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diff --git a/8713-h/8713-h.htm b/8713-h/8713-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea6fb35 --- /dev/null +++ b/8713-h/8713-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4633 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + A Man of Means, by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse and C. H. Bovill + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's A Man of Means, by P. G. Wodehouse and C. H. Bovill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Man of Means + +Author: P. G. Wodehouse and C. H. Bovill + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #8713] +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN OF MEANS *** + + + + +Produced by The United States Members of the Blandings E-Group, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + A MAN OF MEANS + </h1> + <h2> + A SERIES OF SIX STORIES + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Pelham Grenville Wodehouse and C. H. Bovill + </h2> + <h3> + From the <i>Pictorial Review</i>, May-October 1916 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE EPISODE OF THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE EPISODE OF THE FINANCIAL NAPOLEON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE EPISODE OF THE THEATRICAL VENTURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE EPISODE OF THE LIVE WEEKLY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE DIVERTING EPISODE OF THE EXILED + MONARCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE EPISODE OF THE HIRED PAST </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE EPISODE OF THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER + </h2> + <p> + First of a Series of Six Stories [First published in <i>Pictorial Review</i>, + May 1916] + </p> + <p> + When a seed-merchant of cautious disposition and an eye to the main chance + receives from an eminent firm of jam-manufacturers an extremely large + order for clover-seed, his emotions are mixed. Joy may be said to + predominate, but with the joy comes also uncertainty. Are these people, he + asks himself, proposing to set up as farmers of a large scale, or do they + merely want the seed to give verisimilitude to their otherwise bald and + unconvincing raspberry jam? On the solution of this problem depends the + important matter of price, for, obviously, you can charge a fraudulent jam + disseminator in a manner which an honest farmer would resent. + </p> + <p> + This was the problem which was furrowing the brow of Mr. Julian Fineberg, + of Bury St. Edwards, one sunny morning when Roland Bleke knocked at his + door; and such was its difficulty that only at the nineteenth knock did + Mr. Fineberg raise his head. + </p> + <p> + “Come in—that dashed woodpecker out there!” he shouted, for it was + his habit to express himself with a generous strength towards the junior + members of his staff. + </p> + <p> + The young man who entered looked exactly like a second clerk in a + provincial seed-merchant's office—which, strangely enough, he + chanced to be. His chief characteristic was an intense ordinariness. He + was a young man; and when you had said that of him you had said + everything. There was nothing which you would have noticed about him, + except the fact that there was nothing to notice. His age was twenty-two + and his name was Roland Bleke. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, it's about my salary.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fineberg, at the word, drew himself together much as a British square + at Waterloo must have drawn itself together at the sight of a squadron of + cuirassiers. + </p> + <p> + “Salary?” he cried. “What about it? What's the matter with it? You get it, + don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Well? Don't stand there like an idiot. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's too much.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fineberg's brain reeled. It was improbable that the millennium could + have arrived with a jerk; on the other hand, he had distinctly heard one + of his clerks complain that his salary was too large. He pinched himself. + </p> + <p> + “Say that again,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “If you could see your way to reduce it, sir——” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Mr. Fineberg for one instant that his subordinate was + endeavoring to be humorous, but a glance at Roland's face dispelled that + idea. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want it reduced?” + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I'm going to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “When my salary reaches a hundred and fifty, sir. And it's a hundred and + forty now, so if you could see your way to knocking off ten pounds——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fineberg saw light. He was a married man himself. + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” he said genially, “I quite understand. But I can do you better + than that. It's no use doing this sort of thing in a small way. From now + on your salary is a hundred and ten. No, no, don't thank me. You're an + excellent clerk, and it's a pleasure to me to reward merit when I find it. + Close the door after you.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Fineberg returned with a lighter heart to the great clover-seed + problem. + </p> + <p> + The circumstances which had led Roland to approach his employer may be + briefly recounted. Since joining the staff of Mr. Fineberg, he had lodged + at the house of a Mr. Coppin, in honorable employment as porter at the + local railway-station. The Coppin family, excluding domestic pets, + consisted of Mr. Coppin, a kindly and garrulous gentleman of sixty, Mrs. + Coppin, a somewhat negative personality, most of whose life was devoted to + cooking and washing up in her underground lair, Brothers Frank and Percy, + gentleman of leisure, popularly supposed to be engaged in the mysterious + occupation known as “lookin' about for somethin',” and, lastly, Muriel. + </p> + <p> + For some months after his arrival, Muriel had been to Roland Bleke a mere + automaton, a something outside himself that was made only for neatly-laid + breakfast tables and silent removal of plates at dinner. Gradually, + however, when his natural shyness was soothed by use sufficiently to + enable him to look at her when she came into the room, he discovered that + she was a strikingly pretty girl, bounded to the North by a mass of auburn + hair and to the South by small and shapely feet. She also possessed what, + we are informed—we are children in these matters ourselves—is + known as the R. S. V. P. eye. This eye had met Roland's one evening, as he + chumped his chop, and before he knew what he was doing he had remarked + that it had been a fine day. + </p> + <p> + From that wonderful moment matters had developed at an incredible speed. + Roland had a nice sense of the social proprieties, and he could not bring + himself to ignore a girl with whom he had once exchanged easy conversation + about the weather. Whenever she came to lay his table, he felt bound to + say something. Not being an experienced gagger, he found it more and more + difficult each evening to hit on something bright, until finally, from + sheer lack of inspiration, he kissed her. + </p> + <p> + If matters had progressed rapidly before, they went like lightning then. + It was as if he had touched a spring or pressed a button, setting vast + machinery in motion. Even as he reeled back stunned at his audacity, the + room became suddenly full of Coppins of every variety known to science. + Through a mist he was aware of Mrs. Coppin crying in a corner, of Mr. + Coppin drinking his health in the remains of sparkling limado, of Brothers + Frank and Percy, one on each side trying to borrow simultaneously + half-crowns, and of Muriel, flushed but demure, making bread-pellets and + throwing them in an abstracted way, one by one, at the Coppin cat, which + had wandered in on the chance of fish. + </p> + <p> + Out of the chaos, as he stood looking at them with his mouth open, came + the word “bans,” and smote him like a blast of East wind. + </p> + <p> + It is not necessary to trace in detail Roland's mental processes from that + moment till the day when he applied to Mr. Fineberg for a reduction of + salary. It is enough to say that for quite a month he was extraordinarily + happy. To a man who has had nothing to do with women, to be engaged is an + intoxicating experience, and at first life was one long golden glow to + Roland. Secretly, like all mild men, he had always nourished a desire to + be esteemed a nut by his fellow men; and his engagement satisfied that + desire. It was pleasant to hear Brothers Frank and Percy cough knowingly + when he came in. It was pleasant to walk abroad with a girl like Muriel in + the capacity of the accepted wooer. Above all, it was pleasant to sit + holding Muriel's hand and watching the ill-concealed efforts of Mr. Albert + Potter to hide his mortification. Albert was a mechanic in the motor-works + round the corner, and hitherto Roland had always felt something of a worm + in his presence. Albert was so infernally strong and silent and efficient. + He could dissect a car and put it together again. He could drive through + the thickest traffic. He could sit silent in company without having his + silence attributed to shyness or imbecility. But—he could not get + engaged to Muriel Coppin. That was reserved for Roland Bleke, the nut, the + dasher, the young man of affairs. It was all very well being able to tell + a spark-plug from a commutator at sight, but when it came to a contest in + an affair of the heart with a man like Roland, Albert was in his proper + place, third at the pole. + </p> + <p> + Probably, if he could have gone on merely being engaged, Roland would + never have wearied of the experience. But the word marriage began to creep + more and more into the family conversation, and suddenly panic descended + upon Roland Bleke. + </p> + <p> + All his life he had had a horror of definite appointments. An invitation + to tea a week ahead had been enough to poison life for him. He was one of + those young men whose souls revolt at the thought of planning out any + definite step. He could do things on the spur of the moment, but plans + made him lose his nerve. + </p> + <p> + By the end of the month his whole being was crying out to him in agonized + tones: “Get me out of this. Do anything you like, but get me out of this + frightful marriage business.” + </p> + <p> + If anything had been needed to emphasize his desire for freedom, the + attitude of Frank and Percy would have supplied it. Every day they made it + clearer that the man who married Muriel would be no stranger to them. It + would be his pleasing task to support them, too, in the style to which + they had become accustomed. They conveyed the idea that they went with + Muriel as a sort of bonus. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The Coppin family were at high tea when Roland reached home. There was a + general stir of interest as he entered the room, for it was known that he + had left that morning with the intention of approaching Mr. Fineberg on + the important matter of a rise in salary. Mr. Coppin removed his saucer of + tea from his lips. Frank brushed the tail of a sardine from the corner of + his mouth. Percy ate his haddock in an undertone. Albert Potter, who was + present, glowered silently. + </p> + <p> + Roland shook his head with the nearest approach to gloom which his + rejoicing heart would permit. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I've bad news.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Coppin burst into tears, her invariable practise in any crisis. + Albert Potter's face relaxed into something resembling a smile. + </p> + <p> + “He won't give you your raise?” + </p> + <p> + Roland sighed. + </p> + <p> + “He's reduced me.” + </p> + <p> + “Reduced you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Times are bad just at present, so he has had to lower me to a + hundred and ten.” + </p> + <p> + The collected jaws of the family fell as one jaw. Muriel herself seemed to + be bearing the blow with fortitude, but the rest were stunned. Frank and + Percy might have been posing for a picture of men who had lost their + fountain pens. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the table the hand of Albert Potter found the hand of Muriel + Coppin, and held it; and Muriel, we regret to add, turned and bestowed + upon Albert a half-smile of tender understanding. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Roland, “we couldn't get married on a hundred and ten?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Percy. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Frank. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Albert Potter. + </p> + <p> + They all spoke decidedly, but Albert the most decidedly of the three. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Roland regretfully, “I'm afraid we must wait.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to be the general verdict that they must wait. Muriel said she + thought they must wait. Albert Potter, whose opinion no one had asked, was + quite certain that they must wait. Mrs. Coppin, between sobs, moaned that + it would be best to wait. Frank and Percy, morosely devouring bread and + jam, said they supposed they would have to wait. And, to end a painful + scene, Roland drifted silently from the room, and went up-stairs to his + own quarters. + </p> + <p> + There was a telegram on the mantel. + </p> + <p> + “Some fellows,” he soliloquized happily, as he opened it, “wouldn't have + been able to manage a little thing like that. They would have given + themselves away. They would——” + </p> + <p> + The contents of the telegram demanded his attention. + </p> + <p> + For some time they conveyed nothing to him. The thing might have been + written in Hindustani. + </p> + <p> + It would have been quite appropriate if it had been, for it was from the + promoters of the Calcutta Sweep, and it informed him that, as the holder + of ticket number 108,694, he had drawn Gelatine, and in recognition of + this fact a check for five hundred pounds would be forwarded to him in due + course. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Roland's first feeling was one of pure bewilderment. As far as he could + recollect, he had never had any dealings whatsoever with these open-handed + gentlemen. Then memory opened her flood-gates and swept him back to a + morning ages ago, so it seemed to him, when Mr. Fineberg's eldest son + Ralph, passing through the office on his way to borrow money from his + father, had offered him for ten shillings down a piece of cardboard, at + the same time saying something about a sweep. Partly from a vague desire + to keep in with the Fineberg clan, but principally because it struck him + as rather a doggish thing to do, Roland had passed over the ten shillings; + and there, as far as he had known, the matter had ended. + </p> + <p> + And now, after all this time, that simple action had borne fruit in the + shape of Gelatine and a check for five hundred pounds. + </p> + <p> + Roland's next emotion was triumph. The sudden entry of checks for five + hundred pounds into a man's life is apt to produce this result. + </p> + <p> + For the space of some minutes he gloated; and then reaction set in. Five + hundred pounds meant marriage with Muriel. + </p> + <p> + His brain worked quickly. He must conceal this thing. With trembling + fingers he felt for his match-box, struck a match, and burnt the telegram + to ashes. Then, feeling a little better, he sat down to think the whole + matter over. His meditations brought a certain amount of balm. After all, + he felt, the thing could quite easily be kept a secret. He would receive + the check in due course, as stated, and he would bicycle over to the + neighboring town of Lexingham and start a bank-account with it. Nobody + would know, and life would go on as before. + </p> + <p> + He went to bed, and slept peacefully. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It was about a week after this that he was roused out of a deep sleep at + eight o'clock in the morning to find his room full of Coppins. Mr. Coppin + was there in a nightshirt and his official trousers. Mrs. Coppin was + there, weeping softly in a brown dressing-gown. Modesty had apparently + kept Muriel from the gathering, but brothers Frank and Percy stood at his + bedside, shaking him by the shoulders and shouting. Mr. Coppin thrust a + newspaper at him, as he sat up blinking. + </p> + <p> + These epic moments are best related swiftly. Roland took the paper, and + the first thing that met his sleepy eye and effectually drove the sleep + from it was this head-line: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ROMANCE OF THE CALCUTTA SWEEPSTAKES +</pre> + <p> + And beneath it another in type almost as large as the first: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + POOR CLERK WINS £40,000 +</pre> + <p> + His own name leaped at him from the printed page, and with it that of the + faithful Gelatine. + </p> + <p> + Flight! That was the master-word which rang in Roland's brain as day + followed day. The wild desire of the trapped animal to be anywhere except + just where he was had come upon him. He was past the stage when conscience + could have kept him to his obligations. He had ceased to think of anything + or any one but himself. All he asked of Fate was to remove him from Bury + St. Edwards on any terms. + </p> + <p> + It may be that some inkling of his state of mind was wafted telepathically + to Frank and Percy, for it can not be denied that their behavior at this + juncture was more than a little reminiscent of the police force. Perhaps + it was simply their natural anxiety to keep an eye on what they already + considered their own private gold-mine that made them so adhesive. + Certainly there was no hour of the day when one or the other was not in + Roland's immediate neighborhood. Their vigilance even extended to the + night hours, and once, when Roland, having tossed sleeplessly on his bed, + got up at two in the morning, with the wild idea of stealing out of the + house and walking to London, a door opened as he reached the top of the + stairs, and a voice asked him what he thought he was doing. The statement + that he was walking in his sleep was accepted, but coldly. + </p> + <p> + It was shortly after this that, having by dint of extraordinary strategy + eluded the brothers and reached the railway-station, Roland, with his + ticket to London in his pocket and the express already entering the + station, was engaged in conversation by old Mr. Coppin, who appeared from + nowhere to denounce the high cost of living in a speech that lasted until + the tail-lights of the train had vanished and Brothers Frank and Percy + arrived, panting. + </p> + <p> + A man has only a certain capacity for battling with Fate. After this last + episode Roland gave in. Not even the exquisite agony of hearing himself + described in church as a bachelor of this parish, with the grim addition + that this was for the second time of asking, could stir him to a fresh + dash for liberty. + </p> + <p> + Altho the shadow of the future occupied Roland's mind almost to the + exclusion of everything else, he was still capable of suffering a certain + amount of additional torment from the present; and one of the things which + made the present a source of misery to him was the fact that he was + expected to behave more like a mad millionaire than a sober young man with + a knowledge of the value of money. His mind, trained from infancy to a + decent respect for the pence, had not yet adjusted itself to the + possession of large means; and the open-handed role forced upon him by the + family appalled him. + </p> + <p> + When the Coppins wanted anything, they asked for it; and it seemed to + Roland that they wanted pretty nearly everything. If Mr. Coppin had + reached his present age without the assistance of a gold watch, he might + surely have struggled along to the end on gun-metal. In any case, a man of + his years should have been thinking of higher things than mere gauds and + trinkets. A like criticism applied to Mrs. Coppin's demand for a silk + petticoat, which struck Roland as simply indecent. Frank and Percy took + theirs mostly in specie. It was Muriel who struck the worst blow by + insisting on a hired motor-car. + </p> + <p> + Roland hated motor-cars, especially when they were driven by Albert + Potter, as this one was. Albert, that strong, silent man, had but one way + of expressing his emotions, namely to open the throttle and shave the + paint off trolley-cars. Disappointed love was giving Albert a good deal of + discomfort at this time, and he found it made him feel better to go round + corners on two wheels. As Muriel sat next to him on these expeditions, + Roland squashing into the tonneau with Frank and Percy, his torments were + subtle. He was not given a chance to forget, and the only way in which he + could obtain a momentary diminution of the agony was to increase the speed + to sixty miles an hour. + </p> + <p> + It was in this fashion that they journeyed to the neighboring town of + Lexingham to see M. Etienne Feriaud perform his feat of looping the loop + in his aeroplane. + </p> + <p> + It was Brother Frank's idea that they should make up a party to go and see + M. Feriaud. Frank's was one of those generous, unspoiled natures which + never grow <i>blasé</i> at the sight of a fellow human taking a sporting + chance at hara-kiri. He was a well-known figure at every wild animal + exhibition within a radius of fifty miles, and M. Feriaud drew him like a + magnet. + </p> + <p> + “The blighter goes up,” he explained, as he conducted the party into the + arena, “and then he stands on his head and goes round in circles. I've + seen pictures of it.” + </p> + <p> + It appeared that M. Feriaud did even more than this. Posters round the + ground advertised the fact that, on receipt of five pounds, he would take + up a passenger with him. To date, however, there appeared to have been no + rush on the part of the canny inhabitants of Lexingham to avail themselves + of this chance of a breath of fresh air. M. Feriaud, a small man with a + chubby and amiable face, wandered about signing picture cards and smoking + a lighted cigaret, looking a little disappointed. + </p> + <p> + Albert Potter was scornful. + </p> + <p> + “Lot of rabbits,” he said. “Where's their pluck? And I suppose they call + themselves Englishmen. I'd go up precious quick if I had a five-pound + note. Disgrace, I call it, letting a Frenchman have the laugh of us.” + </p> + <p> + It was a long speech for Mr. Potter, and it drew a look of respectful + tenderness from Muriel. “You're so brave, Mr. Potter,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Whether it was the slight emphasis which she put on the first word, or + whether it was sheer generosity that impelled him, one can not say; but + Roland produced the required sum even while she spoke. He offered it to + his rival. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Potter started, turned a little pale, then drew himself up and waved + the note aside. + </p> + <p> + “I take no favors,” he said with dignity. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you do it.” said Albert, nastily. “Five pounds is nothing to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Why should you?” + </p> + <p> + It would be useless to assert that Mr. Potter's tone was friendly. It + stung Roland. It seemed to him that Muriel was looking at him in an + unpleasantly contemptuous manner. + </p> + <p> + In some curious fashion, without doing anything to merit it, he had + apparently become an object of scorn and derision to the party. + </p> + <p> + “All right, then, I will,” he said suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Easy enough to talk,” said Albert. + </p> + <p> + Roland strode with a pale but determined face to the spot where M. + Feriaud, beaming politely, was signing a picture post-card. + </p> + <p> + Some feeling of compunction appeared to come to Muriel at the eleventh + hour. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let him,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + But Brother Frank was made of sterner stuff. This was precisely the sort + of thing which, in his opinion, made for a jolly afternoon. + </p> + <p> + For years he had been waiting for something of this kind. He was + experiencing that pleasant thrill which comes to a certain type of person + when the victim of a murder in the morning paper is an acquaintance of + theirs. + </p> + <p> + “What are you talking about?” he said. “There's no danger. At least, not + much. He might easily come down all right. Besides, he wants to. What do + you want to go interfering for?” + </p> + <p> + Roland returned. The negotiations with the bird-man had lasted a little + longer than one would have expected. But then, of course, M. Feriaud was a + foreigner, and Roland's French was not fluent. + </p> + <p> + He took Muriel's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He shook hands with the rest of the party, even with Albert Potter. It + struck Frank that he was making too much fuss over a trifle—and, + worse, delaying the start of the proceedings. + </p> + <p> + “What's it all about?” he demanded. “You go on as if we were never going + to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “You never know.” + </p> + <p> + “It's as safe as being in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “But still, in case we never meet again——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” said Brother Frank, and took the outstretched hand. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The little party stood and watched as the aeroplane moved swiftly along + the ground, rose, and soared into the air. Higher and higher it rose, till + the features of the two occupants were almost invisible. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Brother Frank. “Now watch. Now he's going to loop the loop.” + </p> + <p> + But the wheels of the aeroplane still pointed to the ground. It grew + smaller and smaller. It was a mere speck. + </p> + <p> + “What the dickens?” + </p> + <p> + Far away to the West something showed up against the blue of the sky—something + that might have been a bird, a toy kite, or an aeroplane traveling rapidly + into the sunset. + </p> + <p> + Four pairs of eyes followed it in rapt silence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EPISODE OF THE FINANCIAL NAPOLEON + </h2> + <p> + Second of a Series of Six Stories [First published in <i>Pictorial Review</i>, + June 1916] + </p> + <p> + Seated with his wife at breakfast on the veranda which overlooked the + rolling lawns and leafy woods of his charming Sussex home, Geoffrey + Windlebird, the great financier, was enjoying the morning sun to the full. + His chubby features were relaxed in a smile of lazy contentment; and his + wife, who liked to act sometimes as his secretary, found it difficult to + get him to pay any attention to his morning's mail. + </p> + <p> + “There's a column in to-day's <i>Financial Argus</i>,” she said, “of which + you really must take notice. It's most abusive. It's about the Wildcat + Reef. They assert that there never was any gold in the mine, and that you + knew it when you floated the company.” + </p> + <p> + “They will have their little joke.” + </p> + <p> + “But you had the usual mining-expert's report.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we had. And a capital report it was. I remember thinking at the + time what a neat turn of phrase the fellow had. I admit he depended rather + on his fine optimism than on any examination of the mine. As a matter of + fact, he never went near it. And why should he? It's down in South America + somewhere. Awful climate—snakes, mosquitoes, revolutions, fever.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird spoke drowsily. His eyes closed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the Argus people say that they have sent a man of their own out + there to make inquiries, a well-known expert, and the report will be in + within the next fortnight. They say they will publish it in their next + number but one. What are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird yawned. + </p> + <p> + “Not to put too fine a point on it, dearest, the game is up. The Napoleon + of Finance is about to meet his Waterloo. And all for twenty thousand + pounds. That is the really bitter part of it. To-morrow we sail for the + Argentine. I've got the tickets.” + </p> + <p> + “You're joking, Geoffrey. You must be able to raise twenty thousand. It's + a flea-bite.” + </p> + <p> + “On paper—in the form of shares, script, bonds, promissory notes, it + is a flea-bite. But when it has to be produced in the raw, in flat, hard + lumps of gold or in crackling bank-notes, it's more like a bite from a + hippopotamus. I can't raise it, and that's all about it. So—St. + Helena for Napoleon.” + </p> + <p> + Altho Geoffrey Windlebird described himself as a Napoleon of Finance, a + Cinquevalli or Chung Ling Soo of Finance would have been a more accurate + title. As a juggler with other people's money he was at the head of his + class. And yet, when one came to examine it, his method was delightfully + simple. Say, for instance, that the Home-grown Tobacco Trust, founded by + Geoffrey in a moment of ennui, failed to yield those profits which the + glowing prospectus had led the public to expect. Geoffrey would appease + the excited shareholders by giving them Preference Shares (interest + guaranteed) in the Sea-gold Extraction Company, hastily floated to meet + the emergency. When the interest became due, it would, as likely as not, + be paid out of the capital just subscribed for the King Solomon's Mines + Exploitation Association, the little deficiency in the latter being + replaced in its turn, when absolutely necessary and not a moment before, + by the transfer of some portion of the capital just raised for yet another + company. And so on, ad infinitum. There were moments when it seemed to Mr. + Windlebird that he had solved the problem of Perpetual Promotion. + </p> + <p> + The only thing that can stop a triumphal progress like Mr. Windlebird's is + when some coarse person refuses to play to the rules, and demands ready + money instead of shares in the next venture. This had happened now, and it + had flattened Mr. Windlebird like an avalanche. + </p> + <p> + He was a philosopher, but he could not help feeling a little galled that + the demand which had destroyed him had been so trivial. He had handled + millions—on paper, it was true, but still millions—and here he + was knocked out of time by a paltry twenty thousand pounds. + </p> + <p> + “Are you absolutely sure that nothing can be done?” persisted Mrs. + Windlebird. “Have you tried every one?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one, dear moon-of-my-delight—the probables, the possibles, + the highly unlikelies, and the impossibles. Never an echo to the + minstrel's wooing song. No, my dear, we have got to take to the boats this + time. Unless, of course, some one possessed at one and the same time of + twenty thousand pounds and a very confiding nature happens to drop from + the clouds.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, an aeroplane came sailing over the tops of the trees beyond + the tennis-lawn. Gracefully as a bird it settled on the smooth turf, not + twenty yards from where he was seated. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Roland Bleke stepped stiffly out onto the tennis-lawn. His progress rather + resembled that of a landsman getting out of an open boat in which he has + spent a long and perilous night at sea. He was feeling more wretched than + he had ever felt in his life. He had a severe cold. He had a splitting + headache. His hands and feet were frozen. His eyes smarted. He was hungry. + He was thirsty. He hated cheerful M. Feriaud, who had hopped out and was + now busy tinkering the engine, a gay Provencal air upon his lips, as he + had rarely hated any one, even Muriel Coppin's brother Frank. + </p> + <p> + So absorbed was he in his troubles that he was not aware of Mr. + Windlebird's approach until that pleasant, portly man's shadow fell on the + turf before him. + </p> + <p> + “Not had an accident, I hope, Mr. Bleke?” + </p> + <p> + Roland was too far gone in misery to speculate as to how this genial + stranger came to know his name. