ideas, the management had wisely -avoided the expense and noise of an orchestra. The entr'acte was like a -_conversazione_ of all the cultures. - -"I wish you'd give us some scenery and costumes like this in _your_ -theatre," said Alloyd as he strolled away. - -The remark stabbed him like a needle; the pain was gone in an instant, -but it left a vague fear behind it, as of the menace of a mortal injury. -It is a fact that Edward Henry blushed and grew gloomy, and he scarcely -knew why. He looked about him timidly, half defiantly. A magnificently -arrayed woman in the row in front, somewhat to the right, leaned back -and towards him, and behind her fan said: - -"You're the only manager here, Mr. Machin! How alive and alert you are!" -Her voice seemed to be charged with a hidden meaning. - -"D'you think so?" said Edward Henry. He had no idea who she might be. -He had probably shaken hands with her at his stone-laying, but if so he -had forgotten her face. He was fast becoming one of the oligarchical -few who are recognised by far more people than they recognise. - -"A beautiful play!" said the woman. "Not merely poetic, but -intellectual. And an extraordinarily acute criticism of modern -conditions!" - -He nodded. "What do you think of the scenery?" he asked. - -"Well, of course candidly," said the woman, "I think it's silly. I dare -say I'm old-fashioned." - -"I dare say," murmured Edward Henry. - -"They told me you were very ironic," said she, flushing but meek. - -"They!" Who? Who in the world of London had been labelling him as -ironic? He was rather proud. - -"I hope if you _do_ do this kind of play,--and we're all looking to you, -Mr. Machin," said the lady making a new start,--"I hope you won't go in -for these costumes and scenery. That would never do!" - -Again the stab of the needle! - -"It wouldn't," he said. - -"I'm delighted you think so," said she. - -An orange telegram came travelling from hand to hand along that row of -stalls, and ultimately, after skipping a few persons, reached the -magnificently arrayed woman, who read it and then passed it to Edward -Henry. - -"Splendid!" she exclaimed. "Splendid!" - -Edward Henry read: "Released. Isabel." - -"What does it mean?" - -"It's from Isabel Joy--at Marseilles." - -"Really!" - -Edward Henry's ignorance of affairs round about the centre of the -universe was occasionally distressing--to himself in particular. And -just now he gravely blamed Mr. Marrier, who had neglected to post him -about Isabel Joy. But how could Marrier honestly earn his three pounds -a week if he was occupied night and day with the organising and -management of these precious dramatic _soirees_? Edward Henry decided -that he must give Mr. Marrier a piece of his mind at the first -opportunity. - -"Don't you know?" questioned the dame. - -"How should I?" he parried. "I'm only a provincial." - -"But surely," pursued the dame, "you knew we'd sent her round the world. -She started on the _Kandahar_, the ship that you stopped Sir John -Pilgrim from taking. She almost atoned for his absence at Tilbury. -Twenty-five reporters, anyway!" - -Edward Henry sharply slapped his thigh, which in the Five Towns -signifies, "I shall forget my own name next." - -Of course! Isabel Joy was the advertising emissary of the Militant -Suffragette Society, sent forth to hold a public meeting and make a -speech in the principal ports of the world. She had guaranteed to -circuit the globe and to be back in London within a hundred days, to -speak in at least five languages, and to get herself arrested at least -three times en route. Of course! Isabel Joy had possessed a very fair -share of the newspapers on the day before the stone-laying, but Edward -Henry had naturally had too many preoccupations to follow her exploits. -After all, his momentary forgetfulness was rather excusable. - -"She's made a superb beginning!" said the resplendent dame, taking the -telegram from Edward Henry and inducting it into another row. "And -before three months are out she'll be the talk of the entire earth. -You'll see!" - -"Is everybody a suffragette here?" asked Edward Henry simply, as his -eyes witnessed the satisfaction spread by the voyaging telegram. - -"Practically," said the dame. "These things always go hand in hand," -she added in a deep tone. - -"What things?" the provincial demanded. - -But just then the curtain rose on the second act. - - - - IV. - - -"Won't you cam up to Miss April's dressing-room?" said Mr. Marrier, who -in the midst of the fulminating applause after the second act seemed to -be inexplicably standing over him, having appeared in an instant out of -nowhere like a genie. - -The fact was that Edward Henry had been gently and innocently dozing. -It was in part the deep obscurity of the auditorium, in part his own -physical fatigue, and in part the secret nature of poetry that had been -responsible for this restful slumber. He had remained awake without -difficulty during the first portion of the act, in which Elsie -April--the orient pearl--had had a long scene of emotion and tears, -played, as Edward Henry thought, magnificently in spite of its inherent -ridiculousness; but later, when gentle _Haidee_ had vanished away and -the fateful troubadour messenger had begun to resume her announcements -of "The woman appears," Edward Henry's soul had miserably yielded to his -body and to the temptation of darkness. The upturned lights and the -ringing hosannahs had roused him to a full sense of sin, but he had not -quite recovered all his faculties when Marrier startled him. - -"Yes, yes! Of course! I was coming," he answered a little petulantly. -But no petulance could impair the beaming optimism on Mr. Marrier's -features. To judge by those features, Mr. Marrier, in addition to -having organised and managed the _soiree_, might also have written the -piece and played every part in it, and founded the Azure Society and -built its private theatre. The hour was Mr. Marrier's. - -Elsie April's dressing-room was small and very thickly populated, and -the threshold of it was barred by eager persons who were half in and -half out of the room. Through these Mr. Marrier's authority forced a -way. The first man Edward Henry recognised in the tumult of bodies was -Mr. Rollo Wrissell, whom he had not seen since their meeting at -Slosson's. - -"Mr. Wrissell," said the glowing Marrier, "let me introduce Mr. Alderman -Machin, of the Regent Theatah." - -"Clumsy fool!" thought Edward Henry, and stood as if entranced. - -But Mr. Wrissell held out a hand with the perfection of urbane -_insouciance_. - -"How d'you do, Mr. Machin?" said he. "I hope you'll forgive me for not -having followed your advice." - -This was a lesson to Edward Henry. He learnt that you should never show -a wound, and if possible never feel one. He admitted that in such -details of social conduct London might be in advance of the Five Towns, -despite the Five Towns' admirable downrightness. - -Lady Woldo was also in the dressing-room, glorious in black. Her beauty -was positively disconcerting, and the more so on this occasion as she -was bending over the faded Rose Euclid, who sat in a corner surrounded -by a court. This court, comprising comparatively uncelebrated young -women and men, listened with respect to the conversation of the peeress -(who called Rose "my dear"), the great star-actress, and the now -somewhat notorious Five Towns character, Edward Henry Machin. - -"Miss April is splendid, isn't she?" said Edward Henry to Lady Woldo. - -"Oh! My word, yes!" replied Lady Woldo nicely, warmly, yet with a -certain perfunctoriness. Edward Henry was astonished that everybody was -not passionately enthusiastic about the charm of Elsie's performance. -Then Lady Woldo added: "But what a part for Miss Euclid! What a part -for her!" - -And there were murmurs of approbation. - -Rose Euclid gazed at Edward Henry palely and weakly. He considered her -much less effective here than in her box. But her febrile gaze was -effective enough to produce in him the needle-stab again, the feeling of -gloom, of pessimism, of being gradually overtaken by an unseen and -mysterious avenger. - -"Yes, indeed!" said he. - -He thought to himself: "Now's the time for me to behave like Edward -Henry Machin, and teach these people a thing or two!" But he could not. - -A pretty young girl summoned all her forces to address the great -proprietor of the Regent, to whom, however, she had not been introduced, -and with a charming nervous earnest lisp said: - -"But don't you think it's a great play, Mr. Machin?" - -"Of course!" he replied, inwardly employing the most fearful and -shocking anathemas. - -"We were sure _you_ would!" - -The young people glanced at each other with the satisfaction of proved -prophets. - -"D'you know that not another manager has taken the trouble to come -here!" said a second earnest young woman. - -Edward Henry's self-consciousness was now acute. He would have paid a -ransom to be alone on a desert island in the Indian seas. He looked -downwards, and noticed that all these bright eager persons, women and -men, were wearing blue stockings or socks. - -"Miss April is free now," said Marrier in his ear. - -The next instant he was talking alone to Elsie in another corner, while -the rest of the room respectfully observed. - -"So you deigned to come!" said Elsie April. "You did get my card!" - -A little paint did her no harm, and the accentuation of her eyebrows and -lips and the calculated disorder of her hair were not more than her -powerful effulgent physique could stand. In a costume of green and -silver she was magnificent, overwhelmingly magnificent. - -Her varying voice and her glance, at once sincere, timid, and bold, -produced the most singular sensations behind Edward Henry's soft-frilled -shirt-front. And he thought that he had never been through any -experience so disturbing and so fine as just standing in front of her. - -"I ought to be saying nice things to her," he reflected; but, no doubt -because he had been born in the Five Towns, he could not formulate in -his mind a single nice thing. - -"Well, what do you think of it?" she asked, looking full at him, and the -glance too had a strange significance. It was as if she had said: "Are -you a man, or aren't you?" - -"I think you're splendid," he exclaimed. - -"Now please!" she protested. "Don't begin in that strain. I know I'm -very good for an amateur--" - -"But really! I'm not joking!" - -She shook her head. - -"What do you think of my part for Rose? Wouldn't she be tremendous in -it? Wouldn't she be tremendous? What a chance!" - -He was acutely uncomfortable, but even his discomfort was somehow a joy. - -"Yes," he admitted. "Yes." - -"Oh! Here's Carlo Trent," said she. - -He heard Trent's triumphant voice carrying the end of a conversation -into the room: "If he hadn't been going away," Carlo Trent was saying, -"Pilgrim would have taken it. Pilgrim--" - -The poet's eyes met Edward Henry's, and the sentence was never finished. - -"How d'ye do, Machin?" murmured the poet. - -Then a bell began to ring and would not stop. - -"You're staying for the reception afterwards?" said Elsie April as the -room emptied. - -"Is there one?" - -"Of course." - -It seemed to Edward Henry that they exchanged silent messages. - - - - V. - - -Some time after the last hexameter had rolled forth, and the curtain had -finally fallen on the immense and rapturous success of Carlo Trent's -play in three acts and in verse, Edward Henry, walking about the crowded -stage where the reception was being held, encountered Elsie April, who -was still in her gorgeous dress of green and silver. She was chatting -with Marrier, who instantly left her, thus displaying a discretion such -as an employer would naturally expect from a factotum to whom he was -paying three pounds a week. - -Edward Henry's heart began to beat in a manner which troubled him and -made him wonder what could be happening at the back of the soft-frilled -shirt-front that he had obtained in imitation of Mr. Seven Sachs. - -"Not much elbow-room here!" he said lightly. He was very anxious to be -equal to the occasion. - -She gazed at him under her emphasized eyebrows. He noticed that there -were little touches of red on her delightful nostrils. - -"No," she answered with direct simplicity. "Suppose we try somewhere -else." - -She turned her back on all the amiable and intellectual babble, -descended three steps on the prompt side, and opened a door. The swish -of her brocaded spreading skirt was loud and sensuous. He followed her -into an obscure chamber in which several figures were moving to and fro -and talking. - -"What's this place?" he asked. Involuntarily his voice was diminished -to a whisper. - -"It's one of the discussion-rooms," said she. "It used to be a -classroom, I expect, before the society took the buildings over. You -see the theatre was the general schoolroom." - -They sat down inobtrusively in an embrasure. None among the mysterious -moving figures seemed to remark them. - -"But why are they talking in the dark?" Edward Henry asked behind his -hand. - -"To begin with, it isn't quite dark," she said. "There's the light of -the street-lamp through the window. But it has been found that serious -discussions can be carried on much better without too much light.... -I'm not joking." (It was as if in the gloom her ears had caught his -faint sardonic smile.) - -Said the voice of one of the figures: - -"Can you tell me what is the origin of the decay of realism? Can you -tell me that?" - -Suddenly, in the ensuing silence, there was a click and a tiny electric -lamp shot its beam. The hand which held the lamp was the hand of Carlo -Trent. He raised it and flashed the trembling ray in the inquirer's -face. Edward Henry recalled Carlo's objection to excessive electricity -in the private drawing-room at Wilkins's. - -"Why do you ask such a question?" Carlo Trent challenged the enquirer, -brandishing the lamp. "I ask you why do you ask it?" - -The other also drew forth a lamp and, as it were, cocked it and let it -off at the features of Carlo Trent. And thus the two stood, statuesque -and lit, surrounded by shadowy witnesses of the discussion. - -The door creaked and yet another figure, silhouetted for an instant -against the illumination of the stage, descended into the -discussion-chamber. - -Carlo Trent tripped towards the newcomer, bent with his lamp, lifted -delicately the hem of the newcomer's trousers, and gazed at the colour -of his sock, which was blue. - -"All right!" said he. - -"The champagne and sandwiches are served," said the newcomer. - -"You've not answered me, sir," Carlo Trent faced once more his opponent -in the discussion. "You've not answered me." - -Whereupon, the lamps being extinguished, they all filed forth, the door -swung to of its own accord, shutting out the sound of babble from the -stage, and Edward Henry and Elsie April were left silent and solitary to -the sole ray of the street-lamp. - -All the Five Towns shrewdness in Edward Henry's character, all the -husband in him, all the father in him, all the son in him, leapt to his -lips and tried to say to Elsie, "Shall _we_ go and inspect the champagne -and sandwiches too?" and failed to say these incantatory words of -salvation! - -And the romantic adventurous fool in him rejoiced at their failure. For -he was adventurously happy in his propinquity to that simple and sincere -creature. He was so happy, and his heart was so active, that he even -made no caustic characteristic comment on the singular behaviour of the -beings who had just abandoned them to their loneliness. He was also -proud because he was sitting alone nearly in the dark with a piquant and -wealthy, albeit amateur, actress who had just participated in a triumph -at which the spiritual aristocracy of London had assisted. - - - - VI. - - -Two thoughts ran through his head, shooting in and out and to and fro -among his complex sensations of pleasure. The first was that he had -never been in such a fix before, despite his enterprising habits. And -the second was that neither Elsie April nor anybody else connected with -his affairs in London had ever asked him whether he was married, nor -assumed by any detail of behaviour towards him that there existed the -possibility of his being married. Of course he might, had he chosen, -have informed a few of them that a wife and children possessed him, but -then, really, would not that have been equivalent to attaching a label -to himself "Married"?