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Windlebird, keen + student of the illustrated press, had recognized Roland by his photograph + in the Daily Mirror. In the course of the twenty yards' walk from house to + tennis-lawn she had put her husband into possession of the more salient + points in Roland's history. It was when Mr. Windlebird heard that Roland + had forty thousand pounds in the bank that he sat up and took notice. + </p> + <p> + “Lead me to him,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + Roland sneezed. + </p> + <p> + “Doe accident, thag you,” he replied miserably. “Somethig's gone wrong + with the worgs, but it's nothing serious, worse luck.” + </p> + <p> + M. Feriaud, having by this time adjusted the defect in his engine, rose to + his feet, and bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse if we come down on your lawn. But not long do we trespass. See, <i>mon + ami</i>,” he said radiantly to Roland, “all now O. K. We go on.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Roland decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “No? What you mean—no?” + </p> + <p> + A shade of alarm fell on M. Feriaud's weather-beaten features. The eminent + bird-man did not wish to part from Roland. Toward Roland he felt like a + brother, for Roland had notions about payment for little aeroplane rides + which bordered upon the princely. + </p> + <p> + “But you say—take me to France with you——” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But it's all off. I'm not feeling well.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's all wrong.” M. Feriaud gesticulated to drive home his point. + “You give me one hundred pounds to take you away from Lexingham. Good. It + is here.” He slapped his breast pocket. “But the other two hundred pounds + which also you promise me to pay me when I place you safe in France, where + is that, my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you two hundred and fifty,” said Roland earnestly, “to leave + me here, and go right away, and never let me see your beastly machine + again.” + </p> + <p> + A smile of brotherly forgiveness lit up M. Feriaud's face. The generous + Gallic nature asserted itself. He held out his arms affectionately to + Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now you talk. Now you say something,” he cried in his impetuous way. + “Embrace me. You are all right.” + </p> + <p> + Roland heaved a sigh of relief when, five minutes later, the aeroplane + disappeared over the brow of the hill. Then he began to sneeze again. + </p> + <p> + “You're not well, you know,” said Mr. Windlebird. + </p> + <p> + “I've caught cold. We've been flying about all night—that French ass + lost his bearings—and my suit is thin. Can you direct me to a + hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “Hotel? Nonsense.” Mr. Windlebird spoke in the bluff, breezy voice which + at many a stricken board-meeting had calmed frantic shareholders as if by + magic. “You're coming right into my house and up to bed this instant.” + </p> + <p> + It was not till he was between the sheets with a hot-water bottle at his + toes and a huge breakfast inside him that Roland learned the name of his + good Samaritan. When he did, his first impulse was to struggle out of bed + and make his escape. Geoffrey Windlebird's was a name which he had + learned, in the course of his mercantile career, to hold in something + approaching reverence as that of one of the mightiest business brains of + the age. + </p> + <p> + To have to meet so eminent a man in the capacity of invalid, a nuisance + about the house, was almost too much for Roland's shrinking nature. The + kindness of the Windlebirds—and there seemed to be nothing that they + were not ready to do for him—distressed him beyond measure. To have + a really great man like Geoffrey Windlebird sprawling genially over his + bed, chatting away as if he were an ordinary friend, was almost horrible. + Such condescension was too much. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, as he became convalescent, Roland found this feeling replaced + by something more comfortable. They were such a genuine, simple, kindly + couple, these Windlebirds, that he lost awe and retained only gratitude. + He loved them both. He opened his heart to them. It was not long before he + had told them the history of his career, skipping the earlier years and + beginning with the entry of wealth into his life. + </p> + <p> + “It makes you feel funny,” he confided to Mr. Windlebird's sympathetic + ear, “suddenly coming into a pot of money like that. You don't seem hardly + able to realize it. I don't know what to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird smiled paternally. + </p> + <p> + “The advice of an older man who has had, if I may say so, some little + experience of finance, might be useful to you there. Perhaps if you would + allow me to recommend some sound investment——” + </p> + <p> + Roland glowed with gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “There's just one thing I'd like to do before I start putting my money + into anything. It's like this.” + </p> + <p> + He briefly related the story of his unfortunate affair with Muriel Coppin. + Within an hour of his departure in the aeroplane, his conscience had begun + to trouble him on this point. He felt that he had not acted well toward + Muriel. True, he was practically certain that she didn't care a bit about + him and was in love with Albert, the silent mechanic, but there was just + the chance that she was mourning over his loss; and, anyhow, his + conscience was sore. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to give her something,” he said. “How much do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird perpended. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll send my own lawyer to her with—say, + a thousand pounds—not a check, you understand, but one thousand + golden sovereigns that he can show her—roll about on the table in + front of her eyes. That'll console her. It's wonderful, the effect money + in the raw has on people.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather make it two thousand,” said Roland. He had never really loved + Muriel, and the idea of marrying her had been a nightmare to him; but he + wanted to retreat with honor. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, make it two thousand, if you like. Tho I don't quite know how + old Harrison is going to carry all that money.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, old Harrison never had to try. On thinking it over, + after he had cashed Roland's check, Mr. Windlebird came to the conclusion + that seven hundred pounds would be quite as much money as it would be good + for Miss Coppin to have all at once. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird's knowledge of human nature was not at fault. Muriel jumped + at the money, and a letter in her handwriting informed Roland next morning + that his slate was clean. His gratitude to Mr. Windlebird redoubled. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Mr. Windlebird genially, “we can talk about that money of + yours, and the best way of investing it. What you want is something which, + without being in any way what is called speculative, nevertheless returns + a fair and reasonable amount of interest. What you want is something + sound, something solid, yet something with a bit of a kick to it, + something which can't go down and may go soaring like a rocket.” + </p> + <p> + Roland quietly announced that was just what he did want, and lit another + cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Bleke, my boy, as a general rule I don't give tips—But + I've taken a great fancy to you, Bleke, and I'm going to break my rule. + Put your money—” he sank his voice to a compelling whisper, “put + every penny you can afford into Wildcat Reefs.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned back with the benign air of the Alchemist who has just imparted + to a favorite disciple the recently discovered secret of the philosopher's + stone. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, Mr. Windlebird,” said Roland gratefully. “I will.” + </p> + <p> + The Napoleonic features were lightened by that rare, indulgent smile. + </p> + <p> + “Not so fast, young man,” laughed Mr. Windlebird. “Getting into Wildcat + Reefs isn't quite so easy as you seem to think. Shall we say that you + propose to invest thirty thousand pounds? Yes? Very well, then. Thirty + thousand pounds! Why, if it got about that you were going to buy Wildcat + Reefs on that scale the market would be convulsed.” + </p> + <p> + Which was perfectly true. If it had got about that any one was going to + invest thirty thousand pounds—or pence—in Wildcat Reefs, the + market would certainly have been convulsed. The House would have rocked + with laughter. Wildcat Reefs were a standing joke—except to the + unfortunate few who still held any of the shares. + </p> + <p> + “The thing will have to be done very cautiously. No one must know. But I + think—I say I think—I can manage it for you.” + </p> + <p> + “You're awfully kind, Mr. Windlebird.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, my dear boy, not at all. As a matter of fact, I shall be + doing a very good turn to another pal of mine at the same time.” He filled + his glass. “This—” he paused to sip—“this pal of mine has a + large holding of Wildcats. He wants to realize in order to put the money + into something else, in which he is more personally interested.” Mr. + Windlebird paused. His mind dwelt for a moment on his overdrawn current + account at the bank. “In which he is more personally interested,” he + repeated dreamily. “But of course you couldn't unload thirty pounds' worth + of Wildcats in the public market.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite see that,” assented Roland. + </p> + <p> + “It might, however, be done by private negotiation,” he said. “I must act + very cautiously. Give me your check for the thirty thousand to-night, and + I will run up to town to-morrow morning, and see what I can do.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + He did it. What hidden strings he pulled, what levers he used, Roland did + not know. All Roland knew was that somehow, by some subtle means, Mr. + Windlebird brought it off. Two days later his host handed him twenty + thousand one-pound shares in the Wildcat Reef Gold-mine. + </p> + <p> + “There, my boy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It's awfully kind of you, Mr. Windlebird.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, don't mention it. If you're satisfied, I'm sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird always spoke the truth when he could. He spoke it now. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Roland, as the days went by, that nothing could mar the + pleasant, easy course of life at the Windlebirds. The fine weather, the + beautiful garden, the pleasant company—all these things combined to + make this sojourn an epoch in his life. + </p> + <p> + He discovered his mistake one lovely afternoon as he sat smoking idly on + the terrace. Mrs. Windlebird came to him, and a glance was enough to show + Roland that something was seriously wrong. Her face was drawn and tired. + </p> + <p> + A moment before, Roland had been thinking life perfect. The only crumpled + rose-leaf had been the absence of an evening paper. Mr. Windlebird would + bring one back with him when he returned from the city, but Roland wanted + one now. He was a great follower of county cricket, and he wanted to know + how Surrey was faring against Yorkshire. But even this crumpled rose-leaf + had been smoothed out, for Johnson, the groom, who happened to be riding + into the nearest town on an errand, had promised to bring one back with + him. He might appear at any moment now. + </p> + <p> + The sight of his hostess drove all thoughts of sport out of his mind. She + was looking terribly troubled. + </p> + <p> + It flashed across Roland that both his host and hostess had been unusually + silent at dinner the night before; and later, passing Mr. Windlebird's + room on his way to bed, he had heard their voices, low and agitated. Could + they have had some bad news? + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bleke, I want to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + Roland moved like a sympathetic cow, and waited to hear more. + </p> + <p> + “You were not up when my husband left for the city this morning, or he + would have told you himself. Mr. Bleke, I hardly know how to break it to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Break it to me!” + </p> + <p> + “My husband advised you to put a very large sum of money in a mine called + Wildcat Reefs.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Thirty thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “As much as that! Oh, Mr. Bleke!” + </p> + <p> + She began to cry softly. She pressed his hand. Roland gaped at her. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bleke, there has been a terrible slump in Wildcat Reefs. To-day, they + may be absolutely worthless.” + </p> + <p> + Roland felt as if a cold hand had been laid on his spine. + </p> + <p> + “Wor-worthless!” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Windlebird looked at him with moist eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You can imagine how my husband feels about this. It was on his advice + that you invested your money. He holds himself directly responsible. He is + in a terrible state of mind. He is frantic. He has grown so fond of you, + Mr. Bleke, that he can hardly face the thought that he has been the + innocent instrument of your trouble.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Roland felt that it was an admirable comparison. His sensations were + precisely those of a leading actor in an earthquake. The solid earth + seemed to melt under him. + </p> + <p> + “We talked it over last night after you had gone to bed, and we came to + the conclusion that there was only one honorable step to take. We must + make good your losses. We must buy back those shares.” + </p> + <p> + A ray of hope began to steal over Roland's horizon. + </p> + <p> + “But——” he began. + </p> + <p> + “There are no buts, really, Mr. Bleke. We should neither of us know a + minute's peace if we didn't do it. Now, you paid thirty thousand pounds + for the shares, you said? Well”—she held out a pink slip of paper to + him—“this will make everything all right.” + </p> + <p> + Roland looked at the check. + </p> + <p> + “But—but this is signed by you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You see, if Geoffrey had to sign a check for that amount, it would + mean selling out some of his stock, and in his position, with every + movement watched by enemies, he can not afford to do it. It might ruin the + plans of years. But I have some money of my own. My selling out stock + doesn't matter, you see. I have post-dated the check a week, to give me + time to realize on the securities in which my money is invested.” + </p> + <p> + Roland's whole nature rose in revolt at this sacrifice. If it had been his + host who had made this offer, he would have accepted it. But chivalry + forbade his taking this money from a woman. A glow of self-sacrifice + warmed him. After all, what was this money of his? He had never had any + fun out of it. He had had so little acquaintance with it that for all + practical purposes it might never have been his. + </p> + <p> + With a gesture which had once impressed him very favorably when exhibited + on the stage by the hero of the number two company of “The Price of + Honor,” which had paid a six days' visit to Bury St. Edwards a few months + before, he tore the check into little pieces. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't accept it, Mrs. Windlebird,” he said. “I can't tell you how + deeply I appreciate your wonderful kindness, but I really couldn't. I + bought the shares with my eyes open. The whole thing is nobody's fault, + and I can't let you suffer for it. After the way you have treated me here, + it would be impossible. I can't take your money. It's noble and generous + of you in the extreme, but I can't accept it. I've still got a little + money left, and I've always been used to working for my living, anyway, so—so + it's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bleke, I implore you.” + </p> + <p> + Roland was hideously embarrassed. He looked right and left for a way of + escape. He could hardly take to his heels, and yet there seemed no other + way of ending the interview. Then, with a start of relief, he perceived + Johnson the groom coming toward him with the evening paper. + </p> + <p> + “Johnson said he was going into the town,” said Roland apologetically, “so + I asked him to get me an evening paper. I wanted to see the lunch scores.” + </p> + <p> + If he had been looking at his hostess then, an action which he was + strenuously avoiding, he might have seen a curious spasm pass over her + face. Mrs. Windlebird turned very pale and sat down suddenly in the chair + which Roland had vacated at the beginning of their conversation. She lay + back in it with her eyes closed. She looked tired and defeated. + </p> + <p> + Roland took the paper mechanically. He wanted it as a diversion to the + conversation merely, for his interest in the doings of Surrey and + Yorkshire had waned to the point of complete indifference in competition + with Mrs. Windlebird's news. + </p> + <p> + Equally mechanically he unfolded it and glanced at front page; and, as he + did do, a flaring explosion of headlines smote his eye. + </p> + <p> + Out of the explosion emerged the word “WILD-CATS”. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” he exclaimed. “There's columns about Wild-cats on the front page + here!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” Mrs. Windlebird's voice sounded strangely dull and toneless. Her + eyes were still closed. + </p> + <p> + Roland took in the headlines with starting eyes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE WILD-CAT REEF GOLD-MINE + + ANOTHER KLONDIKE + + FRENZIED SCENES ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE + + BROKERS FIGHT FOR SHARES + + RECORD BOOM + + UNPRECEDENTED RISE IN PRICES +</pre> + <p> + Shorn of all superfluous adjectives and general journalistic exuberance, + what the paper had to announce to its readers was this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The “special commissioner” sent out by The <i>Financial Argus</i> to + make an exhaustive examination of the Wild-cat Reef Mine—with + the amiable view, no doubt, of exploding Mr. Geoffrey Windlebird + once and for all with the confiding British public—has found, + to his unbounded astonishment, that there are vast quantities of + gold in the mine. + + The discovery of the new reef, the largest and richest, it is + stated, since the famous Mount Morgan, occurred with dramatic + appropriateness on the very day of his arrival. We need scarcely + remind our readers that, until that moment, Wild-cat Reef shares + had reached a very low figure, and only a few optimists retained + their faith in the mine. As the largest holder, Mr. Windlebird + is to be heartily congratulated on this new addition to his + fortune. + + The publication of the expert's report in The <i>Financial Argus</i> has + resulted in a boom in Wild-cats, the like of which can seldom have + been seen on the Stock Exchange. From something like one shilling + and sixpence per bundle the one pound shares have gone up to nearly + ten pounds a share, and even at this latter figure people were + literally fighting to secure them. +</pre> + <p> + The world swam about Roland. He was stupefied and even terrified. The very + atmosphere seemed foggy. So far as his reeling brain was capable of + thought, he figured that he was now worth about two hundred thousand + pounds. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Windlebird,” he cried, “It's all right after all.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Windlebird sat back in her chair without answering. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right for every one,” screamed Roland joyfully. “Why, if I've + made a couple of hundred thousand, what must Mr. Windlebird have netted. + It says here that he is the largest holder. He must have pulled off the + biggest thing of his life.” + </p> + <p> + He thought for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “The chap I'm sorry for,” he said meditatively, “is Mr. Windlebird's pal. + You know. The fellow whom Mr. Windlebird persuaded to sell all his shares + to me.” + </p> + <p> + A faint moan escaped from his hostess's pale lips. Roland did not hear it. + He was reading the cricket news. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EPISODE OF THE THEATRICAL VENTURE + </h2> + <p> + Third of a Series of Six Stories [First published in <i>Pictorial Review</i>, + July 1916] + </p> + <p> + It was one of those hard, nubbly rolls. The best restaurants charge you + sixpence for having the good sense not to eat them. It hit Roland Bleke + with considerable vehemence on the bridge of the nose. For the moment + Roland fancied that the roof of the Regent Grill-room must have fallen in; + and, as this would automatically put an end to the party, he was not + altogether sorry. He had never been to a theatrical supper-party before, + and within five minutes of his arrival at the present one he had become + afflicted with an intense desire never to go to a theatrical supper-party + again. To be a success at these gay gatherings one must possess dash; and + Roland, whatever his other sterling qualities, was a little short of dash. + </p> + <p> + The young man on the other side of the table was quite nice about it. + While not actually apologizing, he went so far as to explain that it was + “old Gerry” whom he had had in his mind when he started the roll on its + course. After a glance at old Gerry—a chinless child of about + nineteen—Roland felt that it would be churlish to be angry with a + young man whose intentions had been so wholly admirable. Old Gerry had one + of those faces in which any alteration, even the comparatively limited one + which a roll would be capable of producing, was bound to be for the + better. He smiled a sickly smile and said that it didn't matter. + </p> + <p> + The charming creature who sat on his assailant's left, however, took a + more serious view of the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Sidney, you make me tired,” she said severely. “If I had thought you + didn't know how to act like a gentleman I wouldn't have come here with + you. Go away somewhere and throw bread at yourself, and ask Mr. Bleke to + come and sit by me. I want to talk to him.” + </p> + <p> + That was Roland's first introduction to Miss Billy Verepoint. + </p> + <p> + “I've been wanting to have a chat with you all the evening, Mr. Bleke,” + she said, as Roland blushingly sank into the empty chair. “I've heard such + a lot about you.” + </p> + <p> + What Miss Verepoint had heard about Roland was that he had two hundred + thousand pounds and apparently did not know what to do with it. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, if I hadn't been told that you would be here, I shouldn't have + come to this party. Can't stand these gatherings of nuts in May as a + general rule. They bore me stiff.” + </p> + <p> + Roland hastily revised his first estimate of the theatrical profession. + Shallow, empty-headed creatures some of them might be, no doubt, but there + were exceptions. Here was a girl of real discernment—a thoughtful + student of character—a girl who understood that a man might sit at a + supper-party without uttering a word and might still be a man of parts. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you'll think me very outspoken—but that's me all over. + All my friends say, 'Billy Verepoint's a funny girl: if she likes any one + she just tells them so straight out; and if she doesn't like any one she + tells them straight out, too.'” + </p> + <p> + “And a very admirable trait,” said Roland, enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + Miss Verepoint sighed. “P'raps it is,” she said pensively, “but I'm afraid + it's what has kept me back in my profession. Managers don't like it: they + think girls should be seen and not heard.” + </p> + <p> + Roland's blood boiled. Managers were plainly a dastardly crew. + </p> + <p> + “But what's the good of worrying,” went on Miss Verepoint, with a brave + but hollow laugh. “Of course, it's wearing, having to wait when one has + got as much ambition as I have; but they all tell me that my chance is + bound to come some day.” + </p> + <p> + The intense mournfulness of Miss Verepoint's expression seemed to indicate + that she anticipated the arrival of the desired day not less than sixty + years hence. Roland was profoundly moved. His chivalrous nature was up in + arms. He fell to wondering if he could do anything to help this victim of + managerial unfairness. “You don't mind my going on about my troubles, do + you?” asked Miss Verepoint, solicitously. “One so seldom meets anybody + really sympathetic.” + </p> + <p> + Roland babbled fervent assurances, and she pressed his hand gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if you would care to come to tea one afternoon,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rather!” said Roland. He would have liked to put it in a more + polished way but he was almost beyond speech. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I know what a busy man you are——” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should be in to-morrow afternoon, if you cared to look in.” + </p> + <p> + Roland bleated gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “I'll write down the address for you,” said Miss Verepoint, suddenly + businesslike. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Exactly when he committed himself to the purchase of the Windsor Theater, + Roland could never say. The idea seemed to come into existence + fully-grown, without preliminary discussion. One moment it was not—the + next it was. His recollections of the afternoon which he spent drinking + lukewarm tea and punctuating Miss Verepoint's flow of speech with “yes's” + and “no's” were always so thoroughly confused that he never knew even + whose suggestion it was. + </p> + <p> + The purchase of a West-end theater, when one has the necessary cash, is + not nearly such a complicated business as the layman might imagine. Roland + was staggered by the rapidity with which the transaction was carried + through. The theater was his before he had time to realize that he had + never meant to buy the thing at all. He had gone into the offices of Mr. + Montague with the intention of making an offer for the lease for, say, six + months; and that wizard, in the space of less than an hour, had not only + induced him to sign mysterious documents which made him sole proprietor of + the house, but had left him with the feeling that he had done an extremely + acute stroke of business. Mr. Montague had dabbled in many professions in + his time, from street peddling upward, but what he was really best at was + hypnotism. + </p> + <p> + Altho he felt, after the spell of Mr. Montague's magnetism was withdrawn, + rather like a nervous man who has been given a large baby to hold by a + strange woman who has promptly vanished round the corner, Roland was to + some extent consoled by the praise bestowed upon him by Miss Verepoint. + She said it was much better to buy a theater than to rent it, because then + you escaped the heavy rent. It was specious, but Roland had a dim feeling + that there was a flaw somewhere in the reasoning; and it was from this + point that a shadow may be said to have fallen upon the brightness of the + venture. + </p> + <p> + He would have been even less self-congratulatory if he had known the + Windsor Theater's reputation. Being a comparative stranger in the + metropolis, he was unaware that its nickname in theatrical circles was + “The Mugs' Graveyard”—a title which had been bestowed upon it not + without reason. Built originally by a slightly insane old gentleman, whose + principal delusion was that the public was pining for a constant supply of + the Higher Drama, and more especially those specimens of the Higher Drama + which flowed practically without cessation from the restless pen of the + insane old gentleman himself, the Windsor Theater had passed from hand to + hand with the agility of a gold watch in a gathering of race-course + thieves. The one anxiety of the unhappy man who found himself, by some + accident, in possession of the Windsor Theater, was to pass it on to + somebody else. The only really permanent tenant it ever had was the + representative of the Official Receiver. + </p> + <p> + Various causes were assigned for the phenomenal ill-luck of the theater, + but undoubtedly the vital objection to it as a Temple of Drama lay in the + fact that nobody could ever find the place where it was hidden. Cabmen + shook their heads on the rare occasions when they were asked to take a + fare there. Explorers to whom a stroll through the Australian bush was + child's-play, had been known to spend an hour on its trail and finish up + at the point where they had started. + </p> + <p> + It was precisely this quality of elusiveness which had first attracted Mr. + Montague. He was a far-seeing man, and to him the topographical advantages + of the theater were enormous. It was further from a fire-station than any + other building of the same insurance value in London, even without having + regard to the mystery which enveloped its whereabouts. Often after a good + dinner he would lean comfortably back in his chair and see in the smoke of + his cigar a vision of the Windsor Theater blazing merrily, while + distracted firemen galloped madly all over London, vainly endeavoring to + get some one to direct them to the scene of the conflagration. So Mr. + Montague bought the theater for a mere song, and prepared to get busy. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily for him, the representatives of the various fire offices with + which he had effected his policies got busy first. The generous fellows + insisted upon taking off his shoulders the burden of maintaining the + fireman whose permanent presence in a theater is required by law. Nothing + would satisfy them but to install firemen of their own and pay their + salaries. This, to a man in whom the instincts of the phoenix were so + strongly developed as they were in Mr. Montague, was distinctly + disconcerting. He saw himself making no profit on the deal—a thing + which had never happened to him before. + </p> + <p> + And then Roland Bleke occurred, and Mr. Montague's belief that his race + was really chosen was restored. He sold the Windsor Theater to Roland for + twenty-five thousand pounds. It was fifteen thousand pounds more than he + himself had given for it, and this very satisfactory profit mitigated the + slight regret which he felt when it came to transferring to Roland the + insurance policies. To have effected policies amounting to rather more + than seventy thousand pounds on a building so notoriously valueless as the + Windsor Theater had been an achievement of which Mr. Montague was justly + proud, and it seemed sad to him that so much earnest endeavor should be + thrown away. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Over the little lunch with which she kindly allowed Roland to entertain + her, to celebrate the purchase of the theater, Miss Verepoint outlined her + policy. + </p> + <p> + “What we must put up at that theater,” she announced, “is a revue. A + revue,” repeated Miss Verepoint, making, as she spoke, little calculations + on the back of the menu, “we could run for about fifteen hundred a week—or, + say, two thousand.” + </p> + <p> + Saying two thousand, thought Roland to himself, is not quite the same as + paying two thousand, so why should she stint herself? + </p> + <p> + “I know two boys who could write us a topping revue,” said Miss Verepoint. + “They'd spread themselves, too, if it was for me. They're in love with me—both + of them. We'd better get in touch with them at once.” + </p> + <p> + To Roland, there seemed to be something just the least bit sinister about + the sound of that word “touch,” but he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Why, there they are—lunching over there!” cried Miss Verepoint, + pointing to a neighboring table. “Now, isn't that lucky?” + </p> + <p> + To Roland the luck was not quite so apparent, but he made no demur to Miss + Verepoint's suggestion that they should be brought over to their table. + </p> + <p> + The two boys, as to whose capabilities to write a topping revue Miss + Verepoint had formed so optimistic an estimate, proved to be well-grown + lads of about forty-five and forty, respectively. Of the two, Roland + thought that perhaps R. P. de Parys was a shade the more obnoxious, but a + closer inspection left him with the feeling that these fine distinctions + were a little unfair with men of such equal talents. Bromham Rhodes ran + his friend so close that it was practically a dead heat. They were both + fat and somewhat bulgy-eyed. This was due to the fact that what + revue-writing exacts from its exponents is the constant assimilation of + food and drink. Bromham Rhodes had the largest appetite in London; but, on + the other hand, R. P. de Parys was a better drinker. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear old thing!” said Bromham Rhodes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, old child!” said R. P. de Parys. + </p> + <p> + Both these remarks were addressed to Miss Verepoint. The talented pair + appeared to be unaware of Roland's existence. + </p> + <p> + Miss Verepoint struck the business note. “Now you stop, boys,” she said. + “Tie weights to yourselves and sink down into those chairs. I want you two + lads to write a revue for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted!” said Bromham Rhodes; “but——” + </p> + <p> + “There is the trifling point to be raised first——” said R. P. + de Parys. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the money coming from?” said Bromham Rhodes. + </p> + <p> + “My friend, Mr. Bleke, is putting up the money,” said Miss Verepoint, with + dignity. “He has taken the Windsor Theater.” + </p> + <p> + The interest of the two authors in their host, till then languid, + increased with a jerk. “Has he? By Jove!” they cried. “We must get + together and talk this over.” + </p> + <p> + It was Roland's first experience of a theatrical talking-over, and he + never forgot it. Two such talkers-over as Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de + Parys were scarcely to be found in the length and breadth of theatrical + London. Nothing, it seemed, could the gifted pair even begin to think of + doing without first discussing the proposition in all its aspects. The + amount of food which Roland found himself compelled to absorb during the + course of these debates was appalling. Discussions which began at lunch + would be continued until it was time to order dinner; and then, as likely + as not, they would have to sit there till supper-time in order to thrash + the question thoroughly out. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The collection of a cast was a matter even more complicated than the + actual composition of the revue. There was the almost insuperable + difficulty that Miss Verepoint firmly vetoed every name suggested. It + seemed practically impossible to find any man or woman in all England or + America whose peculiar gifts or lack of them would not interfere with Miss + Verepoint's giving a satisfactory performance of the principal role. It + was all very perplexing to Roland; but as Miss Verepoint was an expert in + theatrical matters, he scarcely felt entitled to question her views. + </p> + <p> + It was about this time that Roland proposed to Miss Verepoint. The passage + of time and the strain of talking over the revue had to a certain extent + moderated his original fervor. He had shaded off from a passionate + devotion, through various diminishing tints of regard for her, into a sort + of pale sunset glow of affection. His principal reason for proposing was + that it seemed to him to be in the natural order of events. Her air + towards him had become distinctly proprietorial. She now called him + “Roly-poly” in public—a proceeding which left him with mixed + feelings. Also, she had taken to ordering him about, which, as everybody + knows, is an unmistakable sign of affection among ladies of the theatrical + profession. Finally, in his chivalrous way, Roland had begun to feel a + little apprehensive lest he might be compromising Miss Verepoint. + Everybody knew that he was putting up the money for the revue in which she + was to appear; they were constantly seen together at restaurants; people + looked arch when they spoke to him about her. He had to ask himself: was + he behaving like a perfect gentleman? The answer was in the negative. He + took a cab to her flat and proposed before he could repent of his + decision. + </p> + <p> + She accepted him. He was not certain for a moment whether he was glad or + sorry. “But I don't want to get married,” she went on, “until I have + justified my choice of a profession. You will have to wait until I have + made a success in this revue.” + </p> + <p> + Roland was shocked to find himself hugely relieved at this concession. + </p> + <p> + The revue took shape. There did apparently exist a handful of artistes to + whom Miss Verepoint had no objection, and these—a scrubby but + confident lot—were promptly engaged. Sallow Americans sprang from + nowhere with songs, dances, and ideas for effects. Tousled-haired scenic + artists wandered in with model scenes under their arms. A great cloud of + chorus-ladies settled upon the theater like flies. Even Bromham Rhodes and + R. P. de Parys—those human pythons—showed signs of activity. + They cornered Roland one day near Swan and Edgar's, steered him into the + Piccadilly Grill-room and, over a hearty lunch, read him extracts from a + brown-paper-covered manuscript which, they informed him, was the first + act. + </p> + <p> + It looked a battered sort of manuscript and, indeed, it had every right to + be. Under various titles and at various times, Bromham Rhodes' and R. P. + de Parys' first act had been refused by practically every responsible + manager in London. As “Oh! What a Life!” it had failed to satisfy the + directors of the Empire. Re-christened “Wow-Wow!” it had been rejected by + the Alhambra. The Hippodrome had refused to consider it, even under the + name of “Hullo, Cellar-Flap!” It was now called, “Pass Along, Please!” + and, according to its authors, was a real revue. + </p> + <p> + Roland was to learn, as the days went on, that in the world in which he + was moving everything was real revue that was not a stunt or a corking + effect. He floundered in a sea of real revue, stunts, and corking effects. + As far as he could gather, the main difference between these things was + that real revue was something which had been stolen from some previous + English production, whereas a stunt or a corking effect was something + which had been looted from New York. A judicious blend of these, he was + given to understand, constituted the sort of thing the public wanted. + </p> + <p> + Rehearsals began before, in Roland's opinion, his little army was properly + supplied with ammunition. True, they had the first act, but even the + authors agreed that it wanted bringing up-to-date in parts. They explained + that it was, in a manner of speaking, their life-work, that they had + actually started it about ten years ago when they were careless lads. + Inevitably, it was spotted here and there with smart topical hits of the + early years of the century; but that, they said, would be all right. They + could freshen it up in a couple of evenings; it was simply a matter of + deleting allusions to pro-Boers and substituting lines about Marconi + shares and mangel-wurzels. “It'll be all right,” they assured Roland; + “this is real revue.” + </p> + <p> + In times of trouble there is always a point at which one may say, “Here is + the beginning of the end.” This point came with Roland at the commencement + of the rehearsals. Till then he had not fully realized the terrible nature + of the production for which he had made himself responsible. Moreover, it + was rehearsals which gave him his first clear insight into the character + of Miss Verepoint. + </p> + <p> + Miss Verepoint was not at her best at rehearsals. For the first time, as + he watched her, Roland found himself feeling that there was a case to be + made out for the managers who had so consistently kept her in the + background. Miss Verepoint, to use the technical term, threw her weight + about. There were not many good lines in the script of act one of “Pass + Along, Please!” but such as there were she reached out for and grabbed + away from their owners, who retired into corners, scowling and muttering, + like dogs robbed of bones. She snubbed everybody, Roland included. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Roland sat in the cold darkness of the stalls and watched her, + panic-stricken. Like an icy wave, it had swept over him what marriage with + this girl would mean. He suddenly realised how essentially domestic his + instincts really were. Life with Miss Verepoint would mean perpetual + dinners at restaurants, bread-throwing suppers, motor-rides—everything + that he hated most. Yet, as a man of honor, he was tied to her. If the + revue was a success, she would marry him—and revues, he knew, were + always successes. At that very moment there were six “best revues in + London,” running at various theaters. He shuddered at the thought that in + a few weeks there would be seven. + </p> + <p> + He felt a longing for rural solitude. He wanted to be alone by himself for + a day or two in a place where there were no papers with advertisements of + revues, no grill-rooms, and, above all, no Miss Billy Verepoint. That + night he stole away to a Norfolk village, where, in happier days, he had + once spent a Summer holiday—a peaceful, primitive place where the + inhabitants could not have told real revue from a corking effect. + </p> + <p> + Here, for the space of a week, Roland lay in hiding, while his quivering + nerves gradually recovered tone. He returned to London happier, but a + little apprehensive. Beyond a brief telegram of farewell, he had not + communicated with Miss Verepoint for seven days, and experience had made + him aware that she was a lady who demanded an adequate amount of + attention. + </p> + <p> + That his nervous system was not wholly restored to health was borne in + upon him as he walked along Piccadilly on his way to his flat; for, when + somebody suddenly slapped him hard between the shoulder-blades, he uttered + a stifled yell and leaped in the air. + </p> + <p> + Turning to face his assailant, he found himself meeting the genial gaze of + Mr. Montague, his predecessor in the ownership of the Windsor Theater. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Montague was effusively friendly, and, for some mysterious reason, + congratulatory. + </p> + <p> + “You've done it, have you? You pulled it off, did you? And in the first + month—by George! And I took you for the plain, ordinary mug of + commerce! My boy, you're as deep as they make 'em. Who'd have thought it, + to look at you? It was the greatest idea any one ever had and staring me + in the face all the time and I never saw it! But I don't grudge it to you—you + deserve it my boy! You're a nut!” + </p> + <p> + “I really don't know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, my boy!” chuckled Mr. Montague. “You're quite right to keep + it up, even among friends. It don't do to risk anything, and the least + said soonest mended.” + </p> + <p> + He went on his way, leaving Roland completely mystified. + </p> + <p> + Voices from his sitting-room, among which he recognized the high note of + Miss Verepoint, reminded him of the ordeal before him. He entered with + what he hoped was a careless ease of manner, but his heart was beating + fast. Since the opening of rehearsals he had acquired a wholesome respect + for Miss Verepoint's tongue. She was sitting in his favorite chair. There + were also present Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de Parys, who had made + themselves completely at home with a couple of his cigars and whisky from + the oldest bin. + </p> + <p> + “So here you are at last!” said Miss Verepoint, querulously. “The valet + told us you were expected back this morning, so we waited. Where on earth + have you been to, running away like this, without a word?” + </p> + <p> + “I only went——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn't matter where you went. The main point is, what are you + going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “We thought we'd better come along and talk it over,” said R. P. de Parys. + </p> + <p> + “Talk what over?” said Roland: “the revue?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't try and be funny, for goodness' sake!” snapped Miss Verepoint. + “It doesn't suit you. You haven't the right shape of head. What do you + suppose we want to talk over? The theater, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the theater?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verepoint looked searchingly at him. “Don't you ever read the + papers?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen a paper since I went away.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, better have it quick and not waste time breaking it gently,” said + Miss Verepoint. “The theater's been burned down—that's what's + happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Burned down?” + </p> + <p> + “Burned down!” repeated Roland. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I said, didn't I? The suffragettes did it. They left copies + of 'Votes for Women' about the place. The silly asses set fire to two + other theaters as well, but they happened to be in main thoroughfares and + the fire-brigade got them under control at once. I suppose they couldn't + find the Windsor. Anyhow, it's burned to the ground and what we want to + know is what are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + Roland was much too busy blessing the good angels of Kingsway to reply at + once. R. P. de Parys, sympathetic soul, placed a wrong construction on his + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Roly!” he said. “It's quite broken him up. The best thing we can + do is all to go off and talk it over at the Savoy, over a bit of lunch.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Miss Verepoint, “what are you going to do—rebuild the + Windsor or try and get another theater?” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The authors were all for rebuilding the Windsor. True, it would take time, + but it would be more satisfactory in every way. Besides, at this time of + the year it would be no easy matter to secure another theater at a + moment's notice. + </p> + <p> + To R. P. de Parys and Bromham Rhodes the destruction of the Windsor + Theater had appeared less in the light of a disaster than as a direct + intervention on the part of Providence. The completion of that tiresome + second act, which had brooded over their lives like an ugly cloud, could + now be postponed indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said R. P. de Parys, thoughtfully, “our contract with you + makes it obligatory on you to produce our revue by a certain date—but + I dare say, Bromham, we could meet Roly there, couldn't we?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure!” said Rhodes. “Something nominal, say a further five hundred on + account of fees would satisfy us. I certainly think it would be better to + rebuild the Windsor, don't you, R. P.?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” agreed R. P. de Parys, cordially. “You see, Roly, our revue has + been written to fit the Windsor. It would be very difficult to alter it + for production at another theater. Yes, I feel sure that rebuilding the + Windsor would be your best course.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think, Roly-poly?” asked Miss Verepoint, as Roland made no + sign. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing would delight me more than to rebuild the Windsor, or to take + another theater, or do anything else to oblige,” he said, cheerfully. + “Unfortunately, I have no more money to burn.” + </p> + <p> + It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in the room. A dreadful silence + fell upon his hearers. For the moment no one spoke. R. P. de Parys woke + with a start out of a beautiful dream of prawn curry and Bromham Rhodes + forgot that he had not tasted food for nearly two hours. Miss Verepoint + was the first to break the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say,” she gasped, “that you didn't insure the place?” + </p> + <p> + Roland shook his head. The particular form in which Miss Verepoint had put + the question entitled him, he felt, to make this answer. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you?” Miss Verepoint's tone was almost menacing. + </p> + <p> + “Because it did not appear to me to be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Nor was it necessary, said Roland to his conscience. Mr. Montague had done + all the insuring that was necessary—and a bit over. + </p> + <p> + Miss Verepoint fought with her growing indignation, and lost. “What about + the salaries of the people who have been rehearsing all this time?” she + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry that they should be out of an engagement, but it is scarcely my + fault. However, I propose to give each of them a month's salary. I can + manage that, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verepoint rose. “And what about me? What about me, that's what I want + to know. Where do I get off? If you think I'm going to marry you without + your getting a theater and putting up this revue you're jolly well + mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + Roland made a gesture which was intended to convey regret and resignation. + He even contrived to sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said Miss Verepoint, rightly interpreting this behavior + as his final pronouncement on the situation. “Then everything's jolly well + off.” + </p> + <p> + She swept out of the room, the two authors following in her wake like + porpoises behind a liner. Roland went to his bureau, unlocked it and took + out a bundle of documents. He let his fingers stray lovingly among the + fire insurance policies which energetic Mr. Montague had been at such + pains to secure from so many companies. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” he said softly to himself, “am I.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EPISODE OF THE LIVE WEEKLY + </h2> + <p> + Fourth of a Series of Six Stories [First published in <i>Pictorial Review</i>, + August 1916] + </p> + <p> + It was with a start that Roland Bleke realized that the girl at the other + end of the bench was crying. For the last few minutes, as far as his + preoccupation allowed him to notice them at all, he had been attributing + the subdued sniffs to a summer cold, having just recovered from one + himself. + </p> + <p> + He was embarrassed. He blamed the fate that had led him to this particular + bench, but he wished to give himself up to quiet deliberation on the + question of what on earth he was to do with two hundred and fifty thousand + pounds, to which figure his fortune had now risen. + </p> + <p> + The sniffs continued. Roland's discomfort increased. Chivalry had always + been his weakness. In the old days, on a hundred and forty pounds a year, + he had had few opportunities of indulging himself in this direction; but + now it seemed to him sometimes that the whole world was crying out for + assistance. + </p> + <p> + Should he speak to her? He wanted to; but only a few days ago his eyes had + been caught by the placard of a weekly paper bearing the title of + 'Squibs,' on which in large letters was the legend “Men Who Speak to + Girls,” and he had gathered that the accompanying article was a + denunciation rather than a eulogy of these individuals. On the other hand, + she was obviously in distress. + </p> + <p> + Another sniff decided him. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The girl looked at him. She was small, and at the present moment had that + air of the floweret surprized while shrinking, which adds a good + thirty-three per cent. to a girl's attractions. Her nose, he noted, was + delicately tip-tilted. A certain pallor added to her beauty. Roland's + heart executed the opening steps of a buck-and-wing dance. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” he went on, “but you appear to be in trouble. Is there + anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again—a keen look which seemed to get into + Roland's soul and walk about it with a searchlight. Then, as if satisfied + by the inspection, she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't think there is,” she said. “Unless you happen to be the + proprietor of a weekly paper with a Woman's Page, and need an editress for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all any one could do for me—give me back my work or + give me something else of the same sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you lost your job?” + </p> + <p> + “I have. So would you mind going away, because I want to go on crying, and + I do it better alone. You won't mind my turning you out, I hope, but I was + here first, and there are heaps of other benches.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but wait a minute. I want to hear about this. I might be able—what + I mean is—think of something. Tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + There is no doubt that the possession of two hundred and fifty thousand + pounds tones down a diffident man's diffidence. Roland began to feel + almost masterful. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “There's something in that,” said the girl reflectively. “After all, you + might know somebody. Well, as you want to know, I have just been + discharged from a paper called 'Squibs.' I used to edit the Woman's Page.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, did you write that article on 'Men Who Speak——'?” + </p> + <p> + The hard manner in which she had wrapped herself as in a garment vanished + instantly. Her eyes softened. She even blushed. Just a becoming pink, you + know! + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say you read it? I didn't think that any one ever + really read 'Squibs.'” + </p> + <p> + “Read it!” cried Roland, recklessly abandoning truth. “I should jolly well + think so. I know it by heart. Do you mean to say that, after an article + like that, they actually sacked you? Threw you out as a failure?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they didn't send me away for incompetence. It was simply because they + couldn't afford to keep me on. Mr. Petheram was very nice about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Mr. Petheram?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Petheram's everything. He calls himself the editor, but he's really + everything except office-boy, and I expect he'll be that next week. When I + started with the paper, there was quite a large staff. But it got whittled + down by degrees till there was only Mr. Petheram and myself. It was like + the crew of the 'Nancy Bell.' They got eaten one by one, till I was the + only one left. And now I've gone. Mr. Petheram is doing the whole paper + now.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it that he can't get anything better to do?” Roland said. + </p> + <p> + “He has done lots of better things. He used to be at Carmelite House, but + they thought he was too old.” + </p> + <p> + Roland felt relieved. He conjured up a picture of a white-haired elder + with a fatherly manner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's old, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-four.” + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence. Something in the girl's expression stung + Roland. She wore a rapt look, as if she were dreaming of the absent + Petheram, confound him. He would show her that Petheram was not the only + man worth looking rapt about. + </p> + <p> + He rose. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind giving me your address?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “In order,” said Roland carefully, “that I may offer you your former + employment on 'Squibs.' I am going to buy it.” + </p> + <p> + After all, your man of dash and enterprise, your Napoleon, does have his + moments. Without looking at her, he perceived that he had bowled her over + completely. Something told him that she was staring at him, open-mouthed. + Meanwhile, a voice within him was muttering anxiously, “I wonder how much + this is going to cost.” + </p> + <p> + “You're going to buy 'Squibs!'” + </p> + <p> + Her voice had fallen away to an awestruck whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + She gulped. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think you're wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + So did Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Where will a letter find you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “My name is March. Bessie March. I'm living at twenty-seven Guildford + Street.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-seven. Thank you. Good morning. I will communicate with you in due + course.” + </p> + <p> + He raised his hat and walked away. He had only gone a few steps, when + there was a patter of feet behind him. He turned. + </p> + <p> + “I—I just wanted to thank you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Roland. “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + He went on his way, tingling with just triumph. Petheram? Who was + Petheram? Who, in the name of goodness, was Petheram? He had put Petheram + in his proper place, he rather fancied. Petheram, forsooth. Laughable. + </p> + <p> + A copy of the current number of 'Squibs,' purchased at a book-stall, + informed him, after a minute search to find the editorial page, that the + offices of the paper were in Fetter Lane. It was evidence of his exalted + state of mind that he proceeded thither in a cab. + </p> + <p> + Fetter Lane is one of those streets in which rooms that have only just + escaped being cupboards by a few feet achieve the dignity of offices. + There might have been space to swing a cat in the editorial sanctum of + 'Squibs,' but it would have been a near thing. As for the outer office, in + which a vacant-faced lad of fifteen received Roland and instructed him to + wait while he took his card in to Mr. Petheram, it was a mere box. Roland + was afraid to expand his chest for fear of bruising it. + </p> + <p> + The boy returned to say that Mr. Petheram would see him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Petheram was a young man with a mop of hair, and an air of almost + painful restraint. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and the table before him + was heaped high with papers. Opposite him, evidently in the act of taking + his leave was a comfortable-looking man of middle age with a red face and + a short beard. He left as Roland entered and Roland was surprized to see + Mr. Petheram spring to his feet, shake his fist at the closing door, and + kick the wall with a vehemence which brought down several inches of + discolored plaster. + </p> + <p> + “Take a seat,” he said, when he had finished this performance. “What can I + do for you?” + </p> + <p> + Roland had always imagined that editors in their private offices were less + easily approached and, when approached, more brusk. The fact was that Mr. + Petheram, whose optimism nothing could quench, had mistaken him for a + prospective advertiser. + </p> + <p> + “I want to buy the paper,” said Roland. He was aware that this was an + abrupt way of approaching the subject, but, after all, he did want to buy + the paper, so why not say so? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Petheram fizzed in his chair. He glowed with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me there's a single book-stall in London which has + sold out? Great Scott, perhaps they've all sold out! How many did you + try?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean buy the whole paper. Become proprietor, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Roland felt that he was blushing, and hated himself for it. He ought to be + carrying this thing through with an air. Mr. Petheram looked at him + blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” said Roland. He felt the interview was going all + wrong. It lacked a stateliness which this kind of interview should have + had. + </p> + <p> + “Honestly?” said Mr. Petheram. “You aren't pulling my leg?” + </p> + <p> + Roland nodded. Mr. Petheram appeared to struggle with his conscience, and + finally to be worsted by it, for his next remarks were limpidly honest. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be an ass,” he said. “You don't know what you're letting + yourself in for. Did you see that blighter who went out just now? Do you + know who he is? That's the fellow we've got to pay five pounds a week to + for life.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “We can't get rid of him. When the paper started, the proprietors—not + the present ones—thought it would give the thing a boom if they had + a football competition with a first prize of a fiver a week for life. + Well, that's the man who won it. He's been handed down as a legacy from + proprietor to proprietor, till now we've got him. Ages ago they tried to + get him to compromise for a lump sum down, but he wouldn't. Said he would + only spend it, and preferred to get it by the week. Well, by the time + we've paid that vampire, there isn't much left out of our profits. That's + why we are at the present moment a little understaffed.” + </p> + <p> + A frown clouded Mr. Petheram's brow. Roland wondered if he was thinking of + Bessie March. + </p> + <p> + “I know all about that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And you still want to buy the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But what on earth for? Mind you, I ought not to be crabbing my own paper + like this, but you seem a good chap, and I don't want to see you landed. + Why are you doing it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just for fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now you're talking. If you can afford expensive amusements, go + ahead.” + </p> + <p> + He put his feet on the table, and lit a short pipe. His gloomy views on + the subject of 'Squibs' gave way to a wave of optimism. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said, “there's really a lot of life in the old rag yet. If + it were properly run. What has hampered us has been lack of capital. We + haven't been able to advertise. I'm bursting with ideas for booming the + paper, only naturally you can't do it for nothing. As for editing, what I + don't know about editing—but perhaps you had got somebody else in + your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Roland, who would not have known an editor from an + office-boy. The thought of interviewing prospective editors appalled him. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” resumed Mr. Petheram, reassured, kicking over a heap of + papers to give more room for his feet. “Take it that I continue as editor. + We can discuss terms later. Under the present regime I have been doing all + the work in exchange for a happy home. I suppose you won't want to spoil + the ship for a ha'porth of tar? In other words, you would sooner have a + happy, well-fed editor running about the place than a broken-down wreck + who might swoon from starvation?” + </p> + <p> + “But one moment,” said Roland. “Are you sure that the present proprietors + will want to sell?” + </p> + <p> + “Want to sell,” cried Mr. Petheram enthusiastically. “Why, if they know + you want to buy, you've as much chance of getting away from them without + the paper as—as—well, I can't think of anything that has such + a poor chance of anything. If you aren't quick on your feet, they'll cry + on your shoulder. Come along, and we'll round them up now.” + </p> + <p> + He struggled into his coat, and gave his hair an impatient brush with a + note-book. + </p> + <p> + “There's just one other thing,” said Roland. “I have been a regular reader + of 'Squibs' for some time, and I particularly admire the way in which the + Woman's Page——” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you want to reengage the editress? Rather. You couldn't do + better. I was going to suggest it myself. Now, come along quick before you + change your mind or wake up.” + </p> + <p> + Within a very few days of becoming sole proprietor of 'Squibs,' Roland + began to feel much as a man might who, a novice at the art of steering + cars, should find himself at the wheel of a runaway motor. Young Mr. + Petheram had spoken nothing less than the truth when he had said that he + was full of ideas for booming the paper. The infusion of capital into the + business acted on him like a powerful stimulant. He exuded ideas at every + pore. + </p> + <p> + Roland's first notion had been to engage a staff of contributors. He was + under the impression that contributors were the life-blood of a weekly + journal. Mr. Petheram corrected this view. He consented to the purchase of + a lurid serial story, but that was the last concession he made. Nobody + could accuse Mr. Petheram of lack of energy. He was willing, even anxious, + to write the whole paper himself, with the exception of the Woman's Page, + now brightly conducted once more by Miss March. What he wanted Roland to + concentrate himself upon was the supplying of capital for ingenious + advertising schemes. + </p> + <p> + “How would it be,” he asked one morning—he always began his remarks + with, “How would it be?”