--a procedure which had to him the stamp of -provinciality. - -Elsie April said nothing. And as she said nothing he was obliged to say -something, if only to prove to both of them that he was not a mere -tongue-tied provincial. He said: - -"You know I feel awfully out of it here in this society of yours!" - -"Out of it?" she exclaimed, and her voice thrilled as she resented his -self-depreciation. - -"It's over my head--right over it!" - -"Now, Mr. Machin," she said, dropping somewhat that rich, low voice, "I -quite understand that there are some things about the society you don't -like, trifles that you're inclined to laugh at. _I_ know that. Many of -us know it. But it can't be helped in an organisation like ours. It's -even essential. Don't be too hard on us. Don't be sarcastic." - -"But I'm not sarcastic!" he protested. - -"Honest?" She turned to him quickly. He could descry her face in the -gloom, and the forward bend of her shoulders, and the backward sweep of -her arms resting on the seat, and the straight droop of her Egyptian -shawl from her inclined body. - -"Honest!" he solemnly insisted. - -The exchange of this single word was so intimate that it shifted their -conversation to a different level--a level at which each seemed to be -assuring the other that intercourse between them could never be aught -but utterly sincere thenceforward, and that indeed in future they would -constitute a little society of their own, ideal in its organisation. - -"Then you're too modest," she said decidedly. "There was no one here -to-night who's more respected than you are. No one! Immediately I -first spoke to you--I daresay you don't remember that afternoon at the -Grand Babylon Hotel--I knew you weren't like the rest. And don't I know -them? Don't I know them?" - -"But how did you know I'm not like the rest?" asked Edward Henry. The -line which she was taking had very much surprised him, and charmed him. -The compliment, so serious and urgent in tone, was intensely agreeable, -and it made an entirely new experience in his career. He thought: "Oh! -There's no mistake about it. These London women are marvellous! -They're just as straight and in earnest as the best of our little lot -down there. But they've got something else. There's no comparison!" -The unique word to describe the indescribable floated into his head: -"Scrumptuous!" What could not life be with such semi-divine creatures? -He dreamt of art drawing-rooms softly shaded at midnight. And his -attitude towards even poetry was modified. - -"I knew you weren't like the rest," said she, "by your look; by the way -you say everything you _do_ say. We all know it. And I'm sure you're -far more than clever enough to be perfectly aware that we all know it. -Just see how everyone looked at you to-night!" - -Yes, he had in fact been aware of the glances. - -"I think I ought to tell you," she went on, "that I was rather unfair to -you that day in talking about my cousin--in the taxi. You were quite -right to refuse to go into partnership with her. She thinks so too. -We've talked it over, and we're quite agreed. Of course it did seem -hard--at the time, and her bad luck in America seemed to make it worse. -But you were quite right. You can work much better alone. You must -have felt that instinctively--far quicker than we felt it." - -"Well," he murmured, confused, "I don't know--" - -Could this be she who had too openly smiled at his skirmish with an -artichoke? - -"Oh, Mr. Machin," she burst out, "you've got an unprecedented -opportunity, and, thank Heaven, you're the man to use it! We're all -expecting so much from you, and we know we sha'n't be disappointed." - -"D'ye mean the theatre?" he asked, alarmed as it were amid rising -waters. - -"The theatre," said she gravely. "You're the one man that can save -London. No one _in_ London can do it! ... _You_ have the happiness of -knowing what your mission is, and of knowing too that you are equal to -it. What good fortune! I wish I could say as much for myself. I want -to do something! I try! But what can I do? Nothing--really! You've no -idea of the awful loneliness that comes from a feeling of inability." - -"Loneliness!" he repeated. "But surely--" He stopped. - -"Loneliness," she insisted. Her little chin was now in her little hand, -and her dim face upturned. - -And suddenly a sensation of absolute and marvellous terror seized Edward -Henry. He was more afraid than he had ever been--and yet once or twice -in his life he had felt fear. His sense of true perspective--one of his -most precious qualities--returned. He thought: "I've got to get out of -this." Well, the door was not locked. It was only necessary to turn -the handle, and security lay on the other side of the door! He had but -to rise and walk. And he could not. He might just as well have been -manacled in a prison-cell. He was under an enchantment. - -"A man," murmured Elsie, "a man can never realise the loneliness--" She -ceased. - -He stirred uneasily. - -"About this play," he found himself saying. - -And yet why should he mention the play in his fright? He pretended to -himself not to know why. But he knew why. His instinct had seen in the -topic of the play the sole avenue of salvation. - -"A wonderful thing, isn't it?" - -"Oh, yes," he said; and then, most astonishingly to himself, added: -"I've decided to do it." - -"We knew you would," she said calmly. "At any rate I did.... You'll -open with it of course." - -"Yes," he answered desperately, and proceeded, with the most -extraordinary bravery: "If you'll act in it." - -Immediately on hearing these last words issue from his mouth he knew -that a fool had uttered them, and that the bravery was mere rashness; -for Elsie's responding gesture reinspired him afresh with the exquisite -terror which he had already begun to conjure away. - -"You think Miss Euclid ought to have the part," he added quickly, before -she could speak. - -"Oh, I do!" cried Elsie positively and eagerly. "Rose will do simply -wonders with that part. You see she can speak verse. I can't. I'm -nobody. I only took it because--" - -"Aren't you anybody?" he contradicted. "Aren't you anybody? I can just -tell you--" - -There he was again, bringing back the delicious terror! An astounding -situation! - -But the door creaked. The babble from the stage invaded the room. And -in a second the enchantment was lifted from him. Several people -entered. He sighed, saying within himself to the disturbers: - -"I'd have given you a hundred-pound piece if you'd been five minutes -sooner." - -And yet simultaneously he regretted their arrival. And, more curious -still, though he well remembered the warning words of Mr. Seven Sachs -concerning Elsie April, he did not consider that they were justified. -She had not been a bit persuasive ... only... - - - - VII. - - -He sat down to the pianisto with a strange and agreeable sense of -security. It is true that, owing to the time of year, the drawing-room -had been, in the figurative phrase, turned upside down by the process of -spring-cleaning, which his unexpected arrival had surprised in fullest -activity. But he did not mind that. He abode content among rolled -carpets, a swathed chandelier, piled chairs, and walls full of pale -rectangular spaces where pictures had been. Early that morning, after a -brief night spent partly in bed and partly in erect contemplation of his -immediate past and his immediate future, he had hurried back to his -pianisto and his home--to the beings and things that he knew and that -knew him. - -In the train he had had the pleasure of reading in sundry newspapers -that "The Orient Pearl," by Carlo Trent (who was mentioned in terms of -startling respect and admiration), had been performed on the previous -evening at the dramatic _soiree_ of the Azure Society, with all the -usual accompaniments of secrecy and exclusiveness, in its private -theatre in Kensington, and had been accepted on the spot by Mr. E. H. -Machin ("that most enterprising and enlightened recruit to the ranks of -theatrical managers ") for production at the new Regent Theatre. And -further, that Mr. Machin intended to open with it. And still further, -that his selection of such a play, which combined in the highest degree -the poetry of Mr. W. B. Yeats with the critical intellectuality of Mr. -Bernard Shaw, was of excellent augury for London's dramatic future, and -that the "upward movement" must on no account be thought to have failed -because of the failure of certain recent ill-judged attempts, by persons -who did not understand their business, to force it in particular -directions. And still further, that he, Edward Henry, had engaged for -the principal part Miss Rose Euclid, perhaps the greatest emotional -actress the English-speaking peoples had ever had, but who unfortunately -had not been sufficiently seen of late on the London stage, and that -this would be her first appearance after her recent artistic successes -in the United States. And lastly, that Mr. Marrier (whose name would be -remembered in connection with ... etc., etc.) was Mr. E. H. Machin's -acting manager and technical adviser. Edward Henry could trace the hand -of Marrier in all the paragraphs. Marrier had lost no time. - -Mrs. Machin, senior, came into the drawing-room just as he was adjusting -the "Tannhaeuser" overture to the mechanician. The piece was one of his -major favourites. - -"This is no place for you, my lad," said Mrs. Machin grimly, glancing -round the room. "But I came to tell ye as th' mutton's been cooling at -least five minutes. You gave out as you were hungry." - -"Keep your hair on, Mother," said he, springing up. - -Barely twelve hours earlier he had been mincing among the elect and the -select and the intellectual and the poetic and the aristocratic; among -the lah-di-dah and Kensingtonian accents; among rouged lips and blue -hose and fixed simperings; in the centre of the universe. And he had -conducted himself with considerable skill accordingly. Nobody, on the -previous night, could have guessed from the cut of his fancy waistcoat, -or the judiciousness of his responses to remarks about verse, that his -wife often wore a white apron, or that his mother was--the woman she -was! He had not unskillfully caught many of the tricks of that -metropolitan environment. But now they all fell away from him, and he -was just Edward Henry--nay, he was almost the old Denry again. - -"Who chose this mutton?" he asked as he bent over the juicy and rich -joint and cut therefrom exquisite thick slices with a carving-knife like -a razor. - -"_I_ did, if ye want to know," said his mother. "Anything amiss with -it?" she challenged. - -"No. It's fine." - -"Yes," said she, "I'm wondering whether you get aught as good as that in -these grand hotels, as you call 'em." - -"We don't," said Edward Henry. First, it was true, and secondly he was -anxious to be propitiatory, for he had a plan to further. - -He looked at his wife. She was not talkative, but she had received him -in the hall with every detail of affection, if a little absent-mindedly, -owing to the state of the house. She had not been caustic, like his -mother, about this male incursion into spring-cleaning. She had not -informed the surrounding air that she failed to understand why them as -were in London couldn't stop in London for a bit, as his mother had. -Moreover, though the spring-cleaning fully entitled her to wear a white -apron at meals, she was not wearing a white apron, which was a sign to -him that she still loved him enough to want to please him. On the -whole, he was fairly optimistic about his plan of salvation. -Nevertheless, it was not until nearly the end of the meal, when one of -his mother's ample pies was being consumed, that he began to try to -broach it. - -"Nell," he said, "I suppose you wouldn't care to come to London with -me?" - -"Oh!" she answered smiling, a smile of a peculiar quality. It was -astonishing how that simple woman could put just one-tenth of one per -cent. of irony into a good-natured smile. "What's the meaning of this?" -Then she flushed. The flush touched Edward Henry in an extraordinary -manner. - -("To think," he reflected, incredulously, "that only last night I was -talking in the dark to Elsie April--and here I am now!" And he -remembered the glory of Elsie's frock, and her thrilling voice in the -gloom, and that pose of hers as she leaned dimly forward.) - -"Well," he said aloud, as naturally as he could. "That theatre's -beginning to get up on its hind legs now, and I should like you to see -it." - -A difficult pass for him, as regards his mother! This was the first time -he had ever overtly spoken of the theatre in his mother's presence. In -the best bedroom he had talked of it, but even there with a certain -self-consciousness and false casualness. Now his mother stared straight -in front of her with an expression of which she alone among human beings -had the monopoly. - -"I should like to," said Nellie generously. - -"Well," said he, "I've got to go back to town to-morrow. Wilt come with -me, lass?" - -"Don't be silly, Edward Henry," said she. "How can I leave Mother in the -middle of all this spring-cleaning?" - -"You needn't leave Mother. We'll take her too," said Edward Henry -lightly. - -"You won't!" observed Mrs. Machin. - -"I _have_ to go to-morrow, Nell," said Edward Henry. "And I was -thinking you might as well come with me. It will be a change for you." - -(He said to himself: "And not only have I to go to-morrow, but you -absolutely must come with me, my girl. That's the one thing to do.") - -"It would be a change for me," Nellie agreed. She was beyond doubt -flattered and calmly pleased. "But I can't possibly come to-morrow. You -can see that for yourself, dear." - -"No, I can't!" he cried impatiently. "What does it matter? Mother'll -be here. The kids'll be all right. After all, spring cleaning isn't -the day of judgment." - -"Edward Henry," said his mother, cutting in between them like a thin -blade, "I wish you wouldn't be blasphemous. London's London, and -Bursley's Bursley." She had finished. - -"It's quite out of the question for me to come to-morrow, dear. I must -have notice. I really must." - -And Edward Henry saw with alarm that Nellie had made up her mind, and -that the flattered calm pleasure in his suggestion had faded from her -face. - -"Oh, dash these domesticated women!" he thought, and shortly afterwards -departed, brooding, to the offices of the Thrift Club. - - - - VIII. - - -He timed his return with exactitude, and, going straight up-stairs to -the chamber known indifferently as "Maisie's room" or "nurse's room," -sure enough he found the three children there alone! They were fed, -washed, night-gowned, and even dressing-gowned; and this was the hour -when, while Nurse repaired the consequences of their revolutionary -conduct in the bathroom and other places, they were left to themselves. -Robert lay on the hearth-rug, the insteps of his soft, pink feet rubbing -idly against the pile of the rug, his elbows digging into the pile, his -chin on his fists, and a book perpendicularly beneath his eyes. Ralph, -careless adventurer rather than student, had climbed to the glittering -brass rail of Maisie's new bedstead, and was thereon imitating a -recently seen circus performance. Maisie, in the bed according to -regulation, and lying on the flat of her back, was singing nonchalantly -to the ceiling. Carlo, unaware that at that moment he might have been a -buried corpse but for the benignancy of Providence in his behalf, was -feeling sympathetic towards himself because he was slightly bored. - -"Hello, kids!" Edward Henry greeted them. As he had seen them before -midday dinner, the more formal ceremonies of salutation after absence, -so hateful to the Five Towns temperament, were happily over and done -with. - -Robert turned his head slightly, inspected his father with a judicial -detachment that hardly escaped the inimical, and then resumed his book. - -("No one would think," said Edward Henry to himself, "that the person -who has just entered this room is the most enterprising and enlightened -of West End theatrical managers.") - -"'Ello, Father!" shrilled Ralph. "Come and help me to stand on this -wire rope." - -"It isn't a wire rope," said Robert from the hearth-rug, without -stirring. "It's a brass rail." - -"Yes, it is a wire rope, because I can make it bend," Ralph retorted, -bumping down on the thing. "Anyhow, it's going to be a wire rope." - -Maisie simply stuck several fingers into her mouth, shifted to one side, -and smiled at her father in a style of heavenly and mischievous -flirtatiousness. - -"Well, Robert, what are you reading?" Edward Henry inquired in his best -fatherly manner, half authoritative and half humorous, while he formed -part of the staff of Ralph's circus. - -"I'm not reading, I'm learning my spellings," replied Robert. - -Edward Henry, knowing that the discipline of filial politeness must be -maintained, said: "'Learning my spellings'--what?" - -"Learning my spellings, Father," Robert consented to say, but with a -savage air of giving way to the unreasonable demands of affected fools. -Why indeed should it be necessary in conversation always to end one's -sentence with the name or title of the person addressed? - -"Well, would you like to go to London with me?" - -"When?" the boy demanded cautiously. He still did not move, but his -ears seemed to prick up. - -"To-morrow?" - -"No thanks ... Father." His ears ceased their activity. - -"No? Why not?" - -"Because there's a spellings examination on Friday, and I'm going to be -top boy." - -It was a fact that the infant (whose programmes were always somehow -arranged in advance, and were in his mind absolutely unalterable) could -spell the most obstreperous words. Quite conceivably he could spell -better than his father, who still showed an occasional tendency to write -"separate" with three e's and only one a. - -"London's a fine place," said Edward Henry. - -"I know," said Robert negligently. - -"What's the population of London?" - -"I don't know," said Robert with curtness, though he added after a -pause: "But I can spell population--p-o-p-u-l-a-t-i-o-n." - -"_I'll_ come to London, Father, if you'll have me," said Ralph, grinning -good-naturedly. - -"Will you!" said his father. - -"Fahver," asked Maisie, wriggling, "have you brought me a doll?" - -"I'm afraid I haven't." - -"Mother said p'r'aps you would." - -It was true, there had been talk of a doll; he had forgotten it. - -"I tell you what I'll do," said Edward Henry, "I'll take you to London, -and you can choose a doll in London. You never saw such dolls as there -are in London--talking dolls that shut and open their eyes and say Papa -and Mamma, and all their clothes take off and on." - -"Do they say 'Father?'" growled Robert. - -"No, they don't," said Edward Henry. - -"Why don't they?" growled Robert. - -"When will you take me?" Maisie almost squealed. - -"To-morrow." - -"Certain sure, Father?" - -"Yes." - -"You promise, Father?" - -"Of course I promise." - -Robert at length stood up to judge for himself this strange and -agitating caprice of his father's for taking Maisie to London. He saw -that, despite spellings, it would never do to let Maisie alone go. He -was about to put his father through a cross-examination, but Edward -Henry dropped Ralph, who had been climbing up him as up a -telegraph-pole, on to the bed and went over to the window, nervously, -and tapped thereon. - -Carlo followed him, wagging an untidy tail. - -"Hello, Trent!" murmured Edward Henry, stooping and patting the dog. - -Ralph exploded into loud laughter. - -"Father's called Carlo 'Trent,'" he roared. "Father, have you forgotten -his name's Carlo?" It was one of the greatest jokes that Ralph had -heard for a long time. - -Then Nellie hurried into the room, and Edward Henry, with a "Mustn't be -late for tea," as hurriedly left it. - -Three minutes later, while he was bent over the lavatory basin, someone -burst into the bathroom. He lifted a soapy face. - -It was Nellie, with disturbed features. - -"What's this about your positively promising to take Maisie to London -to-morrow to choose a doll?" - -"I'll take 'em all," he replied with absurd levity. "And you too!" - -"But really--" she pouted, indicating that he must not carry the -ridiculous too far. - -"Look here, d--n it," he said impulsively, "I _want_ you to come. And I -want you to come to-morrow. I knew it was the confounded infants you -wouldn't leave. You don't mean to tell me you can't arrange it--a woman -like you!" - -She hesitated. - -"And what am I to do with three children in a London hotel?" - -"Take Nurse, naturally." - -"Take Nurse?" she cried. - -He imitated her with a grotesque exaggeration, yelling loudly, "Take -Nurse?" Then he planted a soap-sud on her fresh cheek. - -She wiped it off carefully and smacked his arm. The next moment she was -gone, having left the door open. - -"He _wants_ me to go to London to-morrow," he could hear her saying to -his mother on the landing. - -"Confound it!" he thought. "Didn't she know that at dinner-time?" - -"Bless us!" His mother's voice. - -"And take the children--and Nurse!" his wife continued in a tone to -convey the fact that she was just as much disturbed as her mother-in-law -could possibly be by the eccentricities of the male. - -"He's his father all over, that lad is!" said his mother strangely. - -And Edward Henry was impressed by these words, for not once in seven -years did his mother mention his father. - -Tea was an exciting meal. - -"You'd better come too, Mother," said Edward Henry audaciously. "We'll -shut the house up." - -"I come to no London," said she. - -"Well, then, you can use the motor as much as you like while we're -away." - -"I go about gallivanting in no motor," said his mother. "It'll take me -all my time to get this house straight against you come back." - -"I haven't a _thing_ to go in!" said Nellie with a martyr's sigh. - -After all (he reflected), though domesticated, she was a woman. - -He went to bed early. It seemed to him that his wife, his mother, and -the nurse were active and whispering up and down the house till the very -middle of the night. He arose not late, but they were all three afoot -before him, active and whispering. - - - - IX. - - -He found out on the morning after the highly complex transaction of -getting his family from Bursley to London that London held more problems -for him than ever. He was now not merely the proprietor of a theatre -approaching completion, but really a theatrical manager with a play to -produce, artistes to engage, and the public to attract. He had made two -appointments for that morning at the Majestic (he was not at the Grand -Babylon, because his wife had once stayed with him at the Majestic, and -he did not want to add to his anxieties the business of accustoming her -to a new and costlier luxury): one appointment at nine with Marrier, and -the other at ten with Nellie, family, and Nurse. He had expected to get -rid of Marrier before ten. - -Among the exciting mail which Marrier had collected for him from the -Grand Babylon and elsewhere was the following letter: - - -_Buckingham Palace Hotel._ - -DEAR FRIEND: We are all so proud of you. I should like some time to -finish our interrupted conversation. Will you come and have lunch with -me one day here at 1.30? You needn't write. I know how busy you are. -Just telephone you are coming. But don't telephone between 12 and 1, -because at that time I _always_ take my constitutional in St. James's -Park. - -Yours sincerely, - E. A. - -"Well," he thought. "That's a bit thick, that is! She's stuck me up -with a dramatist I don't believe in, and a play I don't believe in, and -an actress I don't believe in, and now she--" - -Nevertheless, to a certain extent he was bluffing himself; for, as he -pretended to put Elsie April back into her place, he had disturbing and -delightful visions of her. A clever creature! Uncannily clever! -Wealthy! Under thirty! Broad-minded! No provincial prejudices! ... Her -voice, that always affected his spine! Her delicious flattery! ... She -was no mean actress either! And the multifariousness of her seductive -charm! In fact, she was a regular woman of the world, such as you would -read about--if you did read! ... He was sitting with her again in the -obscurity of the discussion-room at the Azure Society's establishment. -His heart was beating again. - -Pooh! ... - -A single wrench, and he ripped up the letter and cast it into one of the -red-lined waste-paper baskets with which the immense and rather shabby -writing-room of the Majestic was dotted. - -Before he had finished dealing with Mr. Marrier's queries and -suggestions--some ten thousand in all--the clock struck, and Nellie -tripped into the room. She was in black silk, with hints here and there -of gold chains. As she had explained, she had nothing to wear, and was -therefore obliged to fall back on the final resource of every woman in -her state. For in this connection "nothing to wear" signified "nothing -except my black silk"--at any rate, in the Five Towns. - -"Mr. Marrier--my wife. Nellie, this is Mr. Marrier." - -Mr. Marrier was profuse: no other word would describe his demeanour. -Nellie had the timidity of a young girl. Indeed, she looked quite -youthful, despite the aging influences of black silk. - -"So that's your Mr. Marrier! I understood from you he was a clerk!" -said Nellie tartly, suddenly retransformed into the shrewd matron as -soon as Mr. Marrier had profusely gone. She had conceived Marrier as a -sort of Penkethman. Edward Henry had hoped to avoid this interview. - -He shrugged his shoulders in answer to his wife's remark. - -"Well," he said, "where are the kids?" - -"Waiting in the lounge with Nurse, as you said to be." Her mien -delicately informed him that while in London his caprices would be her -law, which she would obey without seeking to comprehend. - -"Well," he went on, "I expect they'd like the parks as well as anything. -Suppose we take 'em and show 'em one of the parks? Shall we? Besides, -they must have fresh air." - -"All right," Nellie agreed. "But how far will it be?" - -"Oh," said Edward Henry, "we'll crowd into a taxi!" - -They crowded into a taxi, and the children found their father in high -spirits. Maisie mentioned the doll. In a minute the taxi had stopped -in front of a toy-shop surpassing dreams, and they invaded the toy-shop -like an army. When they emerged, after a considerable interval, Nurse -was carrying an enormous doll, and Nellie was carrying Maisie, and Ralph -was lovingly stroking the doll's real shoes. Robert kept a profound -silence--a silence which had begun in the train. - -"You haven't got much to say, Robert," his father remarked when the taxi -set off again. - -"I know," said Robert gruffly. Among other things, he resented his best -clothes on a week-day. - -"What do you think of London?" - -"I don't know," said Robert. - -His eyes never left the window of the taxi. - -Then they visited the theatre--a very fatiguing enterprise, and also, -for Edward Henry, a very nervous one. He was as awkward in displaying -that inchoate theatre as a newly-made father with his first-born. Pride -and shame fought for dominion over him. Nellie was full of laudations. -Ralph enjoyed the ladders. - -"I say," said Nellie, apprehensive for Maisie, on the pavement, "this -child's exhausted already. How big's this park of yours? Because -neither Nurse nor I can carry her very far." - -"We'll buy a pram," said Edward Henry. He was staring at a newspaper -placard which said: "Isabel Joy on the war-path again. Will she win?" - -"But--" - -"Oh, yes, we'll buy a pram! Driver--" - -"A pram isn't enough. You'll want coverings for her, in this wind." - -"Well, we'll buy the necessary number of eiderdowns and blankets, then," -said Edward Henry. "Driver--" - -A tremendous business! For, in addition to making the purchases, he had -to feed his flock in an A-B-C shop, where among the unoccupied -waitresses Maisie and her talkative winking doll enjoyed a triumph. -Still, there was plenty of time. - -At a quarter-past twelve he was displaying the varied landscape beauties -of the park to his family. Ralph insisted on going to the bridge over -the lake, and Robert silently backed him. And therefore the entire -party went. But Maisie was afraid of the water, and cried. Now, the -worst thing about Maisie was that when once she had begun to cry it was -very difficult to stop her. Even the most remarkable dolls were -powerless to appease her distress. - -"Give me the confounded pram, Nurse," said Edward Henry, "I'll cure -her." - -But he did not cure her. However, he had to stick grimly to the -perambulator. Nellie tripped primly in black silk on one side of it. -Nurse had the wayward Ralph by the hand. And Robert, taciturn, stalked -alone, adding up London and making a very small total of it. - -Suddenly Edward Henry halted the perambulator and, stepping away from -it, raised his hat. An excessively elegant young woman leading a -Pekinese by a silver chain stopped as if smitten by a magic dart and -held spellbound. - -"How do you do, Miss April?" said Edward Henry loudly. "I was hoping to -meet you. This is my wife. Nellie, this is Miss April." Nellie bowed -stiffly in her black silk. Naught of the fresh maiden about her now! -And it has to be said that Elsie April, in all her young and radiant -splendour and woman-of-the-worldliness, was equally stiff. "And there -are my two boys. And this is my little girl in the pram." - -Maisie screamed, and pushed an expensive doll out of the perambulator. -Edward Henry saved it by its boot as it fell. - -"And this is her doll. And this is Nurse," he finished. "Fine breezy -morning, isn't it?" - -In due course the processions moved on. - -"Well, that's done!" Edward Henry muttered to himself, and sighed. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE FIRST NIGHT - - I. - -It was upon an evening in June--and a fine evening, full of the -exquisite melancholy of summer in a city--that Edward Henry stood before -a window, drumming thereon as he had once, a less experienced man with -hair slightly less gray, drummed on the table of the mighty and arrogant -Slosson. The window was the window of the managerial room of the Regent -Theatre. And he could scarcely believe it, he could scarcely believe -that he was not in a dream, for the room was papered, carpeted and -otherwise furnished. Only its electric light fittings were somewhat -hasty and provisional, and the white ceiling showed a hole and a bunch -of wires, like the nerves of a hollow tooth, whence one of Edward -Henry's favourite chandeliers would ultimately depend. - -The whole of the theatre was at least as far advanced toward completion -as that room. A great deal of it was more advanced; for instance the -auditorium, foyer, and bars, which were utterly finished, so far as -anything ever is finished in a changing world. Wonders, marvels, and -miracles had been accomplished. Mr. Alloyd, in the stress of the job, -had even ceased to bring the Russian ballet into his conversations. Mr. -Alloyd, despite a growing tendency to prove to Edward Henry by authentic -anecdote about midnight his general proposition that women as a sex -treated him with shameful unfairness, had gained the high esteem of -Edward Henry as an architect. He had fulfilled his word about those -properties of the auditorium which had to do with hearing and -seeing--in-so-much that the auditorium was indeed unique in London. And -he had taken care that the clerk of the Works took care that the builder -did not give up heart in the race with time. - -Moreover he had maintained the peace with the terrible London County -Council, all of whose inspecting departments seemed to have secretly -decided that the Regent Theatre should be opened, not in June as Edward -Henry had decided but at some vague future date toward the middle of the -century. Months earlier Edward Henry had ordained and announced that -the Regent Theatre should be inaugurated on a given date in June, at the -full height of splendour of the London season, and he had astounded the -theatrical world by adhering through thick and thin to that date, and -had thereby intensified his reputation as an eccentric; for the oldest -inhabitant of that world could not recall a case in which the opening of -a new theatre had not been promised for at least three widely different -dates. - -Edward Henry had now arrived at the eve of the date, and if he had -arrived there in comparative safety, with a reasonable prospect of -avoiding complete shame and disaster, he felt and he admitted that the -credit was due as much to Mr. Alloyd as to himself. Which only -confirmed an early impression of his that architects were queer -people--rather like artists and poets in some ways, but with a basis of -bricks and mortar to them. - -His own share in the enterprise of the Regent had in theory been -confined to engaging the right people for the right tasks and -situations; and to signing checks. He had depended chiefly upon Mr. -Marrier, who, growing more radiant every day, had gradually developed -into a sort of chubby Napoleon, taking an immense delight in detail and -in choosing minor hands at round-sum salaries on the spur of the moment. -Mr. Marrier refused no call upon his energy. He was helping Carlo Trent -in the production and stage-management of the play. He dried the tears -of girlish neophytes at rehearsals. He helped to number the stalls. He -showed a passionate interest in the tessellated pavement of the -entrance. He taught the managerial typewriting girl how to make -afternoon tea. He went to Hitchin to find a mediaeval chair required -for the third act, and found it. In a word he was fully equal to the -post of acting manager. He managed! He managed everything and -everybody except Edward Henry, and except the press-agent, a functionary -whose conviction of his own indispensability and importance was so -sincere that even Marrier shared it, and left him alone in his -Bismarckian operations. The press-agent, who sang in musical comedy -chorus at night, knew that if the Regent Theatre succeeded, it would be -his doing and his alone. - -And yet Edward Henry, though he had delegated everything, had yet found -a vast amount of work to do; and was thereby exhausted. That was why he -was drumming on the pane. That was why he was conscious of a foolish -desire to shove his fist through the pane. During the afternoon he had -had two scenes with two representatives of the Libraries (so called -because they deal in theatre-tickets and not in books) who had declined -to take up any of his tickets in advance. He had commenced an action -against a firm of bill posters. He had settled an incipient strike in -the "limes" department, originated by Mr. Cosmo Clark's views about -lighting. He had dictated answers to seventy-nine letters of complaint -from unknown people concerning the supply of free seats for the first -night. He had responded in the negative to a request from a newspaper -critic who, on the score that he was deaf, wanted a copy of the play. -He had replied finally to an official of the County Council about the -smoke trap over the stage. He had replied finally to another official of -the County Council about the electric sign. He had attended to a new -curiosity on the part of another official of the County Council about -the iron curtain. And he had been almost rude to still another official -of the County Council about the wiring of the electric light in the -dressing-rooms. He had been unmistakably and pleasurably rude in -writing to Slossons about their criticisms of the lock on the door of -Lord Woldo's private entrance to the theatre. Also he had arranged with -the representative of the Chief Commissioner of Police concerning the -carriage regulations for "setting-down and taking-up." - -And he had indeed had more than enough. His nerves, though he did not -know it, and would have scorned the imputation, were slowly giving way. -Hence, really, the danger to the pane! Through the pane, in the dying -light he could see a cross-section of Shaftesbury Avenue, and an aged -newspaper lad leaning against a lamp-post and displaying a poster which -spoke of Isabel Joy. Isabel Joy yet again! That little fact of itself -contributed to his exasperation. He thought, considering the importance -of the Regent Theatre and the salary he was paying to his press-agent, -that the newspapers ought to occupy their pages solely with the -metropolitan affairs of Edward Henry Machin. But the wretched Isabel -had, as it were, got London by the throat. She had reached Chicago from -the West, on her triumphant way home, and had there contrived to be -arrested, according to boast, but she was experiencing much more -difficulty in emerging from the Chicago prison than in entering it. And -the question was now becoming acute whether the emissary of the militant -Suffragettes would arrive back in London within the specified period of -a hundred days. Naturally, London was holding its breath. London will -keep calm during moderate crises--such as a national strike or the agony -of the House of Lords--but when the supreme excitation is achieved -London knows how to let itself go. - -"If you please, Mr. Machin--" - -He turned. It was his typewriter, Miss Lindop, a young girl of some -thirty-five years, holding a tea-tray. - -"But I've had my tea once!" he snapped. - -"But you've not had your dinner, sir, and it's half-past eight!" she -pleaded. - -He had known this girl for less than a month and he paid her fewer -shillings a week than the years of her age, and yet somehow she had -assumed a worshipping charge of him, based on the idea that he was -incapable of taking care of himself. To look at her appealing eyes one -might have thought that she would have died to insure his welfare. - -"And they want to see you about the linoleum for the gallery stairs," -she added timidly. "The County Council man says it must be taken up." - -The linoleum for the gallery stairs! Something snapped in him. He -almost walked right through the young woman and the tea-tray. - -"I'll linoleum them!" he bitterly exclaimed, and disappeared. - - - - II. - - -Having duly "linoleumed them," or rather having very annoyingly quite -failed to "linoleum them," Edward Henry continued his way up the -right-hand gallery staircase and reached the auditorium, where to his -astonishment a good deal of electricity, at one penny three farthings a -unit, was blazing. Every seat in the narrow and high-pitched gallery, -where at the sides the knees of one spectator would be on a level with -the picture-hat of the spectator in the row beneath, had a perfect and -entire view of the proscenium opening. And Edward Henry now proved this -unprecedented fact by climbing to the topmost corner seat and therefrom -surveying the scene of which he was monarch. The boxes were swathed in -their new white dust sheets; and likewise the higgledy-piggledy stalls, -not as yet screwed down to the floor, save three or four stalls in the -middle of the front row, from which the sheet had been removed. On one -of these seats, far off though it was, he could descry a paper -bag,--probably containing sandwiches,--and on another a pair of gloves -and a walking-stick. Several alert ladies with sketchbooks walked -uneasily about in the aisles. The orchestra was hidden in the well -provided for it, and apparently murmuring in its sleep. The magnificent -drop-curtain, designed by Saracen Givington, A.R.A., concealed the -stage. - -Suddenly Mr. Marrier and Carlo Trent appeared through the iron door that -gave communication--to initiates--between the wings and the auditorium; -they sat down in the stalls. And the curtain rose with a violent swish, -and disclosed the first "set" of "The Orient Pearl." - -"What about that amber, Cosmo?" Mr. Marrier cried thickly, after a -pause, his mouth occupied with sandwich. - -"There you are!" came the reply. - -"Right!" said Mr. Marrier. "Strike!" - -"Don't strike!" contradicted Carlo Trent. - -"Strike, I tell you! We must get on with the second act." The voices -resounded queerly in the empty theatre. - -The stage was invaded by scene shifters before the curtain could descend -again. - -Edward Henry heard a tripping step behind him. It was the faithful -typewriting girl. - -"I say," he said. "Do you mind telling me what's going on here? It's -true that in the rush of more important business I'd almost forgotten -that a theatre is a place where they perform plays." - -"It's the dress-rehearsal, Mr. Machin," said the woman, startled and -apologetic. - -"But the dress-rehearsal was fixed for three o'clock," said he. "It -must have been finished three hours ago." - -"I think they've only just done the first act," the woman breathed. "I -know they didn't begin till seven. Oh! Mr. Machin, of course it's no -affair of mine, but I've worked in a good many theatres, and I do think -it's such a mistake to have the dress-rehearsal quite private. If you -get a hundred or so people in the stalls, then it's an audience, and -there's much less delay and everything goes much better. But when it's -private a dress-rehearsal is just like any other rehearsal." - -"Only more so, perhaps," said Edward Henry, smiling. - -He saw that he had made her happy; but he saw also that he had given her -empire over him. - -"I've got your tea here," she said, rather like a hospital nurse now. -"Won't you drink it?" - -"I'll drink it if it's not stewed," he muttered. - -"Oh!" she protested. "Of course it isn't! I poured it off the leaves -into another teapot before I brought it up." - -She went behind the barrier, and reappeared balancing a cup of tea with -a slice of sultana cake edged on the saucer. And as she handed it to -him--the sustenance of rehearsals--she gazed at him and he could almost -hear her eyes saying: "You poor thing!" - -There was nothing that he hated so much as to be pitied. - -"You go home!" he commanded. - -"Oh, but--" - -"You go home! See?" He paused, threatening. "If you don't clear out on -the tick, I'll chuck this cup and saucer down into the stalls." - -Horrified, she vanished. - -He sighed his relief. - -After some time, the leader of the orchestra climbed into his chair, and -the orchestra began to play, and the curtain went up again, on the -second act of the masterpiece in hexameters. The new scenery, which -Edward Henry had with extraordinary courage insisted on Saracen -Givington substituting for the original incomprehensibilities displayed -at the Azure Society's performance, rather pleased him. Its colouring -was agreeable, and it did resemble something definite. You could, -though perhaps not easily, tell what it was meant to represent. The play -proceeded, and the general effect was surprisingly pleasant to Edward -Henry. And then Rose Euclid as Haidee came on for the great scene of -the act. From the distance of the gallery she looked quite passably -youthful, and beyond question she had a dominating presence in her -resplendent costume. She was incomparably and amazingly better than she -had been at the few previous rehearsals which Edward Henry had been -unfortunate enough to witness. She even reminded him of his earliest -entrancing vision of her. - -"Some people may _like_ this!" he admitted, with a gleam of optimism. -Hitherto, for weeks past, he had gone forward with his preparations in -the most frigid and convinced pessimism. It seemed to him that he had -become involved in a vast piece of machinery, and that nothing short of -blowing the theatre up with dynamite would bring the cranks and pistons -to a stop. And yet it seemed to him also that everything was unreal, -that the contracts he signed were unreal, and the proofs he passed, and -the posters he saw on the walls of London, and the advertisements in the -newspapers. Only the checks he drew had the air of being real. And -now, in a magic flash, after a few moments gazing at the stage, he saw -all differently. He scented triumph from afar off, as one sniffs the -tang of the sea. On the morrow he had to meet Nellie at Euston, and he -had shrunk from meeting her, with her terrible remorseless, provincial, -untheatrical common sense; but now, in another magic flash, he envisaged -the meeting with a cock-a-doodle-doo of hope. Strange! He admitted it -was strange. - -And then he failed to hear several words spoken by Rose Euclid. And -then a few more. As the emotion of the scene grew, the proportion of -her words audible in the gallery diminished. Until she became, for him, -totally inarticulate, raving away there and struggling in a cocoon of -hexameters. - -Despair seized him. His nervous system, every separate nerve of it, was -on the rack once more. - -He stood up in a sort of paroxysm and called loudly across the vast -intervening space: - -"Speak more distinctly, please." - -A fearful silence fell upon the whole theatre. The rehearsal stopped. -The building itself seemed to be staggered. Somebody had actually -demanded that words should be uttered articulately! - -Mr. Marrier turned toward the intruder, as one determined to put an end -to such singularities. - -"Who's up theyah?" - -"I am," said Edward Henry. "And I want it to be clearly understood in -my theatre that the first thing an actor has to do is to make himself -heard. I daresay I'm devilish odd, but that's how I look at it." - -"Whom do you mean, Mr. Machin?" asked Marrier in a different tone. - -"I mean Miss Euclid of course. Here I've spent Heaven knows how much on -the acoustics of this theatre, and I can't make out a word she says. I -can hear all the others. And this is the dress-rehearsal!" - -"You must remember you're in the gallery," said Mr. Marrier firmly. - -"And what if I am! I'm not giving gallery seats away to-morrow night. -It's true I'm giving half the stalls away, but the gallery will be paid -for." - -Another silence. - -Said Rose Euclid sharply, and Edward Henry caught every word with the -most perfect distinctness: - -"I'm sick and tired of people saying they can't make out what I say! -They actually write me letters about it! Why _should_ people make out -what I say?" - -She quitted the stage. - -Another silence.... - -"Ring down the curtain," said Mr. Marrier in a thrilled voice. - - - - III. - - -Shortly afterward Mr. Marrier came into the managerial office, lit up -now, where Edward Henry was dictating to his typewriter and hospital -nurse, who, having been caught in hat and jacket on the threshold, had -been brought back and was tapping his words direct on to the machine. It -was a remarkable fact that the sole proprietor of the Regent Theatre was -now in high spirits and good-humour. - -"Well, Marrier, my boy," he saluted the acting manager, "how are you -getting on with that rehearsal?" - -"Well, sir," said Mr. Marrier, "I'm not getting on with it. Miss Euclid -refuses absolutely to proceed. She's in her dressing-room." - -"But why?" enquired Edward Henry with bland surprise. "Doesn't she -_want_ to be heard by her gallery-boys?" - -Mr. Marrier showed a feeble smile. - -"She hasn't been spoken to like that for thirty years," said he. - -"But don't you agree with me?" asked Edward Henry. - -"Yes," said Marrier, "I _agree_ with you--" - -"And doesn't your friend Carlo want his precious hexameters to be -heard?" - -"We baoth agree with you," said Marrier. "The fact is, we've done all we -could, but it's no use. She's splendid; only--" He paused. - -"Only you can't make out ten per cent. of what she says," Edward Henry -finished for him. "Well, I've got no use for that in my theatre." He -found a singular pleasure in emphasising the phrase, "my theatre." - -"That's all very well," said Marrier. "But what are you going to _do_ -about it? I've tried everything. _You've_ come in and burst up the -entire show, if you'll forgive my saying saoh!" - -"Do?" exclaimed Edward Henry. "It's perfectly simple. All you have to -do is to act. God bless my soul, aren't you getting fifteen pounds a -week, and aren't you my acting manager? Act, then! You've done enough -hinting. You've proved that hints are no good. You'd have known that -from your birth up, Marrier, if you'd been born in the Five Towns. Act, -my boy." - -"But haow? If she won't go on, she won't." - -"Is her understudy in the theatre?" - -"Yes. It's Miss Cunningham, you knaow." - -"What salary does she get?" - -"Ten pounds a week." - -"What for?" - -"Well--partly to understudy, I suppose." - -"Let her earn it, then. Go on with the rehearsal. And let her play the -part to-morrow night. She'll be delighted, you bet." - -"But--" - -"Miss Lindop," Edward Henry interrupted, "will you please read to Mr. -Marrier what I've dictated?" He turned to Marrier. "It's an interview -with myself for one of to-morrow's papers." - -Miss Lindop, with tears in her voice if not in her eyes, obeyed the -order and, drawing the paper from the machine, read its contents aloud. - -Mr. Marrier started back--not in the figurative but in the literal -sense--as he listened. - -"But you'll never send that out!" he exclaimed. - -"Why not?" - -"No paper will print it!" - -"My dear Marrier," said Edward Henry. "Don't be a simpleton. You know -as well as I do that half-a-dozen papers will be delighted to print it. -And all the rest will copy the one that does print it. It'll be the -talk of London to-morrow, and Isabel Joy will be absolutely snuffed -out." - -"Well," said Mr. Marrier. "I never heard of such a thing!" - -"Pity you didn't, then!" - -Mr. Marrier moved away. - -"I say," he murmured at the door. "Don't you think you ought to read -that to Rose first?" - -"I'll read it to Rose like a bird," said Edward Henry. - -Within two minutes--it was impossible to get from his room to the -dressing-rooms in less--he was knocking at Rose Euclid's door. "Who's -there?" said a voice. He entered and then replied, "I am." - -Rose Euclid was smoking a cigarette and scratching the arm of an -easy-chair behind her. Her maid stood near by with a whisky-and-soda. - -"Sorry you can't go on with the rehearsal, Miss Euclid," said Edward -Henry very quickly. "However, we must do the best we can. But Mr. -Marrier thought you'd like to hear this. It's part of an interview with -me that's going to appear to-morrow in the press." - -Without pausing, he went on to read: "'I found Mr. Alderman Machin, the -hero of the Five Towns and the proprietor and initiator of London's -newest and most up-to-date and most intellectual theatre, surrounded by -a complicated apparatus of telephones and typewriters in his managerial -room at the Regent. He received me very courteously. "Yes," he said in -response to my question, "The rumour is quite true. The principal part -in 'The Orient Pearl' will be played on the first night by Miss Euclid's -understudy, Miss Olga Cunningham, a young woman of very remarkable -talent. No; Miss Euclid is not ill or even indisposed. But she and I -have had a grave difference of opinion. The point between us was -whether Miss Euclid's speeches ought to be clearly audible in the -auditorium. I considered they ought. I may be wrong. I may be -provincial. But that was and is my view. At the dress-rehearsal, -seated in the gallery, I could not hear her lines. I objected. She -refused to consider the subject or to proceed with the rehearsal. _Hinc -illae lachrymae!_" ... "Not at all," said Mr. Machin in reply to a -question, "I have the highest admiration for Miss Euclid's genius. I -should not presume to dictate to her as to her art. She has had a very -long experience of the stage, very long, and doubtless knows better than -I do. Only, the Regent happens to be my theatre, and I'm responsible -for it. Every member of the audience will have a complete uninterrupted -view of the stage, and I intend that every member of the audience shall -hear every word that is uttered on the stage. I'm odd, I know. But then -I've a reputation for oddness to keep up. And by the way I'm sure that -Miss Cunningham will make a great reputation for herself."'" - -"Not while I'm here, she won't!" exclaimed Rose Euclid standing up, and -enunciating her words with marvellous clearness. - -Edward Henry glanced at her, and then continued to read: "Suggestions -for headlines. 'Piquant quarrel between manager and star actress.' -'Unparalleled situation.' 'Trouble at the Regent Theatre.'" - -"Mr. Machin," said Rose Euclid, "you are not a gentleman." - -"You'd hardly think so, would you?" mused Edward Henry, as if mildly -interested in this new discovery of Miss Euclid's. - -"Maria," said the star to her maid, "go and tell Mr. Marrier I'm -coming." - -"And I'll go back to the gallery," said Edward Henry. "It's the place -for people like me, isn't it? I daresay I'll tear up this paper later, -Miss Euclid--we'll see." - - - - IV. - - -On the next night a male figure in evening dress and a pale overcoat -might have been seen standing at the corner of Piccadilly Circus and -Lower Regent Street, staring at an electric sign in the shape of a -shield which said in its glittering, throbbing speech of incandescence: - - THE REGENT - ROSE EUCLID - IN - THE ORIENT PEARL - - -The figure crossed the Circus, and stared at the sign from a new point -of view. Then it passed along Coventry Street, and stared at the sign -from yet another point of view. Then it reached Shaftesbury Avenue, and -stared again. Then it returned to its original station. It was the -figure of Edward Henry Machin, savouring the glorious electric sign of -which he had dreamed. He lit a cigarette, and thought of Seven Sachs -gazing at the name of Seven Sachs in fire on the facade of a Broadway -theatre in New York. Was not this London phenomenon at least as fine? -He considered it was. The Regent Theatre existed--there it stood! -(What a name for a theatre!) Its windows were all illuminated. Its -entrance-lamps bathed the pavement in light, and in this radiance stood -the commissionaires in their military pride and their new uniforms. A -line of waiting automobiles began a couple of yards to the north of the -main doors and continued round all sorts of dark corners and up all -manner of back streets toward Golden Square itself. Marrier had had the -automobiles counted and had told him the number--, but such was Edward -Henry's condition that he had forgotten. A row of boards reared on the -pavement against the walls of the facade said: "Stalls Full," "Private -Boxes Full," "Dress Circle Full," "Upper Circle Full," "Pit Full," -"Gallery Full." And attached to the ironwork of the glazed entrance -canopy was a long board which gave the same information in terser form: -"House Full." The Regent had indeed been obliged to refuse quite a lot -of money on its opening night. - -After all, the inauguration of a new theatre was something, even in -London! Important personages had actually begged the privilege of -buying seats at normal prices, and had been refused. Unimportant -personages, such as those who boast in the universe that they had never -missed a first night in the West End for twenty, thirty, or even fifty -years, had tried to buy seats at abnormal prices, and had failed; which -was in itself a tragedy. Edward Henry at the final moment had yielded -his wife's stall to the instances of a Minister of the Crown, and at -Lady Woldo's urgent request had put her into Lady Woldo's private -landowner's box, where also was Miss Elsie April who "had already had -the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Machin." Edward Henry's first night was an -event of magnitude. And he alone was responsible for it. His volition -alone had brought into being that grand edifice whose light yellow walls -now gleamed in nocturnal mystery under the shimmer of countless electric -bulbs. - -"There goes pretty nigh forty thousand pounds of my money!" he -reflected, excitedly. - -And he reflected: - -"After all, I'm somebody." - -Then he glanced down Lower Regent Street and saw Sir John Pilgrim's much -larger theatre, now sublet to a tenant who also was lavish with displays -of radiance. And he reflected that on first nights Sir John Pilgrim, in -addition to doing all that he himself had done, would hold the great -role on the stage throughout the evening. And he admired the -astounding, dazzling energy of such a being, and admitted ungrudgingly: - -"He's somebody too! I wonder what part of the world he's illuminating -just now!" - -Edward Henry did not deny to his soul that he was extremely nervous. He -would not and could not face even the bare possibility that the first -play presented at the new theatre might be a failure. He had meant to -witness the production incognito among the crowd in the pit or in the -gallery. But, after visiting the pit a few moments before the curtain -went up, he had been appalled by the hard-hearted levity of the pit's -remarks on things in general. The pit did not seem to be in any way -chastened or softened by the fact that a fortune, that reputations, that -careers were at stake. He had fled from the packed pit. (As for the -gallery, he decided that he had already had enough of the gallery.) - -He had wandered about corridors and to and fro in his own room and in -the wings, and even in the basement, as nervous as a lost cat or an -author, and as self-conscious as a criminal who knows himself to be on -the edge of discovery. It was a fact that he could not look people in -the eyes. The reception of the first act had been fairly amiable, and -he had suffered horribly as he listened for the applause. Catching -sight of Carlo Trent in the distance of a passage, he had positively run -away from Carlo Trent. The first entr'acte had seemed to last for about -three months. Its nightmarish length had driven him almost to lunacy. -The "feel" of the second act, so far as it mystically communicated -itself to him in his place of concealment, had been better. At the end -of the second fall of the curtain the applause had been enthusiastic. -Yes, enthusiastic! - -Curiously, it was the revulsion caused by this new birth of hope that, -while the third act was being played, had driven him out of the theatre. -His wild hope needed ozone. His breast had to expand in the boundless -prairie of Piccadilly Circus. His legs had to walk. His arms had to -swing. - -Now he crossed the Circus again to his own pavement and gazed like a -stranger at his own posters. On several of them, encircled in a scarlet -ring, was the sole name of Rose Euclid--impressive! (And smaller, but -above it, the legend "E. H. Machin. Sole proprietor.") He asked himself -impartially, as his eyes uneasily left the poster and slipped round the -Circus, deserted save by a few sinister and idle figures at that hour, -"Should I have sent that interview to the papers, or shouldn't I? ... I -wonder. I expect some folks would say on the whole I've been rather hard -on Rose since I first met her! ... Anyhow, she's speaking up all right -to-night!" He laughed shortly. - -A newsboy floated up from the Circus bearing a poster with the name of -Isabel Joy on it in large letters. - -He thought: - -"Be blowed to Isabel Joy!" - -He did not care a fig for Isabel Joy's competition now. - -And then a small door opened in the wall close by, and an elegant, -cloaked woman came out on to the pavement. The door was the private -door leading to the private box of Lord Woldo, owner of the ground upon -which the Regent Theatre was built. The woman he recognised with -confusion as Elsie April, whom he had not seen alone since the Azure -Society's night. - -"What are you doing out here, Mr. Machin?" she greeted him with pleasant -composure. - -"I'm thinking," said he. - -"It's going splendidly," she remarked. "Really! I'm just running round -to the stage door to meet dear Rose as she comes off. What a delightful -woman your wife is! So pretty, and so sensible!" - -She disappeared round the corner before he could compose a suitable -husband's reply to this laudation of a wife. - -Then the commissionaires at the entrance seemed to start into life. And -then suddenly several preoccupied men strode rapidly out of the theatre, -buttoning their coats, and vanished, phantom-like. Critics, on their way -to destruction! - -The performance must be finishing. Hastily he followed in the direction -taken by Elsie April. - -He was in the wings, on the prompt side. Close by stood the prompter, -an untidy youth with imperfections of teeth, clutching hard at the -red-scored manuscript of "The Orient Pearl." Sundry players, of varying -stellar degrees, were posed around in the opulent costumes designed by -Saracen Givington, A.R.A. Miss Lindop was in the background, -ecstatically happy, her cheeks a race-course of tears. Afar off, in the -centre of the stage, alone, stood Rose Euclid, gorgeous in green and -silver, bowing and bowing and bowing--bowing before the storm of -approval and acclamation that swept from the auditorium across the -footlights. - -With a sound like that of tearing silk, or of a gigantic contralto -mosquito, the curtain swished down, and swished up, and swished down -again. Bouquets flew on to the stage from the auditorium (a custom -newly imported from the United States by Miss Euclid, and encouraged by -her, though contrary to the lofty canons of London taste). The actress -already held one huge trophy, shaped as a crown, to her breast. She -hesitated, and then ran to the wings, and caught Edward Henry by the -wrist impulsively, madly. They shook hands in an ecstasy. It was as -though they recognised in one another a fundamental and glorious worth; -it was as though no words could ever express the depth of appreciation, -affection and admiration which each intensely felt for the other; it was -as though this moment were the final consecration of twin lives whose -long, loyal comradeship had never been clouded by the faintest breath of -mutual suspicion. Rose Euclid was still the unparalleled star, the -image of grace and beauty and dominance upon the stage. And yet quite -clearly Edward Henry saw close to his the wrinkled, damaged, daubed face -and thin neck of an old woman; and it made no difference. - -"Rose!" cried a strained voice, and Rose Euclid wrenched herself from -him and tumbled with half a sob into the clasping arms of Elsie April. - -"You've saved the intellectual theatah for London, my boy! That's what -you've done!" Marrier was now gripping his hand. And Edward Henry was -convinced that he had. - -The strident vigour of the applause showed no diminution. And through -the thick heavy rain of it could be heard the monotonous insistent -detonations of one syllable: - -"'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! Thor! Thor!" - -And then another syllable was added: - -"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!" - -Mechanically Edward Henry lit a cigarette. He had no consciousness of -doing so. - -"Where is Trent?" people were asking. - -Carlo Trent appeared up a staircase at the back of the stage. - -"You've got to go on," said Marrier. "Now, pull yourself togethah. The -Great Beast is calling for you. Say a few wahds." - -Carlo Trent in his turn seized the hand of Edward Henry, and it was for -all the world as though he were seizing the hand of an intellectual and -poetic equal, and wrung it. - -"Come now!" Mr. Marrier, beaming, admonished him, and then pushed. - -"What must I say?" stammered Carlo. - -"Whatever comes into your head." - -"All right! I'll say something." - -A man in a dirty white apron, drew back the heavy mass of the curtain -about eighteen inches, and, Carlo Trent stepping forward, the glare of -the footlights suddenly lit his white face. The applause, now -multiplied fivefold and become deafening, seemed to beat him back -against the curtain. His lips worked. He did not bow. - -"Cam back, you fool!" whispered Marrier. - -And Carlo Trent stepped back into safe shelter. - -"Why didn't you say something?" - -"I c-couldn't," murmured the greatest dramatic poet in the world; and -began to cry. - -"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!" - -"Here!" said Edward Henry gruffly. "Get out of my way! I'll settle -'em. Get out of my way!" And he riddled Carlo Trent with a fusillade -of savagely scornful glances. - -The man in the apron obediently drew back the curtain again, and the -next second Edward Henry was facing an auditorium crowded with his -patrons. Everybody was standing up, chiefly in the aisles and crowded at -the entrances, and quite half the people were waving, and quite a -quarter of them were shouting. He bowed several times. An age elapsed. -His ears were stunned. But it seemed to him that his brain was working -with marvellous perfection. He perceived that he had been utterly wrong -about "The Orient Pearl." And that all his advisers had been splendidly -right. He had failed to catch its charm and to feel its power. But -this audience--this magnificent representative audience drawn from -London in the brilliant height of the season--had not failed. - -It occurred to him to raise his hand. And as he raised his hand it -occurred to him that his hand held a lighted cigarette. A magic hush -fell upon the magnificent audience, which owned all that endless line of -automobiles outside. Edward Henry, in the hush, took a pull at his -cigarette. - -"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, pitching his voice well, for municipal -politics had made him a practised public speaker, "I congratulate you. -This evening you--have succeeded!" - -There was a roar, confused, mirthful, humorously protesting. He -distinctly heard a man in the front row of the stalls say: "Well, for -sheer nerve--!" And then go off into a peal of laughter. - -He smiled and retired. - -Marrier took charge of him. - -"You merit the entire confectioner's shop!" exclaimed Marrier, aghast, -admiring, triumphant. - -Now Edward Henry had had no intention of meriting cake. He had merely -followed in speech the secret train of his thought. But he saw that he -had treated a West End audience as a West End audience had never before -been treated, and that his audacity had conquered. Hence he determined -not to refuse the cake. - -"Didn't I tell you I'd settle 'em?" said he. - -The band played "God Save the King." - - - - VI. - - -One hour later, in the double-bedded chamber at the Majestic, as his -wife lay in bed and he was methodically folding up a creased white tie -and inspecting his chin in the mirror, he felt that he was touching -again, after an immeasurable interval, the rock-bottom of reality. -Nellie, even when he could see only her face, and that in a mirror, was -the most real phenomenon in his existence, and she possessed the strange -faculty of dispelling all unreality, round about her. - -"Well," he said. "How did you get on in the box?" - -"Oh!" she replied, "I got on very well with the Woldo woman. She's one -of our sort. But I'm not so set up with your Elsie April." - -"Dash this collar!" - -Nellie continued: - -"And I can tell you another thing. I don't envy Mr. Rollo Wrissel." - -"What's Wrissel got to do with it?" - -"She means to marry him." - -"Elsie April means to marry Wrissel?" - -"He was in and out of the box all night. It was as plain as a -pikestaff." - -"What's amiss with my Elsie April?" Edward Henry demanded. - -"She's a thought too _pleasant_ for my taste," answered Nellie. - -Astonishing, how pleasantness is regarded with suspicion in the Five -Towns, even by women who can at a pinch be angels! - - - - VII. - - -Often during the brief night he gazed sleepily at the vague next bed and -mused upon the extraordinariness of women's consciences. His wife slept -like an innocent. She always did. It was as though she gently expired -every evening and returned gloriously to life every morning. The -sunshiny hours between three and seven were very long to him, but it was -indisputable that he did not hear the clock strike six, which was, at -any rate, proof of a little sleep to the good. At five minutes past -seven he thought he heard a faint rustling noise in the corridor, and he -arose and tiptoed to the door and opened it. Yes, the Majestic had its -good qualities! He had ordered that all the London morning daily papers -should be laid at his door as early as possible, and there the pile was, -somewhat damp, and as fresh as fruit, with a slight odour of ink. He -took it in. - -His heart was beating as he climbed back into bed with it and arranged -pillows so that he could sit up, and unfolded the first paper. Nellie -had not stirred. - -Once again he was disappointed in the prominence given by the powerful -London press to his London enterprise. In the first newspaper, a very -important one, he positively could not find any criticism of the -Regent's first night. There was nearly a page of the offensive Isabel -Joy, who was now appealing, through the newspapers, to the President of -the United States. Isabel had been christened the World-Circler, and -the special correspondents of the entire earth were gathered about her -carpeted cell. Hope still remained that she would reach London within -the hundred days. An unknown adherent of the cause for which she -suffered had promised to give ten thousand pounds to that cause if she -did so. Furthermore, she was receiving over sixty proposals of marriage -a day. And so on and so on! Most of this he gathered in an instant -from the headlines alone. Nauseating! - -Another annoying item in the paper was a column and a half given to the -foundation-stone laying of the First New Thought Church, in Dean Street, -Soho--about a couple of hundred yards from its original site. He hated -the First New Thought Church as one always hates that to which one has -done an injury. - -Then he found what he was searching for: "Regent Theatre. Production of -poetical drama at London's latest playhouse." After all, it was well -situated in the paper, on quite an important page, and there was over a -column of it. But in his nervous excitation his eyes had missed it. -His eyes now read it. Over half of it was given to a discussion of the -Don Juan legend and the significance of the Byronic character of -Haidee--obviously written before the performance. A description of the -plot occupied most of the rest, and a reference to the acting ended it. -"Miss Rose Euclid in the trying and occasionally beautiful part of -Haidee was all that her admirers could have wished" ... "Miss Cunningham -distinguished herself by her diction and bearing in the small part of -the Messenger." The final words were: "The reception was quite -favourable." - -"Quite favourable," indeed! Edward Henry had a chill. Good heavens, -was not the reception ecstatically, madly, foolishly enthusiastic? -"Why!" he exclaimed within, "I never saw such a reception!" It was -true; but then he had never seen any other first night. He was shocked, -as well as chilled. And for this reason: For weeks past all the -newspapers, in their dramatic gossip, had contained highly sympathetic -references to his enterprise. According to the paragraphs, he was a -wondrous man, and the theatre was a wondrous house, the best of all -possible theatres, and Carlo Trent was a great writer, and Rose Euclid -exactly as marvellous as she had been a quarter of a century before, and -the prospects of the intellectual-poetic drama in London so favourable -as to amount to a certainty of success. - -In those columns of dramatic gossip there was no flaw in the theatrical -world. In those columns of dramatic gossip no piece ever failed, though -sometimes a piece was withdrawn, regretfully and against the wishes of -the public, to make room for another piece. In those columns of -dramatic gossip theatrical managers, actors, and especially actresses, -and even authors, were benefactors of society, and therefore they were -treated with the deference, the gentleness, the heartfelt sympathy which -benefactors of society merit and ought to receive. - -The tone of the criticism of the first night was different--it was -subtly, not crudely, different. But different it was. - -The next newspaper said the play was bad and the audience indulgent. It -was very severe on Carlo Trent, and very kind to the players, whom it -regarded as good men and women in adversity--with particular laudations -for Miss Rose Euclid and the Messenger. The next newspaper said the -play was a masterpiece, and would be so hailed in any country but -England. England, however--! Unfortunately this was a newspaper whose -political opinions Edward Henry despised. The next newspaper praised -everything and everybody, and called the reception tumultuously -enthusiastic. And Edward Henry felt as though somebody, mistaking his -face for a slice of toast, had spread butter all over it. Even the -paper's parting assurance that the future of the higher drama in London -was now safe beyond question did not remove this delusion of butter. - -The two following newspapers were more sketchy or descriptive, and -referred at some length to Edward Henry's own speech, with a kind of -sub-hint that Edward Henry had better mind what he was about. Three -illustrated papers had photographs of scenes and figures, but nothing -important in the matter of criticism. The rest were "neither one thing -nor the other," as they say in the Five Towns. On the whole, an -inscrutable press, a disconcerting, a startling, an appetite-destroying, -but not a hopeless press. The general impression which he gathered from -his perusals was that the author was a pretentious dullard, an absolute -criminal, a genius; that the actors and actresses were all splendid and -worked hard, though conceivably one or two of them had been set -impossible tasks--to wit, tasks unsuited to their personalities; that he -himself was a Napoleon, a temerarious individual, an incomprehensible -fellow; and that the future of the intellectual-poetic drama in London -was not a topic of burning actuality.... He remembered sadly the -superlative-laden descriptions, in those same newspapers, of the theatre -itself, a week or two back, the unique theatre in which the occupant of -every seat had a complete and uninterrupted view of the whole of the -proscenium opening. Surely that fact alone ought to have ensured proper -treatment for him! - -Then Nellie woke up, and saw the scattered newspapers. - -"Well," she asked; "what do they say?" - -"Oh!" he replied lightly, with a laugh. "Just about what you'd expect. -Of course you know what a first-night audience always is. Too generous. -And ours was, particularly. Miss April saw to that. She had the Azure -Society behind her, and she was determined to help Rose Euclid. -However, I should say it was all right--I should say it was quite all -right. I told you it was a gamble, you know." - -When Nellie, dressing, said that she considered she ought to go back -home that day, he offered no objection. Indeed he rather wanted her to -go. Not that he had a desire to spend the whole of his time at the -theatre, unhampered by provincial women in London. On the contrary, he -was aware of a most definite desire not to go to the theatre. He lay in -bed and watched with careless curiosity the rapid processes of Nellie's -toilette. He had his breakfast on the dressing-table (for he was not at -Wilkins's, neither at the Grand Babylon). Then he helped her to pack, -and finally he accompanied her to Euston, where she kissed him with -affectionate common sense and caught the twelve five. He was relieved -that nobody from the Five Towns happened to be going down by that train. - -As he turned away from the moving carriage, the evening papers had just -arrived at the bookstalls. He bought the four chief organs--one green, -one yellowish, one white, one pink--and scanned them self-consciously on -the platform. The white organ had a good heading: "Re-birth of the -intellectual drama in London. What a provincial has done. Opinions of -the leading men." Two columns altogether! There was, however, little -in the two columns. The leading men had practised a sagacious caution. -They, like the press as a whole, were obviously waiting to see which way -the great elephantine public would jump. When the enormous animal had -jumped, they would all exclaim: "What did I tell you?" The other -critiques were colourless. At the end of the green critique occurred the -following sentence: "It is only fair to state, nevertheless, that the -play was favourably received by an apparently enthusiastic audience." - -"Nevertheless!" ... "Apparently!" - -Edward Henry turned the page to the theatrical advertisements. - -[Illustration: Theatrical advertisement] - -Unreal! Fantastic! Was this he, Edward Henry? Could it be still his -mother's son? - -Still--"matinees every Wednesday and Saturday." "_Every_ Wednesday and -Saturday." That word implied and necessitated a long run, anyhow a run -extending over months. That word comforted him. Though he knew as well -as you do that Mr. Marrier had composed the advertisement, and that he -himself was paying for it, it comforted him. He was just like a child. - - - - VIII. - - -"I say, Cunningham's made a hit!" Mr. Marrier almost shouted at him as -he entered the managerial room at the Regent. - -"Cunningham? Who's Cunningham?" - -Then he remembered. She was the girl who played the Messenger. She had -only three words to say, and to say them over and over again; and she -had made a hit! - -"Seen the notices?" asked Marrier. - -"Yes. What of them?" - -"Oh! Well!" Marrier drawled. "What would you expect?" - -"That's just what _I_ said!" observed Edward Henry. - -"You did, did you?" Mr. Marrier exclaimed, as if extremely interested by -this corroboration of his views. - -Carlo Trent strolled in; he remarked that he happened to be just -passing. But the discussion of the situation was not carried very far. - -That evening the house was nearly full, except the pit and the gallery, -which were nearly empty. Applause was perfunctory. - -"How much?" Edward Henry enquired of the box-office manager when figures -were added together. - -"Thirty-one pounds two shillings." - -"Hem!" - -"Of course," said Mr. Marrier. "In the height of the London season, -with so many counter-attractions--! Besides, they've got to get used to -the idea of it." - -Edward Henry did not turn pale. Still, he was aware that it cost him a -trifle over sixty pounds "to ring the curtain up" at every performance, -and this sum took no account of expenses of production nor of author's -fees. The sum would have been higher, but he was calculating as rent of -the theatre only the ground-rent plus six per cent. on the total price -of the building. - -What disgusted him was the duplicity of the first-night audience, and he -said to himself violently: "I was right all the time, and I knew I was -right! Idiots! Chumps! Of course I was right!" - -On the third night the house held twenty-seven pounds and sixpence. - -"Naturally," said Mr. Marrier. "In this hot weathah--! I never knew -such a hot June! It's the open-air places that are doing us in the eye. -In fact I heard to-day that the White City is packed. They simply can't -bank their money quick enough." - -It was on that day that Edward Henry paid salaries. It appeared to him -that he was providing half London with a livelihood: acting managers, -stage managers, assistant ditto, property men, stage hands, -electricians, prompters, call boys, box-office staff, general staff, -dressers, commissionaires, programme girls, cleaners, actors, actresses, -understudies, to say nothing of Rose Euclid at a purely nominal salary -of one hundred pounds a week. The tenants of the bars were grumbling, -but happily he was getting money from them. - -The following day was Saturday. It rained--a succession of -thunderstorms. The morning and the evening performances produced -together sixty-eight pounds. - -"Well," said Mr. Marrier. "In this kind of weathah you can't expect -people to come out, can you? Besides, this cursed week-ending habit--" - -Which conclusions did not materially modify the harsh fact that Edward -Henry was losing over thirty pounds a day--or at the rate of over ten -thousand pounds a year. - -He spent Sunday between his hotel and his club, chiefly in reiterating -to himself that Monday began a new week and that something would have to -occur on Monday. - -Something did occur. - -Carlo Trent lounged into the office early. The man was forever being -drawn to the theatre as by an invisible but powerful elastic cord. The -papers had a worse attack than ever of Isabel Joy, for she had been -convicted of transgression in a Chicago court of law, but a tremendous -lawyer from St. Louis had loomed over Chicago and, having examined the -documents in the case, was hopeful of getting the conviction quashed. -He had discovered that in one and the same document "Isabel" had been -spelt "Isobel," and, worse, Illinois had been deprived by a careless -clerk of one of its "l's." He was sure that by proving these grave -irregularities in American justice he could win on appeal. - -Edward Henry glanced up suddenly from the newspaper. He had been -inspired. - -"I say, Trent," he remarked, without any warning or preparation, "you're -not looking at all well. I want a change myself. I've a good mind to -take you for a sea voyage." - -"Oh!" grumbled Trent. "I can't afford sea voyages." - -"_I_ can!" said Edward Henry. "And I shouldn't dream of letting it cost -you a penny. I'm not a philanthropist. But I know as well as anybody -that it will pay us theatrical managers to keep you in health." - -"You're not going to take the play off?" Trent demanded suspiciously. - -"Certainly not!" said Edward Henry. - -"What sort of a sea voyage?" - -"Well--what price the Atlantic? Been to New York? ... Neither have I! -Let's go. Just for the trip. It'll do us good." - -"You don't mean it!" murmured the greatest dramatic poet, who had never -voyaged farther than the Isle of Wight. His eyeglass swung to and fro. - -Edward Henry feigned to resent this remark. - -"Of course I mean it. Do you take me for a blooming gas-bag?" He rose. -"Marrier!" Then more loudly: "Marrier!" Mr. Marrier entered. "Do you -know anything about the sailings to New York?" - -"Rather!" said Mr. Marrier, beaming. After all he was a most precious -aid. - -"We may be able to arrange for a production in New York," said Edward -Henry to Carlo, mysteriously. - -Mr. Marrier gazed at one and then at the other, puzzled. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - ISABEL - - I. - -Throughout the voyage of the _Lithuania_ from Liverpool to New York, -Edward Henry, in common with some two thousand other people on board, -had the sensation of being hurried. He who in a cab rides late to an -important appointment arrives with muscles fatigued by mentally aiding -the horse to move the vehicle along. Thus were Edward Henry's muscles -fatigued, and the muscles of many others; but just as much more so as -the _Lithuania_ was bigger than a cab. - -For the _Lithuania_, having been seriously delayed in Liverpool by men -who were most ridiculously striking for the fantastic remuneration of -one pound a week, was engaged on the business of making new records. -And every passenger was personally determined that she should therein -succeed. And, despite very bad June weather toward the end, she did -sail past the Battery on a grand Monday morning with a new record to her -credit. - -So far, Edward Henry's plan was not miscarrying. But he had a very great -deal to do and very little time in which to do it, and whereas the -muscles of the other passengers were relaxed as the ship drew to her -berth Edward Henry's muscles were only more tensely tightened. He had -expected to see Mr. Seven Sachs on the quay, for in response to his -telegram from Queenstown, the illustrious actor-author had sent him an -agreeable wireless message in full Atlantic; the which had inspired -Edward Henry to obtain news by Marconi both from London and New York, at -much expense; from the east he had had daily information of the -dwindling receipts at the Regent Theatre, and from the west daily -information concerning Isabel Joy. He had not, however, expected Mr. -Seven Sachs to walk into the _Lithuania's_ music-saloon an hour before -the ship touched the quay. Nevertheless this was what Mr. Seven Sachs -did, by the exercise of those mysterious powers wielded by the -influential in democratic communities. - -"And what are you doing here?" Mr. Seven Sachs greeted Edward Henry with -geniality. - -Edward Henry lowered his voice. - -"I'm throwing good money after bad," said he. - -The friendly grip of Mr. Seven Sach's hand did him good, reassured him, -and gave him courage. He was utterly tired of the voyage, and also of -the poetical society of Carlo Trent, whose passage had cost him thirty -pounds, considerable boredom, and some sick-nursing during the final -days and nights. A dramatic poet with an appetite was a full dose for -Edward Henry; but a dramatic poet who lay on his back and moaned for -naught but soda water and dry land amounted to more than Edward Henry -could conveniently swallow. - -He directed Mr. Sachs's attention to the anguished and debile organism -which had once been Carlo Trent, and Mr. Sachs was so sympathetic that -Carlo Trent began to adore him, and Edward Henry to be somewhat -disturbed in his previous estimate of Mr. Sachs's common sense. But at -a favourable moment Mr. Sachs breathed humorously into Edward Henry's -ear the question: - -"What have you brought _him_ out for?" - -"I've brought him out to lose him." - -As they pushed through the bustle of the enormous ship, and descended -from the dizzy eminence of her boat deck by lifts and ladders down to -the level of the windy, sun-steeped rock of New York, Edward Henry said: - -"Now I want you to understand, Mr. Sachs, that I haven't a minute to -spare. I've just looked in for lunch." - -"Going on to Chicago?" - -"She isn't in Chicago, is she?" demanded Edward Henry, aghast. "I -thought she'd reached New York!" - -"Who?" - -"Isabel Joy." - -"Oh! Isabel's in New York, sure enough. She's right here. They say -she'll have to catch the _Lithuania_ if she's going to get away with -it." - -"Get away with what?" - -"Well--the goods." - -The precious words reminded Edward Henry of an evening at Wilkins's, and -raised his spirits even higher. It was a word he loved. - -"And I've got to catch the _Lithuania_, too!" said he. "But Trent -doesn't know! ... And, let me tell you, she's going to do the quickest -turn round that any ship ever did. The purser assured me she'll leave -at noon to-morrow unless the world comes to an end in the meantime. Now -what about a hotel?" - -"You'll stay with me--naturally." - -"But--" Edward Henry protested. - -"Oh, yes, you will. I shall be delighted." - -"But I must look after Trent." - -"He'll stay with me too--naturally. I live at the Stuyvesant Hotel, you -know, on Fifth. I've a pretty good private suite there. I shall -arrange a little supper for to-night. My automobile is here." - -"Is it possible that I once saved your life and have forgotten all about -it?" Edward Henry exclaimed. "Or do you treat everybody like this?" - -"We like to look after our friends," said Mr. Sachs simply. - -In the terrific confusion of the quay, where groups of passengers were -mounted like watch dogs over hillocks of baggage, Mr. Sachs stood -continually between the travellers and the administrative rigours and -official incredulity of a proud republic. And in the minimum of time -the fine trunk of Edward Henry and the modest packages of the poet were -on the roof of Mr. Sachs's vast car, the three men were inside, and the -car was leaping, somewhat in the manner of a motor boat at full speed, -over the cobbles of a wide, medieval street. - -"Quick!" thought Edward Henry. "I haven't a minute to lose!" - -His prayer reached the chauffeur. Conversation was difficult; Carlo -Trent groaned. Presently they rolled less perilously upon asphalt, -though the equipage still lurched. Edward Henry was forever bending his -head toward the window aperture in order to glimpse the roofs of the -buildings, and never seeing the roofs. - -"Now we're on Fifth," said Mr. Sachs, after a fearful lurch, with pride. - -Vistas of flags, high cornices, crowded pavements, marble, jewelry -behind glass--the whole seen through a roaring phantasmagoria of -competing and menacing vehicles! - -And Edward Henry thought: - -"This is my sort of place!" - -The jolting recommenced. Carlo Trent rebounded, limply groaning, -between cushions and upholstery. Edward Henry tried to pretend that he -was not frightened. Then there was a shock as of the concussion of two -equally unyielding natures. A pane of glass in Mr. Seven Sachs's -limousine flew to fragments and the car stopped. - -"I expect that's a spring gone!" observed Mr. Sachs with tranquillity. -"Will happen, you know, sometimes!" - -Everybody got out. Mr. Sachs's presumption was correct. One of the -back wheels had failed to leap over a hole in Fifth Avenue some eighteen -inches deep and two feet long. - -"What is that hole?" asked Edward Henry. - -"Well," said Mr. Sachs. "It's just a hole. We'd better transfer to a -taxi." He gave calm orders to his chauffeur. - -Four empty taxis passed down the sunny magnificence of Fifth Avenue and -ignored Mr. Sachs's urgent waving. The fifth stopped. The baggage was -strapped and tied to it: which process occupied much time. Edward -Henry, fuming against delay, gazed around. A nonchalant policeman on a -superb horse occupied the middle of the road. Tram cars passed -constantly across the street in front of his caracoling horse, dividing -a route for themselves in the wild ocean of traffic as Moses cut into -the Red Sea. At intervals a knot of persons, intimidated and yet -daring, would essay the voyage from one pavement to the opposite -pavement; there was no half-way refuge for these adventurers, as in -decrepit London; some apparently arrived; others seemed to disappear -forever in the feverish welter of confused motion and were never heard -of again. The policeman, easily accommodating himself to the -caracolings of his mount, gazed absently at Edward Henry, and Edward -Henry gazed first at the policeman, and then at the high decorated -grandeur of the buildings, and then at the Assyrian taxi into which Mr. -Sachs was now ingeniously inserting Carlo Trent. He thought: - -"No mistake--this street is alive. But what cemeteries they must have!" - -He followed Carlo, with minute precautions, into the interior of the -taxi. And then came the supremely delicate operation--that of -introducing a third person into the same vehicle. It was accomplished; -three chins and six knees fraternized in close intimacy; but the door -would not shut. Wheezing, snorting, shaking, complaining, the taxi drew -slowly away from Mr. Sachs's luxurious automobile and left it forlorn to -its chauffeur. Mr. Sachs imperturbably smiled. ("I have two other -automobiles," said Mr. Sachs.) In some sixty seconds the taxi stopped -in front of the tremendous glass awning of the Stuyvesant. The baggage -was unstrapped; the passengers were extracted one by one from the cell, -and Edward Henry saw Mr. Sachs give two separate dollar bills to the -driver. - -"By Jove!" he murmured. - -"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sachs politely. - -"Nothing!" said Edward Henry. - -They walked into the hotel, and passed through a long succession of -corridors and vast public rooms surging with well-dressed men and women. - -"What's all this crowd for?" asked Edward Henry. - -"What crowd?" asked Mr. Sachs, surprised. - -Edward Henry saw that he had blundered. - -"I prefer the upper floors," remarked Mr. Sachs as they were being flung -upward in a gilded elevator, and passing rapidly all numbers from 1 to -14. - -The elevator made an end of Carlo Trent's manhood. He collapsed. Mr. -Sachs regarded him, and then said: - -"I think I'll get an extra room for Mr. Trent. He ought to go to bed." - -Edward Henry enthusiastically concurred. - -"And stay there!" said Edward Henry. - -Pale Carlo Trent permitted himself to be put to bed. But, therein, he -proved fractious. He was anxious about his linen. Mr. Sachs telephoned -from the bedside, and a laundry maid came. He was anxious about his -best lounge suit. Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a valet came. Then he -wanted a siphon of soda water, and Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a waiter -came. Then it was a newspaper he required. Mr. Sachs telephoned and a -page came. All these functionaries, together with two reporters, -peopled Mr. Trent's bedroom more or less simultaneously. It was Edward -Henry's bright notion to add to them a doctor--a doctor whom Mr. Sachs -knew, a doctor who would perceive at once that bed was the only proper -place for Carlo Trent. - -"Now," said Edward Henry, when he and Mr. Sachs were participating in a -private lunch amid the splendours and the grim silent service of the -latter's suite at the Stuyvesant, "I have fully grasped the fact that I -am in New York. It is one o'clock and after, and as soon as ever this -meal is over, I have just _got_ to find Isabel Joy. You must understand -that on this trip New York for me is merely a town where Isabel Joy -happens to be." - -"Well," replied Mr. Sachs. "I reckon I can put you on to that. _She's -going to be photographed at two o'clock by Rentoul Smiles_. I happen to -know because Rent's a particular friend of mine." - -"A photographer, you say?" - -Mr. Sachs controlled himself. "Do you mean to say you've not heard of -Rentoul Smiles? ... Well, he's called 'Man's photographer.' He has -never photographed a woman! Won't! At least, wouldn't! But he's going -to photograph Isabel! So you may guess that he considers Isabel some -woman, eh?" - -"And how will that help me?" inquired Edward Henry. - -"Why! I'll take you up to Rent's," Mr. Sachs comforted him. "It's -close by--corner of Thirty-ninth and Fifth." - -"Tell me," Edward Henry demanded, with immense relief. "She hasn't got -herself arrested yet, has she?" - -"No. And she won't." - -"Why not?" - -"The police have been put wise," said Mr. Sachs. - -"Put wise?" - -"Yes. _Put wise!_" - -"I see," said Edward Henry. - -But he did not see. He only half saw. - -"As a matter of fact," said Mr. Sachs, "Isabel can't get away with the -goods unless she fixes the police to lock her up for a few hours. And -she'll not succeed in that. Her hundred days are up in London next -Sunday. So there'll be no time for her to be arrested and bailed out -either at Liverpool or Fishguard. And that's her only chance. I've -seen Isabel, and if you ask me my opinion she's down and out." - -"Never mind!" said Edward Henry with glee. - -"I guess what you are after her for," said Mr. Seven Sachs, with an air -of deep knowledge. - -"The deuce you do!" - -"Yes, sir! And let me tell you that dozens of 'em have been after her -already. But she wouldn't! Nothing would tempt her." - -"Never mind!" Edward Henry smiled. - - - - II. - - -When Edward Henry stood by the side of Mr. Sachs in a doorway half -shielded by a portiere, and gazed unseen into the great studio of Mr. -Rentoul Smiles, he comprehended that he was indeed under powerful -protection in New York. At the entrance on Fifth Avenue he and Sachs -had passed through a small crowd of assorted men, chiefly young, whom -Sachs had greeted in the mass with the smiling words, "Well, boys!" -Other men were within. Still another went up with them in the elevator, -but no further. They were reporters of the entire world's press, to -each of whom Isabel Joy had been specially "assigned." They were -waiting; they would wait. Mr. Rentoul Smiles, having been warned by -telephone of the visit of his beloved friend Seven Sachs and his English -protege had been received at Smile's outer door by a clerk who knew -exactly what to do with them, and did it. - -"Is she here?" Mr. Sachs had murmured. - -"Yep," the clerk had negligently replied. - -And now Edward Henry beheld the objective of his pilgrimage, her whose -personality, portrait, and adventures had been filling the newspapers of -two hemispheres for three weeks. She was not realistically like her -portraits. She was a little, thin, pale, obviously nervous woman, of -any age from thirty-five to fifty, with fair untidy hair, and pale -grey-blue eyes that showed the dreamer, the idealist, and the harsh -fanatic. She looked as though a moderate breeze would have overthrown -her, but she also looked, to the enlightened observer, as though she -would recoil before no cruelty and no suffering in pursuit of her -vision. The blind dreaming force behind her apparent frailty would -strike terror into the heart of any man intelligent enough to understand -it. Edward Henry had an inward shudder. "Great Scott!" he reflected. -"I shouldn't like to be ill and have Isabel for a nurse!" - -And his mind at once flew to Nellie, and then to Elsie April. "And so -she's going to marry Wrissell!" he reflected, and could scarcely believe -it. - -Then he violently wrenched his mind back to the immediate objective. He -wondered why Isabel Joy should wear a bowler hat and mustard-coloured -jacket that resembled a sporting man's overcoat; and why these garments -suited her. With a whip in her hand she could have sat for a jockey. -And yet she was a woman, and very feminine, and probably old enough to -be Elsie April's mother! A disconcerting world, he thought. - -The "man's photographer," as he was described in copper on Fifth Avenue -and in gold on his own doors, was a big, loosely-articulated male, who -loured over the trifle Isabel like a cloud over a sheep in a great -field. Edward Henry could only see his broad bending back as he posed -in athletic attitudes behind the camera. - -Suddenly Rentoul Smiles dashed to a switch, and Isabel's wistful face -was transformed into that of a drowned corpse, into a dreadful harmony -of greens and purples. - -"Now," said Rentoul Smiles, in a deep voice that was like a rich -unguent. "We'll try again. We'll just play around that spot. Look into -my eyes. Not _at_ my eyes, my dear woman, _into_ them! Just a little -more challenge--a little more! That's it. Don't wink, for the land's -sake! Now!" - -He seized a bulb at the end of a tube and slowly squeezed--squeezed it -tragically and remorselessly, twisting himself as if suffering in -sympathy with the bulb, and then in a wide sweeping gesture he flung the -bulb on to the top of the camera, and ejaculated: - -"Ha!" - -Edward Henry thought: - -"I would give ten pounds to see Rentoul Smiles photograph Sir John -Pilgrim." But the next instant the forgotten sensation of hurry was -upon him once more. Quick, quick, Rentoul Smiles! Edward Henry's -scorching desire was to get done and leave New York. - -"Now, Miss Isabel," Mr. Smiles proceeded, exasperatingly deliberate, -"d'you know, I feel kind of guilty? I have got a little farm out in -Westchester County and I'm making a little English pathway up the garden -with a gate at the end. I woke up this morning and began to think about -the quaint English form of that gate, and just how I would have it." He -raised a finger. "But I ought to have been thinking about you. I ought -to have been saying to myself, 'To-day I have to photograph Isabel Joy,' -and trying to understand in meditation the secrets of your personality. -I'm sorry! Now, don't talk. Keep like that. Move your head round. Go -on! Go on! Move it! Don't be afraid. This place belongs to you. -It's yours. Whatever you do, we've got people here who'll straighten up -after you.... D'you know why I've made money? I've made money so that -I can take _you_ this afternoon, and tell a two-hundred-dollar client to -go to the deuce. That's why I've made money. Put your back against the -chair, like an Englishwoman. That's it. No, don't _talk_, I tell you. -Now look joyful, hang it! Look joyful.... No, no! Joy isn't a -contortion. It's something right deep down. There, there!" - -The lubricant voice rolled on while Rentoul Smiles manipulated the -camera. He clasped the bulb again, and again threw it dramatically -away. - -"I'm through!" he said. "Don't expect anything very grand, Miss Isabel. -What I've been trying to do this afternoon is my interpretation of you -as I've studied your personality in your speeches. If I believed wholly -in your cause, or if I wholly disbelieved in it, my work would not have -been good. Any value that it has will be due to the sympathetic -impartiality of my spiritual attitude. Although"--he menaced her with -the licenced familiarity of a philosopher--"Although, lady, I must say -that I felt you were working against me all the time.... This way!" - -(Edward Henry, recalling the comparative simplicity of the London -photographer at Wilkins's, thought: "How profoundly they understand -photography in America!") - -Isabel Joy rose and glanced at the watch in her bracelet; then followed -the direction of the male hand, and vanished. - -Rentoul Smiles turned instantly to the other doorway. - -"How do, Rent?" said Seven Sachs, coming forward. - -"How do, Seven?" Mr. Rentoul Smiles winked. - -"This is my good friend, Alderman Machin, the theatre-manager from -London." - -"Glad to meet you, sir." - -"She's not gone, has she?" asked Sachs hurriedly. - -"No, my housekeeper wanted to talk to her. Come along." - -And in the waiting room, full of permanent examples of the results of -Mr. Rentoul Smiles's spiritual attitude toward his fellow men, Edward -Henry was presented to Isabel Joy. The next instant the two men and the -housekeeper had unobtrusively retired, and he was alone with his -objective. In truth Seven Sachs was a notable organiser. - - - - III. - - -She was sitting down in a cosy-corner, her feet on a footstool, and she -seemed a negligible physical quantity as he stood in front of her. This -was she who had worsted the entire judicial and police system of -Chicago, who spoke pentecostal tongues, who had circled the globe, and -held enthralled--so journalists computed--more than a quarter of a -million of the inhabitants of Marseilles, Athens, Port Said, Candy, -Calcutta, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Tokio, Hawaii, San Francisco, Salt Lake -City, Denver, Chicago, and lastly New York! This was she! - -"I understand we're going home on the same ship!" he was saying. - -She looked up at him, almost appealingly. - -"You won't see anything of me, though," she said. - -"Why not?" - -"Tell me," said she, not answering his question. "What do they say of -me, really, in England? I don't mean the newspapers. For instance, the -Azure Society. Do you know of it?" - -He nodded. - -"Tell me," she repeated. - -He related the episode of the telegram at the private first performance -of "The Orient Pearl." - -She burst out, in a torrent of irrelevant protest: - -"The New York police have not treated me right. It would have cost them -nothing to arrest me and let me go. But they wouldn't. Every man in -the force--you hear me, every man--has had strict orders to leave me -unmolested. It seems they resent my dealings with the police in -Chicago, where I brought about the dismissal of four officers, so they -say. And so I'm to be boycotted in this manner! Is that argument, Mr. -Machin? Tell me. You're a man, but honestly, is it argument? Why, it's -just as mean and despicable as brute force." - -"I agree with you," said Edward Henry softly. - -"Do you really think it will harm the militant cause? Do they _really_ -think so? No, it will only harm me. I made a mistake in tactics. I -trusted--fool!--to the chivalry of the United States. I might have been -arrested in a dozen cities, but I, on purpose, reserved my last two -arrests for Chicago and New York, for the sake of the superior -advertisement, you see! I never dreamt!--Now it's too late. I am -defeated! I shall just arrive in London on the hundredth day. I shall -have made speeches at all the meetings. But I shall be short of one -arrest. And the ten thousand pounds will be lost to the cause. The -militants here--such as they are--are as disgusted as I am. But they -scorn me. And are they not right? Are they not right? There should be -no quarter for the vanquished." - -"Miss Joy," said Edward Henry, "I've come over from England specially to -see you. I want to make up the loss of that ten thousand pounds as far -as I can. I'll explain at once. I'm running a poetical play of the -highest merit, called 'The Orient Pearl,' at my new theatre in -Piccadilly Circus. If you will undertake a small part in it, a part of -three words only, I'll pay you a record salary--sixty-six pounds -thirteen and fourpence a word, two hundred pounds a week!" - -Isabel Joy jumped up. - -"Are you another of them, then?" she muttered. "I did think from the -look of you that you would know a gentlewoman when you met one! Did you -imagine for the thousandth part of one second that I would stoop--" - -"Stoop!" exclaimed Edward Henry. "My theatre is not a music-hall--" - -"You want to make it into one!" she stopped him. - -"Good-day to you," she said. "I must face those journalists again, I -suppose. Well, even they--! I came alone in order to avoid them. But -it was hopeless. Besides, is it my duty to avoid them--after all?" - -It was while passing through the door that she uttered the last words. - -"Where is she?" Seven Sachs enquired, entering. - -"Fled!" said Edward Henry. - -"Everything all right?" - -"Quite!" - -Mr. Rentoul Smiles came in. - -"Mr. Smiles," said Edward Henry, "did you ever photograph Sir John -Pilgrim?" - -"I did, on his last visit to New York. Here you are!" - -He pointed to his rendering of Sir John. - -"What did you think of him?" - -"A great actor, but a mountebank, sir." - -During the remainder of the afternoon Edward Henry saw the whole of New -York, with bits of the Bronx and Yonkers in the distance, from Seven -Sach's second automobile. In his third automobile he went to the -theatre and saw Seven Sachs act to a house of over two thousand dollars. -And lastly he attended a supper and made a speech. But he insisted upon -passing the remainder of the night on the _Lithuania_. In the morning -Isabel Joy came aboard early and irrevocably disappeared into her berth. -And from that moment Edward Henry spent the whole secret force of his -individuality in fervently desiring the _Lithuania_ to start. At two -o'clock, two hours late, she did start. Edward Henry's farewells to the -admirable and hospitable Mr. Sachs were somewhat absent-minded, for -already his heart was in London. But he had sufficient presence of mind -to make certain final arrangements. - -"Keep him at least a week," said Edward Henry to Seven Sachs, "and I -shall be your debtor for ever and ever." - -He meant Carlo Trent, still bedridden. - -As from the receding ship he gazed in abstraction at the gigantic, -inconvenient word--common to three languages--which is the first thing -seen by the arriving, and the last thing seen by the departing, visitor, -he meditated: - -"The dearness of living in the United States has certainly been -exaggerated." - -For his total expenses, beyond the confines of the quay, amounted to one -cent, disbursed to buy an evening paper which had contained a brief -interview with himself concerning the future of the intellectual drama -in England. He had told the press-man that "The Orient Pearl" would run -a hundred nights. Save for putting "The Orient Girl" instead of "The -Orient Pearl," and two hundred nights instead of one hundred nights, -this interview was tolerably accurate. - - - - IV. - - -Two entire interminable days of the voyage elapsed before Edward Henry -was clever enough to encounter Isabel Joy--the most famous and the least -visible person on the ship. He remembered that she had said: "You won't -see anything of me." - -It was easy to ascertain the number of her stateroom--a double-berth -which she shared with nobody. But it was less easy to find out whether -she ever left it, and if so, at what time of day. He could not mount -guard in the long corridor; and the stewardesses on the _Lithuania_ were -mature, experienced and uncommunicative women, their sole weakness being -an occasional tendency to imagine that they, and not the captain, were -in supreme charge of the steamer. However, Edward Henry did at last -achieve his desire. And on the third morning, at a little before six -o'clock, he met a muffled Isabel Joy on the D deck. The D deck was wet, -having just been swabbed; and a boat, chosen for that dawn's boat drill, -ascended past them on its way from the sea level to the busy boat deck -above; on the other side of an iron barrier, large crowds of -early-rising third-class passengers were standing and talking, and -staring at the oblong slit of sea which was the only prospect offered by -the D deck; it was the first time that Edward Henry aboard had ever set -eyes on a steerage passenger; with all the conceit natural to the -occupant of a costly stateroom, he had unconsciously assumed that he and -his like had sole possession of the ship. - -Isabel responded to his greeting in a very natural way. The sharp -freshness of the summer morning at sea had its tonic effect on both of -them; and as for Edward Henry, he lunged and plunged at once into the -subject which alone preoccupied and exasperated him. She did not seem -to resent it. - -"You'd have the satisfaction of helping on a thing that all your friends -say ought to be helped," he argued. "Nobody but you can do it. Without -you, there'll be a frost. You would make a lot of money, which you -could spend in helping on things of your own. And surely it isn't the -publicity that you're afraid of!" - -"No," she agreed. "I'm not afraid of publicity." Her pale grey-blue -eyes shone as they regarded the secret dream that for her hung always -unseen in the air. And she had a strange, wistful, fragile, feminine -mien in her mannish costume. - -"Well then--" - -"But can't you see it's humiliating?" cried she, as if interested in the -argument. - -"It's not humiliating to do something that you can do well--I know you -can do it well--and get a large salary for it, and make the success of a -big enterprise by it. If you knew the play--" - -"I do know the play," she said. "We'd lots of us read it in manuscript -long ago." - -Edward Henry was somewhat dashed by this information. - -"Well, what do you think of it?" - -"I think it's just splendid!" said she with enthusiasm. - -"And will it be any worse a play because you act a small part in it?" - -"No," she said shortly. - -"I expect you think it's a play that people ought to go and see, don't -you?" - -"I do, Mr. Socrates," she admitted. - -He wondered what she could mean, but continued: - -"What does it matter what it is that brings the audience into the -theatre, so long as they get there and have to listen?" - -She sighed. - -"It's no use discussing with you," she murmured. "You're too simple for -this world. I daresay you're honest enough--in fact I think you -are--but there are so many things that you don't understand. You're -evidently incapable of understanding them." - -"Thanks!" he replied, and paused to recover his self-possession. "But -let's get right down to business now. If you'll appear in this play, -I'll not merely give you two hundred pounds a week, but I'll explain to -you how to get arrested and still arrive in triumph in London before -midnight on Sunday." - -She recoiled a step, and raised her eyes. - -"How?" she demanded, as with a pistol. - -"Ah!" he said. "That's just it. How? Will you promise?" - -"I've thought of everything," she said musingly. "If the last day was -any day but Sunday I could get arrested on landing and get bailed out, -and still be in London before night. But on Sunday--no! So you needn't -talk like that." - -"Still," he said, "it can be done." - -"How," she demanded again. - -"Will you sign a contract with me, if I tell you? ... Think of what your -reception in London will be if you win after all! Just think!" - -Those pale eyes gleamed, for Isabel Joy had tasted the noisy flattery of -sympathetic and of adverse crowds, and her being hungered for it again; -the desire of it had become part of her nature. - -She walked away, her hands in the pockets of her ulster, and returned. - -"What is your scheme?" - -"You'll sign?" - -"Yes, if it works." - -"I can trust you?" - -The little woman of forty or so blazed up. "You can refrain from -insulting me by doubting my word," said she. - -"Sorry! Sorry!" he apologised. - - - - V. - - -That same evening, in the colossal many-tabled dining-saloon of the -_Lithuania_ Edward Henry sat as usual to the left of the purser's empty -chair at the purser's table, where were about a dozen other men. A page -brought him a marconigram. He opened it, and read the single word -"Nineteen." It was the amount of the previous evening's receipts at the -Regent, in pounds. He was now losing something like forty pounds a -night--without counting the expenses of the present excursion. The band -began to play as the soup was served, and the ship rolled politely, -gently, but nevertheless unmistakably, accomplishing one complete roll -to about sixteen bars of the music. Then the entire saloon was suddenly -excited. Isabel Joy had entered. She was in the gallery, near the -orchestra, at a small table alone. Everybody became aware of the fact -in an instant, and scores of necks on the lower floor were twisted to -glimpse the celebrity on the upper. It was remarked that she wore a -magnificent evening dress. - -One subject of conversation now occupied all the tables. And it was -fully occupying the purser's table when the purser, generally a little -late, owing to the arduousness of his situation on the ship, entered and -sat down. Now the purser was a Northerner, from Durham, a delightful -companion in his lighter moods, but dour, and with a high conception of -authority and of the intelligence of dogs. He would relate that when he -and his wife wanted to keep a secret from their Yorkshire terrier they -had to spell the crucial words in talk, for the dog understood their -every sentence. - -The purser's views about the cause represented by Isabel Joy were -absolutely clear. None could mistake them, and the few clauses which he -curtly added to the discussion rather damped the discussion, and there -was a pause. - -"What should you do, Mr. Purser," said Edward Henry, "if she began to -play any of her tricks here?" - -"If she began to play any of her tricks on this ship," answered the -purser, putting his hands on his stout knees, "we should know what to -do." - -"Of course you can arrest?" - -"Most decidedly. I could tell you things--" The purser stopped, for -experience had taught him to be very discreet with passengers until he -had voyaged with them at least ten times. He concluded: "The captain is -the representative of English law on an English ship." - -And then, in the silence created by the resting orchestra, all in the -saloon could hear a clear, piercing woman's voice, oratorical at first -and then quickening: - -"Ladies and gentlemen: I wish to talk to you to-night on the subject of -the injustice of men to women." Isabel Joy was on her feet and leaning -over the gallery rail. As she proceeded, a startled hush changed to -uproar. And in the uproar could be caught now and then a detached -phrase, such as "For example, this man-governed ship." - -Possibly it was just this phrase that roused the Northerner in the -purser. He rose, and looked toward the captain's table. But the -captain was not dining in the saloon that evening. Then he strode to -the centre of the saloon, beneath the renowned dome which has been so -often photographed for the illustrated papers, and sought to destroy -Isabel Joy with a single marine glance. Having failed, he called out -loudly: - -"Be quiet, madam. Resume your seat." - -Isabel Joy stopped for a second, gave him a glance far more homicidal -than his own, and resumed her discourse. - -"Steward," cried the purser, "take that woman out of the saloon." - -The whole complement of first-class passengers was now standing up, and -many of them saw a plate descend from on high, and grace the purser's -shoulder. With the celerity of a sprinter the man of authority from -Durham disappeared from the ground floor and was immediately seen in the -gallery. Accounts differed, afterward, as to the exact order of events; -but it is certain that the leader of the band lost his fiddle, which was -broken by the lusty Isabel on the Purser's head. It was known later -that Isabel, though not exactly in irons, was under arrest in her -stateroom. - -"She really ought to have thought of that for herself, if she's as smart -as she thinks she is," said Edward Henry privately. - - - - VI. - - -Though he was on the way to high success, his anxieties and solicitudes -seemed to increase every hour. Immediately after Isabel Joy's arrest he -became more than ever a crony of the Marconi operator, and began to -despatch vivid and urgent telegrams to London, without counting the -cost. On the next day he began to receive replies. (It was the most -interesting voyage that the Marconi operator had had since the sinking -of the _Catherine of Siena_, in which episode his promptness through the -air had certainly saved two hundred lives.) Edward Henry could scarcely -sleep, so intense was his longing for Sunday night--his desire to be -safe in London with Isabel Joy! Nay, he could not properly eat! And -then the doubt entered his mind whether, after all, he would get to -London on Sunday night. For the _Lithuania_ was lagging. She might -have been doing it on purpose to ruin him. Every day, in the -auction-pool on the ship's run, it was the holder of the low field that -pocketed the money of his fellow men. The _Lithuania_ actually -descended below five hundred and forty knots in the twenty-four hours. -And no authoritative explanation of this behaviour was ever given. Upon -leaving New York there had been talk of reaching Fishguard on Saturday -evening. But now the prophesied moment of arrival had been put forward -to noon on Sunday. Edward Henry's sole consolation was that each day on -the eastward trip consisted of only twenty-three hours. - -Further, he was by no means free from apprehension about the personal -liberty of Isabel Joy. Isabel had exceeded the programme arranged -between them. It had been no part of his scheme that she should cast -plates, nor even break violins on the shining crown of an august purser. -The purser was angry, and he had the captain, a milder man, behind him. -When Isabel Joy threatened a hunger-strike if she was not immediately -released, the purser signified that she might proceed with her -hunger-strike; he well knew that it would be impossible for her to -expire of inanition before the arrival at Fishguard. - -The case was serious, because Isabel Joy had created a precedent. -Policemen and cabinet ministers had for many months been regarded as the -lawful prey of militants, but Isabel Joy was the first of the militants -to damage property and heads which belonged to persons of neither of -these classes. And the authorities of the ship were assuredly inclined -to hand Isabel Joy over to the police at Fishguard. What saved the -situation for Edward Henry was the factor which saved most situations, -namely, public opinion. When the saloon clearly realised that Isabel -Joy had done what she had done with the pure and innocent aim of winning -a wager, all that was Anglo-Saxon in the saloon ranged itself on the -side of true sport, and the matter was lifted above mere politics. A -subscription was inaugurated to buy a new fiddle, and to pay for -shattered crockery. And the amount collected would have purchased, -after settling for the crockery, a couple of dozen new fiddles. The -unneeded balance was given to seamen's orphanages. The purser was -approached. The captain was implored. Influence was brought to bear. -In short--the wheels that are within wheels went duly round. And Miss -Isabel Joy, after apologies and promises, was unconditionally released. - -But she had been arrested. - -And then, early on Sunday morning, the ship met a storm that had a sad -influence on divine service, a storm of the eminence that scares even -the brass-buttoned occupants of liners' bridges. The rumour went round -the ship that the captain would not call at Fishguard in such weather. - -Edward Henry was ready to yield up his spirit in this fearful crisis, -which endured two hours. The captain did call at Fishguard, in pouring -rain, and men came aboard selling Sunday newspapers that were full of -Isabel's arrest on the steamer, and of the nearing triumph of her -arrival in London before midnight. And newspaper correspondents also -came aboard, and all the way on the tender, and in the sheds, and in the -train, Edward Henry and Isabel Joy were subjected to the journalistic -experiments of hardy interviewers. The train arrived at Paddington at 9 -P.M. Isabel had won by three hours. The station was a surging throng -of open-mouthed people. Edward Henry would not lose sight of his -priceless charge, but he sent Marrier to despatch a telegram to Nellie, -whose wifely interest in his movements he had till then either forgotten -or ignored. - -And even now his mind was not free. He saw in front of him still -twenty-four hours of anguish. - - - - VII. - - -The next night, just before the curtain went up, he stood on the stage -of the Regent Theatre, and it is a fact that he was trembling--not with -fear but with simple excitement. - -Through what a day he had passed! There had been the rehearsal in the -morning; it had gone off very well, save that Rose Euclid had behaved -impossibly, and that the Cunningham girl, the hit of the piece but -ousted from her part, had filled the place with just lamentations and -recriminations. - -And then had followed the appalling scene with Rose Euclid. Rose, -leaving the theatre for lunch, had beheld the workmen removing her name -from the electric sign and substituting that of Isabel Joy. She was a -woman and an artist, and it would have been the same had she been a man -and an artist. She would not submit to this inconceivable affront. She -had resigned her role. She had ripped her contract to bits and flung -the bits to the breeze. Upon the whole Edward Henry had been glad. He -had sent for Miss Cunningham, who was Rose's understudy, had given her -instructions, called another rehearsal for the afternoon and effected a -saving of nearly half Isabel Joy's fantastic salary. Then he entered -into financial negotiations with four evening papers and managed to buy, -at a price, their contents-bills for the day. So that all the West End -was filled with men and boys wearing like aprons posters which bore the -words: "Isabel Joy to appear at the Regent to-night." A great and -original stroke! - -And now he gazed through the peep-hole of the curtain upon a crammed and -half-delirious auditorium. The assistant stage manager ordered him off. -The curtain went up on the drama in hexameters. He waited in the wings, -and spoke soothingly to Isabel Joy who, looking juvenile in the airy -costume of the Messenger, stood flutteringly agog for her cue.... He -heard the thunderous crashing roar that met her entrance. He did not -hear her line. - -He walked forth to the glazed balcony at the front of the house, where -in the entr'actes dandies smoked cigarettes baptised with girlish names. -He could see Piccadilly Circus, and he saw Piccadilly Circus thronged -with a multitude of loafers, who were happy in the mere spectacle of -Isabel Joy's name glowing on an electric sign. He went back at last to -the managerial room. Marrier was there, hero-worshipping. - -"Got the figures yet?" he asked. - -Marrier beamed. - -"Two hundred and sixty pounds. As long as it keeps up it means a profit -of getting on for two hundred a naight!" - -"But, dash it, man,--the house only holds two hundred and thirty!" - -"But my good sir," said Marrier, "they're paying ten shillings a-piece -to stand up in the dress-circle." - -Edward Henry dropped into a chair at the desk. A telegram was lying -there, addressed to himself. - -"What's this?" he demanded. - -"Just cam." - -He opened it, and read: "I absolutely forbid this monstrous outrage on a -work of art. Trent." - -"Bit late in the day, isn't he?" said Edward Henry, showing the telegram -to Marrier. - -"Besides," Marrier observed, "he'll come round when he knows what his -royalties are." - -"Well," said Edward Henry, "I'm going to bed." And he gave a -devastating yawn. - - - - VIII. - - -One afternoon Edward Henry sat in the king of all the easy chairs in the -drawing-room of his house in Trafalgar Road, Bursley. Although the -month was September, and the weather warm even for September, a -swansdown quilt lay spread upon his knees. His face was pale, his hands -were paler; but his eye was clear and his visage enlightened. His beard -had grown to nearly its original dimensions. On a chair by his side -were a number of letters to which he had just dictated answers. At a -neighbouring table a young clerk was using a typewriter. Stretched at -full length on the sofa was Robert Machin, engaged in the perusal of the -second edition of that day's _Signal_. Of late Robert, having exhausted -nearly all available books, had been cultivating during his holidays an -interest in journalism, and he would give great accounts, in the -nursery, of events happening in each day's instalment of the _Signal's_ -sensational serial. His heels kicked idly one against the other. - -A powerful voice resounded in the lobby, and Doctor Stirling entered the -room with Nellie. - -"Well, Doc!" Edward Henry greeted him. - -"So you're in full blast again!" observed the doctor, using a metaphor -invented by the population of a district where the roar of furnaces -wakens the night. - -"No!" Edward Henry protested, as an invalid always will. "I'm only just -keeping an eye on one or two pressing things." - -"Of course he's in full blast!" said Nellie with calm conviction. - -"What's this I hear about ye ganging away to the seaside, Saturday?" -asked the doctor. - -"Well, can't I?" said Edward Henry. - -"Ye can," said the doctor. "Let's have a look at ye, man." - -"What was it you said I've had?" Edward Henry questioned. - -"Colonitis." - -"Yes, that's the word. I thought I couldn't have got it wrong. Well, -you should have seen my mother's face when I told her what you called -it. She said, 'He may call it that if he's a mind to, but we had another -name for it in my time.' You should have heard her sniff! ... Look -here, Doc, do you know you've had me down now for pretty near three -months?" - -"Nay," said Stirling. "It's yer own obstinacy that's had ye down, man. -If ye'd listened to yer London doctor at first, mayhap ye wouldn't have -had to travel from Euston in an invalid's carriage. If ye hadn't had -the misfortune to be born an obstinate simpleton ye'd ha' been up and -about six weeks back. But there's no doing anything with you geniuses. -It's all nerves with you and your like." - -"Nerves!" exclaimed Edward Henry, pretending to scorn. But he was -delighted at the diagnosis. - -"Nerves," repeated the doctor firmly. "Ye go gadding off to America. -Ye get yeself mixed up in theatres.... How's the theatre? I see yer -famous play's coming to end next week." - -"And what if it is?" said Edward Henry, jealous for reputations, -including his own. "It will have run for a hundred and one nights. And -right through August, too! No modern poetry play ever did run as long -in London, and no other ever will. I've given the intellectual theatre -the biggest ad. it ever had. And I've made money on it. I should have -made more if I'd ended the run a fortnight ago, but I was determined to -pass the hundredth night. And I shall do!" - -"And what are ye for giving next?" - -"I'm not for giving anything next, Doc. I've let the Regent for five -years at seven thousand five hundred pounds a year to a musical comedy -syndicate, since you're so curious. And when I've paid the ground rent -and taxes and repairs and something toward a sinking-fund, and six per -cent. on my capital I shall have not far off two thousand pounds a year -clear annual profit. You may say what you like, but that's what I call -business!" - -It was a remarkable fact that, while giving undemanded information to -Doctor Stirling, Edward Henry was in reality defending himself against -the accusations of his wife--accusations which, by the way, she had -never uttered, but which he thought he read sometimes in her face. He -might of course have told his wife these agreeable details directly, and -in private. But he was a husband, and, like many husbands, apt to be -indirect. - -Nellie said not a word. - -"Then you're giving up London?" The doctor rose to depart. - -"I am," said Edward Henry, almost blushing. - -"Why?" - -"Well," the genius answered. "Those theatrical things are altogether -too exciting and risky! And they're such queer people--Great Scott! I've -come out on the right side, as it happens, but--well, I'm not as young -as I was. I've done with London. The Five Towns are good enough for -me." - -Nellie, unable to restrain a note of triumph, indiscreetly remarked with -just the air of superior sagacity that in a wife drives husbands to fury -and to foolishness: - -"I should think so, indeed!" - -Edward Henry leaped from his chair, and the swansdown quilt swathed his -slippered feet. - -"Nell," he exploded, clenching his hand. "If you say that once more in -that tone--once more, mind!--I'll go and take a flat in London -to-morrow!" - -The doctor crackled with laughter. Nellie smiled. Even Robert, who had -completely ignored the doctor's entrance, glanced round with creased -brows. - -"Sit down, dearest," Nellie quietly enjoined the invalid. - -But he would not sit down, and, to show his independence, he helped his -wife to escort Stirling into the lobby. - -Robert, now alone with the ignored young clerk tapping at the table, -turned toward him, and in his deliberate, judicial, disdainful, childish -voice said to him: - -"Isn't Father a funny man?" - - - - - THE END - - - - - - - THE NOVELS OF ARNOLD BENNETT - - -THE OLD WIVES' TALE: A Novel of Life. - -_A New Edition with Special Preface by Arnold Bennett._ - -Price $1.50 Net - -The greatest of Arnold Bennett's writings has now crossed the Rubicon of -merely transient popularity and bids fair to become a classic. It -recounts from early girlhood to old age the lives of two sisters, the -exact opposites to one another in temperament. Though its spacious -canvas teems with incidents and characters, all the interest -concentrates on these two women; the world revolves about them. It is a -story of reality; a record extraordinarily faithful of the infinite -number of infinitesimal changes which steal away youth with increasing -years. - -The book is of heroic proportions. Here all the emotions of a life-time -are met together on one stage. It is real as life, and large as -destiny. - - - -BURIED ALIVE: - -_A Tale of These Days_ - -Price $1.20 Net - -Also in Popular Edition, $0.50 Net - -A romantic comedy--a surprise from start to finish, brilliant in its -plot, and audaciously carried out--it is the kind of book that restores -adventure to life and sends the reader on his way in high spirits. - - - -A GREAT MAN: - -_A Comedy of Success._ - -Price $1.20 Net - -Here is a comparative study of the great and the merely successful--a -gentle satire on contemporary popular methods of judging human worth. -At the start THE GREAT MAN knows quite well that he is not great. -Later, confused by the clamor of applause, he deceives himself. - -The story develops the rise of a modern writer--the get-famous-quick -author who suddenly finds himself a "best-seller." - - - -HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND: - -_An Idyllic Diversion._ - -Price $1.20 Net - -In the lightest comedy vein, Arnold Bennett treats of a serious economic -situation--the invasion of the grim Five Towns by modernity. Helen -typifies the splendid revolt of youth against the accepted and -conventional. Of all Arnold Bennett's heroines Helen is certainly the -daintiest and most fascinating. - -The final touch of comedy arises from the fact that Helen at length -overcomes her uncle, not by anything modern in her temperament, but by -the old-fangled race shrewdness which she has inherited. She defeats -him by the more skilful handling of his own weapons. - - - -LEONORA: - -_The Story of a Middle-Aged Love Affair._ - -Price $1.20 Net - -The soul-problems of a woman of forty: another novel of the Five Towns. - -This is one of the most human of all Arnold Bennett's novels. It -grapples with a real problem and works out the solution as in life. -There are no heroics; no false elations and no false tragedies. LEONORA -is a statement of truth, seasoned with humor. - - - -THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS - -_And Other Stories._ - -Price $1.20 Net - -Written in Arnold Bennett's most brilliant manner, each story is a -complete and perfect study of some family group or separate phase of -Five Towns life. Never was he more witty, more penetrating, more sure -in his shrewd delineation of homespun domestic characters. - - - -ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS: - -_A Young Girl's Love-Story._ - -Price $1.20 Net - -This is a love-story with a twist in it, such as Bennett knows so well -how to handle. The twist consists in the coming to Anna of unexpected -wealth. She is the daughter of a miser and has been brought up under -the most rigorous parsimony. She has a simple lover, in every way -suited to her narrow circumstances. Then she comes of age and discovers -that she is not only well off, but wealthy. What will she do with her -money? Will her altered status interfere with her love affair? Will -her father's blood tell? In a vein of quiet humor, rich in whimsical -character-sketching, Arnold Bennett works these problems out. - -Anna is another of the inhabitants of the Five Towns. The little group -of friends who gather about her make us familiar with another level of -Five Towns' society. - - - -THE BOOK OF CARLOTTA: - -_The Autobiography of a Woman's Heart._ - -Price $1.20 Net - -THE BOOK OF CARLOTTA presents the woman of genius--who belongs neither -to the middle-class nor to any other class, but simply to her genius, -and to the passions of her own heart. - -The book is a woman's soul confession written in the first person. In -sheer audacity of purpose it outstrips all Arnold Bennett's other novels -with the exception of THE OLD WIVES' TALE. In the first place, it is an -intimate record of a woman's secret psychology; in the second, the woman -is a woman of genius, which necessitates a continual flow of brilliancy -on the author's part; in the third, it is a novel written in the French -manner by an Englishman. - -Carlotta is an extraordinary creation--a woman apart. She stands among -the rebels of fiction and biography--the people who have dared to be -what they are. The motive of her whole life is self-fulfillment as she -knows it, even though this means the defiance of laws. - -Everything contributes to the last great climax entitled _Victory_. - - - - - ARNOLD BENNETT: POCKET PHILOSOPHIES - - - -HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY: - -A Study in Time Expenditure. - -_On the Conservation of Time._ - -Price $0.50 Net - -In a series of delightfully personal essays Arnold Bennett discusses the -problem of how to attain happiness through living the intenser life. - -When he deliberately assumes the role of philosopher and friend, his -wise and tolerant teachings come to us vivid with his strenuous -personality. In the essay medium his strange faculty for combining -wisdom with humor works unfettered. - - - -MENTAL EFFICIENCY: - -_On the Conservation of the Mind._ - -Price $0.75 Net - -Everybody desires to be efficient. But nearly everybody mistakenly -supposes that this is a natural characteristic. That it is not, Mr. -Bennett shows in his "Mental Efficiency." It is the product of -concentration which in turn is the product of will-power. But -will-power can be developed by concentration and Mr. Bennett shows us -how to do it. - - - -THE HUMAN MACHINE: - -_On the Conservation of Energy._ - -Price $0.75 Net - -With fine inspiring optimism, amid flashes of wit and gusts of laughter, -Arnold Bennett declares to everyone how he may make the best of himself. - - - -LITERARY TASTE: How to Form It. - -_On the Conservation of Pleasure._ - -Price $0.75 Net - -It is Arnold Bennett's conviction that life ought to be for everybody an -affair of joy. For him literature has proved the royal road to -happiness: he is eager to point the way. - - - - GEORGE H. 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