—“if we paid a man to walk down Piccadilly + in white skin-tights with the word 'Squibs' painted in red letters across + his chest?” + </p> + <p> + Roland thought it would certainly not be. + </p> + <p> + “Good sound advertising stunt,” urged Mr. Petheram. “You don't like it? + All right. You're the boss. Well, how would it be to have a squad of men + dressed as Zulus with white shields bearing the legend 'Squibs?' See what + I mean? Have them sprinting along the Strand shouting, 'Wah! Wah! Wah! Buy + it! Buy it!' It would make people talk.” + </p> + <p> + Roland emerged from these interviews with his skin crawling with modest + apprehension. His was a retiring nature, and the thought of Zulus + sprinting down the Strand shouting “Wah! Wah! Wah! Buy it! Buy it!” with + reference to his personal property appalled him. + </p> + <p> + He was beginning now heartily to regret having bought the paper, as he + generally regretted every definite step which he took. The glow of romance + which had sustained him during the preliminary negotiations had faded + entirely. A girl has to be possessed of unusual charm to continue to + captivate B, when she makes it plain daily that her heart is the exclusive + property of A; and Roland had long since ceased to cherish any delusion + that Bessie March was ever likely to feel anything but a mild liking for + him. Young Mr. Petheram had obviously staked out an indisputable claim. + Her attitude toward him was that of an affectionate devotee toward a high + priest. One morning, entering the office unexpectedly, Roland found her + kissing the top of Mr. Petheram's head; and from that moment his interest + in the fortunes of 'Squibs' sank to zero. It amazed him that he could ever + have been idiot enough to have allowed himself to be entangled in this + insane venture for the sake of an insignificant-looking bit of a girl with + a snub-nose and a poor complexion. + </p> + <p> + What particularly galled him was the fact that he was throwing away good + cash for nothing. It was true that his capital was more than equal to the, + on the whole, modest demands of the paper, but that did not alter the fact + that he was wasting money. Mr. Petheram always talked buoyantly about + turning the corner, but the corner always seemed just as far off. + </p> + <p> + The old idea of flight, to which he invariably had recourse in any crisis, + came upon Roland with irresistible force. He packed a bag, and went to + Paris. There, in the discomforts of life in a foreign country, he + contrived for a month to forget his white elephant. + </p> + <p> + He returned by the evening train which deposits the traveler in London in + time for dinner. + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough, nothing was farther from Roland's mind than his bright + weekly paper, as he sat down to dine in a crowded grill-room near + Piccadilly Circus. Four weeks of acute torment in a city where nobody + seemed to understand the simplest English sentence had driven 'Squibs' + completely from his mind for the time being. + </p> + <p> + The fact that such a paper existed was brought home to him with the + coffee. A note was placed upon his table by the attentive waiter. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The lady, sare,” said the waiter vaguely. + </p> + <p> + Roland looked round the room excitedly. The spirit of romance gripped him. + There were many ladies present, for this particular restaurant was a + favorite with artistes who were permitted to “look in” at their theaters + as late as eight-thirty. None of them looked particularly self-conscious, + yet one of them had sent him this quite unsolicited tribute. He tore open + the envelope. + </p> + <p> + The message, written in a flowing feminine hand, was brief, and Mrs. + Grundy herself could have taken no exception to it. + </p> + <p> + “'Squibs,' one penny weekly, buy it,” it ran. All the mellowing effects of + a good dinner passed away from Roland. He was feverishly irritated. He + paid his bill and left the place. + </p> + <p> + A visit to a neighboring music-hall occurred to him as a suitable + sedative. Hardly had his nerves ceased to quiver sufficiently to allow him + to begin to enjoy the performance, when, in the interval between two of + the turns, a man rose in one of the side boxes. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a doctor in the house?” + </p> + <p> + There was a hush in the audience. All eyes were directed toward the box. A + man in the stalls rose, blushing, and cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “My wife has fainted,” continued the speaker. “She has just discovered + that she has lost her copy of 'Squibs.'” + </p> + <p> + The audience received the statement with the bovine stolidity of an + English audience in the presence of the unusual. + </p> + <p> + Not so Roland. Even as the purposeful-looking chuckers-out wended their + leopard-like steps toward the box, he was rushing out into the street. + </p> + <p> + As he stood cooling his indignation in the pleasant breeze which had + sprung up, he was aware of a dense crowd proceeding toward him. It was + headed by an individual who shone out against the drab background like a + good deed in a naughty world. Nature hath framed strange fellows in her + time, and this was one of the strangest that Roland's bulging eyes had + ever rested upon. He was a large, stout man, comfortably clad in a suit of + white linen, relieved by a scarlet 'Squibs' across the bosom. His top-hat, + at least four sizes larger than any top-hat worn out of a pantomime, + flaunted the same word in letters of flame. His umbrella, which, tho the + weather was fine, he carried open above his head, bore the device “One + penny weekly”. + </p> + <p> + The arrest of this person by a vigilant policeman and Roland's dive into a + taxicab occurred simultaneously. Roland was blushing all over. His head + was in a whirl. He took the evening paper handed in through the window of + the cab quite mechanically, and it was only the strong exhortations of the + vendor which eventually induced him to pay for it. This he did with a + sovereign, and the cab drove off. + </p> + <p> + He was just thinking of going to bed several hours later, when it occurred + to him that he had not read his paper. He glanced at the first page. The + middle column was devoted to a really capitally written account of the + proceedings at Bow Street consequent upon the arrest of six men who, it + was alleged, had caused a crowd to collect to the disturbance of the peace + by parading the Strand in the undress of Zulu warriors, shouting in unison + the words “Wah! Wah! Wah! Buy 'Squibs.'” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Young Mr. Petheram greeted Roland with a joyous enthusiasm which the hound + Argus, on the return of Ulysses, might have equalled but could scarcely + have surpassed. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to be Mr. Petheram's considered opinion that God was in His + Heaven and all was right with the world. Roland's attempts to correct this + belief fell on deaf ears. + </p> + <p> + “Have I seen the advertisements?” he cried, echoing his editor's first + question. “I've seen nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Mr. Petheram proudly. + </p> + <p> + “It can't go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it can. Don't you worry. I know they're arrested as fast as we send + them out, but, bless you, the supply's endless. Ever since the Revue boom + started and actors were expected to do six different parts in seven + minutes, there are platoons of music-hall 'pros' hanging about the Strand, + ready to take on any sort of job you offer them. I have a special staff + flushing the Bodegas. These fellows love it. It's meat and drink to them + to be right in the public eye like that. Makes them feel ten years + younger. It's wonderful the talent knocking about. Those Zulus used to + have a steady job as the Six Brothers Biff, Society Contortionists. The + Revue craze killed them professionally. They cried like children when we + took them on. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, could you put through an expenses cheque before you go? The + fines mount up a bit. But don't you worry about that either. We're coining + money. I'll show you the returns in a minute. I told you we should turn + the corner. Turned it! Blame me, we've whizzed round it on two wheels. + Have you had time to see the paper since you got back? No? Then you + haven't seen our new Scandal Page—'We Just Want to Know, You Know.' + It's a corker, and it's sent the circulation up like a rocket. Everybody + reads 'Squibs' now. I was hoping you would come back soon. I wanted to ask + you about taking new offices. We're a bit above this sort of thing now.” + </p> + <p> + Roland, meanwhile, was reading with horrified eyes the alleged corking + Scandal Page. It seemed to him without exception the most frightful + production he had ever seen. It appalled him. + </p> + <p> + “This is awful,” he moaned. “We shall have a hundred libel actions.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, that's all right. It's all fake stuff, tho the public doesn't + know it. If you stuck to real scandals you wouldn't get a par. a week. A + more moral set of blameless wasters than the blighters who constitute + modern society you never struck. But it reads all right, doesn't it? Of + course, every now and then one does hear something genuine, and then it + goes in. For instance, have you ever heard of Percy Pook, the bookie? I + have got a real ripe thing in about Percy this week, the absolute limpid + truth. It will make him sit up a bit. There, just under your thumb.” + </p> + <p> + Roland removed his thumb, and, having read the paragraph in question, + started as if he had removed it from a snake. + </p> + <p> + “But this is bound to mean a libel action!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,” said Mr. Petheram comfortably. “You don't know Percy. I + won't bore you with his life-history, but take it from me he doesn't rush + into a court of law from sheer love of it. You're safe enough.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + But it appeared that Mr. Pook, tho coy in the matter of cleansing his + scutcheon before a judge and jury, was not wholly without weapons of + defense and offense. Arriving at the office next day, Roland found a scene + of desolation, in the middle of which, like Marius among the ruins of + Carthage, sat Jimmy, the vacant-faced office boy. Jimmy was reading an + illustrated comic paper, and appeared undisturbed by his surroundings. + </p> + <p> + “He's gorn,” he observed, looking up as Roland entered. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” Roland snapped at him. “Who's gone and where did he + go? And besides that, when you speak to your superiors you will rise and + stop chewing that infernal gum. It gets on my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + Jimmy neither rose nor relinquished his gum. He took his time and + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Petheram. A couple of fellers come in and went through, and there was + a uproar inside there, and presently out they come running, and I went in, + and there was Mr. Petheram on the floor knocked silly and the furniture + all broke, and now 'e's gorn to 'orspital. Those fellers 'ad been putting + 'im froo it proper,” concluded Jimmy with moody relish. + </p> + <p> + Roland sat down weakly. Jimmy, his tale told, resumed the study of his + illustrated paper. Silence reigned in the offices of 'Squibs.' + </p> + <p> + It was broken by the arrival of Miss March. Her exclamation of + astonishment at the sight of the wrecked room led to a repetition of + Jimmy's story. + </p> + <p> + She vanished on hearing the name of the hospital to which the stricken + editor had been removed, and returned an hour later with flashing eyes and + a set jaw. + </p> + <p> + “Aubrey,” she said—it was news to Roland that Mr. Petheram's name + was Aubrey—“is very much knocked about, but he is conscious and + sitting up and taking nourishment.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good.” + </p> + <p> + “In a spoon only.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor says he will not be out for a week. Aubrey is certain it was + that horrible book-maker's men who did it, but of course he can prove + nothing. But his last words to me were, 'Slip it into Percy again this + week.' He has given me one or two things to mention. I don't understand + them, but Aubrey says they will make him wild.” + </p> + <p> + Roland's flesh crept. The idea of making Mr. Pook any wilder than he + appeared to be at present horrified him. Panic gave him strength, and he + addressed Miss March, who was looking more like a modern Joan of Arc than + anything else on earth, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Miss March,” he said, “I realize that this is a crisis, and that we must + all do all that we can for the paper, and I am ready to do anything in + reason—but I will not slip it into Percy. You have seen the effects + of slipping it into Percy. What he or his minions will do if we repeat the + process I do not care to think.” + </p> + <p> + “You are afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Roland simply. + </p> + <p> + Miss March turned on her heel. It was plain that she regarded him as a + worm. Roland did not like being thought a worm, but it was infinitely + better than being regarded as an interesting case by the house-surgeon of + a hospital. He belonged to the school of thought which holds that it is + better that people should say of you, “There he goes!” than that they + should say, “How peaceful he looks”. + </p> + <p> + Stress of work prevented further conversation. It was a revelation to + Roland, the vigor and energy with which Miss March threw herself into the + breach. As a matter of fact, so tremendous had been the labors of the + departed Mr. Petheram, that her work was more apparent than real. Thanks + to Mr. Petheram, there was a sufficient supply of material in hand to + enable 'Squibs' to run a fortnight on its own momentum. Roland, however, + did not know this, and with a view to doing what little he could to help, + he informed Miss March that he would write the Scandal Page. It must be + added that the offer was due quite as much to prudence as to chivalry. + Roland simply did not dare to trust her with the Scandal Page. In her + present mood it was not safe. To slip it into Percy would, he felt, be + with her the work of a moment. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Literary composition had never been Roland's forte. He sat and stared at + the white paper and chewed the pencil which should have been marring its + whiteness with stinging paragraphs. No sort of idea came to him. + </p> + <p> + His brow grew damp. What sort of people—except book-makers—did + things you could write scandal about? As far as he could ascertain, + nobody. + </p> + <p> + He picked up the morning paper. The name Windlebird [*] caught his eye. A + kind of pleasant melancholy came over him as he read the paragraph. How + long ago it seemed since he had met that genial financier. The paragraph + was not particularly interesting. It gave a brief account of some large + deal which Mr. Windlebird was negotiating. Roland did not understand a + word of it, but it gave him an idea. + </p> + <p> + [*] He is a character in the Second Episode, a fraudulent financier. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Windlebird's financial standing, he knew, was above suspicion. Mr. + Windlebird had made that clear to him during his visit. There could be no + possibility of offending Mr. Windlebird by a paragraph or two about the + manners and customs of financiers. Phrases which his kindly host had used + during his visit came back to him, and with them inspiration. + </p> + <p> + Within five minutes he had compiled the following + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WE JUST WANT TO KNOW, YOU KNOW + + WHO is the eminent financier at present engaged upon one of his + biggest deals? + + WHETHER the public would not be well-advised to look a little + closer into it before investing their money? + + IF it is not a fact that this gentleman has bought a first-class + ticket to the Argentine in case of accidents? + + WHETHER he may not have to use it at any moment? +</pre> + <p> + After that it was easy. Ideas came with a rush. By the end of an hour he + had completed a Scandal Page of which Mr. Petheram himself might have been + proud, without a suggestion of slipping it into Percy. He felt that he + could go to Mr. Pook, and say, “Percy, on your honor as a British + book-maker, have I slipped it into you in any way whatsoever?” And Mr. + Pook would be compelled to reply, “You have not.” + </p> + <p> + Miss March read the proofs of the page, and sniffed. But Miss March's + blood was up, and she would have sniffed at anything not directly hostile + to Mr. Pook. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A week later Roland sat in the office of 'Squibs,' reading a letter. It + had been sent from No. 18-A Bream's Buildings, E.C., but, from Roland's + point of view, it might have come direct from heaven; for its contents, + signed by Harrison, Harrison, Harrison & Harrison, Solicitors, were to + the effect that a client of theirs had instructed them to approach him + with a view to purchasing the paper. He would not find their client + disposed to haggle over terms, so, hoped Messrs. Harrison, Harrison, + Harrison & Harrison, in the event of Roland being willing to sell, + they could speedily bring matters to a satisfactory conclusion. + </p> + <p> + Any conclusion which had left him free of 'Squibs' without actual + pecuniary loss would have been satisfactory to Roland. He had conceived a + loathing for his property which not even its steadily increasing sales + could mitigate. He was around at Messrs. Harrison's office as soon as a + swift taxi could take him there. The lawyers were for spinning the thing + out with guarded remarks and cautious preambles, but Roland's methods of + doing business were always rapid. + </p> + <p> + “This chap,” he said, “this fellow who wants to buy 'Squibs,' what'll he + give?” + </p> + <p> + “That,” began one of the Harrisons ponderously, “would, of course, largely + depend——” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take five thousand. Lock, stock, and barrel, including the present + staff, an even five thousand. How's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand is a large——” + </p> + <p> + “Take it or leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, you hold a pistol to our heads. However, I think that our + client might consent to the sum you mention.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Well, directly I get his check, the thing's his. By the way, who is + your client?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Harrison coughed. + </p> + <p> + “His name,” he said, “will be familiar to you. He is the eminent + financier, Mr. Geoffrey Windlebird.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DIVERTING EPISODE OF THE EXILED MONARCH + </h2> + <p> + Fifth of a Series of Six Stories [First published in <i>Pictorial Review</i>, + September 1916] + </p> + <p> + The caoutchouc was drawing all London. Slightly more indecent than the + Salome dance, a shade less reticent than ragtime, it had driven the tango + out of existence. Nor, indeed, did anybody actually caoutchouc, for the + national dance of Paranoya contained three hundred and fifteen recognized + steps; but everybody tried to. A new revue, “Hullo, Caoutchouc,” had been + produced with success. And the pioneer of the dance, the peerless + Maraquita, a native Paranoyan, still performed it nightly at the + music-hall where she had first broken loose. + </p> + <p> + The caoutchouc fascinated Roland Bleke. Maraquita fascinated him more. Of + all the women to whom he had lost his heart at first sight, Maraquita had + made the firmest impression upon him. She was what is sometimes called a + fine woman. + </p> + <p> + She had large, flashing eyes, the physique of a Rugby International + forward, and the agility of a cat on hot bricks. + </p> + <p> + There is a period of about fifty steps somewhere in the middle of the + three hundred and fifteen where the patient, abandoning the comparative + decorum of the earlier movements, whizzes about till she looks like a + salmon-colored whirlwind. + </p> + <p> + That was the bit that hit Roland. + </p> + <p> + Night after night he sat in his stage-box, goggling at Maraquita and + applauding wildly. + </p> + <p> + One night an attendant came to his box. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr. Roland Bleke? The Senorita Maraquita + wishes to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + He held open the door of the box. The possibility of refusal did not + appear to occur to him. Behind the scenes at that theater, it was + generally recognized that when the Peerless One wanted a thing, she got it—quick. + </p> + <p> + They were alone. + </p> + <p> + With no protective footlights between himself and her, Roland came to the + conclusion that he had made a mistake. It was not that she was any less + beautiful at the very close quarters imposed by the limits of the + dressing-room; but he felt that in falling in love with her he had + undertaken a contract a little too large for one of his quiet, diffident + nature. It crossed his mind that the sort of woman he really liked was the + rather small, drooping type. Dynamite would not have made Maraquita droop. + </p> + <p> + For perhaps a minute and a half Maraquita fixed her compelling eyes on his + without uttering a word. Then she broke a painful silence with this + leading question: + </p> + <p> + “You love me, <i>hein</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Roland nodded feebly. + </p> + <p> + “When men make love to me, I send them away—so.” + </p> + <p> + She waved her hand toward the door, and Roland began to feel almost + cheerful again. He was to be dismissed with a caution, after all. The + woman had a fine, forgiving nature. + </p> + <p> + “But not you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not you. You are the man I have been waiting for. I read about you in + the paper, Senor Bleke. I see your picture in the 'Daily Mirror!' I say to + myself, 'What a man!'” + </p> + <p> + “Those picture-paper photographs always make one look rather weird,” + mumbled Roland. + </p> + <p> + “I see you night after night in your box. Poof! I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully,” bleated Roland. + </p> + <p> + “You would do anything for my sake, <i>hein</i>? I knew you were that kind + of man directly I see you. No,” she added, as Roland writhed uneasily in + his chair, “do not embrace me. Later, yes, but now, no. Not till the Great + Day.” + </p> + <p> + What the Great Day might be Roland could not even faintly conjecture. He + could only hope that it would also be a remote one. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said the Senorita, throwing a cloak about her shoulders, “you + come away with me to my house. My friends are there awaiting us. They will + be glad and proud to meet you.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + After his first inspection of the house and the friends, Roland came to + the conclusion that he preferred Maraquita's room to her company. The + former was large and airy, the latter, with one exception, small and + hairy. + </p> + <p> + The exception Maraquita addressed as Bombito. He was a conspicuous figure. + He was one of those out-size, hasty-looking men. One suspected him of + carrying lethal weapons. + </p> + <p> + Maraquita presented Roland to the company. The native speech of Paranoya + sounded like shorthand, with a blend of Spanish. An expert could evidently + squeeze a good deal of it into a minute. Its effect on the company was + good. They were manifestly soothed. Even Bombito. + </p> + <p> + Introductions in detail then took place. This time, for Roland's benefit, + Maraquita spoke in English, and he learned that most of those present were + marquises. Before him, so he gathered from Maraquita, stood the very + flower of Paranoya's aristocracy, driven from their native land by the + Infamy of 1905. Roland was too polite to inquire what on earth the Infamy + of 1905 might be, but its mention had a marked effect on the company. Some + scowled, others uttered deep-throated oaths. Bombito did both. Before + supper, to which they presently sat down, was over, however, Roland knew a + good deal about Paranoya and its history. The conversation conducted by + Maraquita—to a ceaseless <i>bouche pleine</i> accompaniment from her + friends—bore exclusively upon the subject. + </p> + <p> + Paranoya had, it appeared, existed fairly peacefully for centuries under + the rule of the Alejandro dynasty. Then, in the reign of Alejandro the + Thirteenth, disaffection had begun to spread, culminating in the Infamy of + 1905, which, Roland had at last discovered, was nothing less than the + abolition of the monarchy and the installation of a republic. + </p> + <p> + Since 1905 the one thing for which they had lived, besides the caoutchouc, + was to see the monarchy restored and their beloved Alejandro the + Thirteenth back on his throne. Their efforts toward this end had been + untiring, and were at last showing signs of bearing fruit. Paranoya, + Maraquita assured Roland, was honeycombed with intrigue. The army was + disaffected, the people anxious for a return to the old order of things. + </p> + <p> + A more propitious moment for striking the decisive blow was never likely + to arrive. The question was purely one of funds. + </p> + <p> + At the mention of the word “funds,” Roland, who had become thoroughly + bored with the lecture on Paranoyan history, sat up and took notice. He + had an instinctive feeling that he was about to be called upon for a + subscription to the cause of the distressful country's freedom. Especially + by Bombito. + </p> + <p> + He was right. A moment later Maraquita began to make a speech. + </p> + <p> + She spoke in Paranoyan, and Roland could not follow her, but he gathered + that it somehow had reference to himself. + </p> + <p> + As, at the end of it, the entire company rose to their feet and extended + their glasses toward him with a mighty shout, he assumed that Maraquita + had been proposing his health. + </p> + <p> + “They say 'To the liberator of Paranoya!'” kindly translated the Peerless + One. “You must excuse,” said Maraquita tolerantly, as a bevy of patriots + surrounded Roland and kissed him on the cheek. “They are so grateful to + the savior of our country. I myself would kiss you, were it not that I + have sworn that no man's lips shall touch mine till the royal standard + floats once more above the palace of Paranoya. But that will be soon, very + soon,” she went on. “With you on our side we can not fail.” + </p> + <p> + What did the woman mean? Roland asked himself wildly. Did she labor under + the distressing delusion that he proposed to shed his blood on behalf of a + deposed monarch to whom he had never been introduced? + </p> + <p> + Maraquita's next remarks made the matter clear. + </p> + <p> + “I have told them,” she said, “that you love me, that you are willing to + risk everything for my sake. I have promised them that you, the rich Senor + Bleke, will supply the funds for the revolution. Once more, comrades. To + the Savior of Paranoya!” + </p> + <p> + Roland tried his hardest to catch the infection of this patriotic + enthusiasm, but somehow he could not do it. Base, sordid, mercenary + speculations would intrude themselves. About how much was a good, + well-furnished revolution likely to cost? As delicately as he could, he + put the question to Maraquita. + </p> + <p> + She said, “Poof! The cost? La, la!” Which was all very well, but hardly + satisfactory as a business chat. However, that was all Roland could get + out of her. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The next few days passed for Roland in a sort of dream. It was the kind of + dream which it is not easy to distinguish from a nightmare. + </p> + <p> + Maraquita's reticence at the supper-party on the subject of details + connected with the financial side of revolutions entirely disappeared. She + now talked nothing but figures, and from the confused mass which she + presented to him Roland was able to gather that, in financing the + restoration of royalty in Paranoya, he would indeed be risking everything + for her sake. + </p> + <p> + In the matter of revolutions Maraquita was no niggard. She knew how the + thing should be done—well, or not at all. There would be so much for + rifles, machine-guns, and what not: and there would be so much for the + expense of smuggling them into the country. Then there would be so much to + be laid out in corrupting the republican army. Roland brightened a little + when they came to this item. As the standing army of Paranoya amounted to + twenty thousand men, and as it seemed possible to corrupt it thoroughly at + a cost of about thirty shillings a head, the obvious course, to Roland's + way of thinking was to concentrate on this side of the question and avoid + unnecessary bloodshed. + </p> + <p> + It appeared, however, that Maraquita did not want to avoid bloodshed, that + she rather liked bloodshed, that the leaders of the revolution would be + disappointed if there were no bloodshed. Especially Bombito. Unless, she + pointed out, there was a certain amount of carnage, looting, and so on, + the revolution would not achieve a popular success. True, the beloved + Alejandro might be restored; but he would sit upon a throne that was + insecure, unless the coronation festivities took a bloodthirsty turn. By + all means, said Maraquita, corrupt the army, but not at the risk of making + the affair tame and unpopular. Paranoya was an emotional country, and + liked its revolutions with a bit of zip to them. + </p> + <p> + It was about ten days after he had definitely cast in his lot with the + revolutionary party that Roland was made aware that these things were a + little more complex than he had imagined. He had reconciled himself to the + financial outlay. It had been difficult, but he had done it. That his + person as well as his purse would be placed in peril he had not foreseen. + </p> + <p> + The fact was borne in upon him at the end of the second week by the + arrival of the deputation. + </p> + <p> + It blew in from the street just as he was enjoying his after-dinner cigar. + </p> + <p> + It consisted of three men, one long and suave, the other two short, stout, + and silent. They all had the sallow complexion and undue hairiness which + he had come by this time to associate with the native of Paranoya. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he mistook them for a drove of exiled noblemen whom he had + not had the pleasure of meeting at the supper-party; and he waited + resignedly for them to make night hideous with the royal anthem. He poised + himself on his toes, the more readily to spring aside if they should try + to kiss him on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bleke?” said the long man. + </p> + <p> + His companions drifted toward the cigar-box which stood open on the table, + and looked at it wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “Long live the monarchy,” said Roland wearily. He had gathered in the + course of his dealings with the exiled ones that this remark generally + went well. + </p> + <p> + On the present occasion it elicited no outburst of cheering. On the + contrary, the long man frowned, and his two companions helped themselves + to a handful of cigars apiece with a marked moodiness. + </p> + <p> + “Death to the monarchy,” corrected the long man coldly. “And,” he added + with a wealth of meaning in his voice, “to all who meddle in the affairs + of our beloved country and seek to do it harm.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean,” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Senor Bleke, you do know what I mean. I mean that you will be well + advised to abandon the schemes which you are hatching with the malcontents + who would do my beloved land an injury.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation was growing awkward. Roland had got so into the habit of + taking it for granted that every Paranoyan he met must of necessity be a + devotee of the beloved Alejandro that it came as a shock to him to realize + that there were those who objected to his restoration to the throne. Till + now he had looked on the enemy as something in the abstract. It had not + struck him that the people for whose correction he was buying all these + rifles and machine-guns were individuals with a lively distaste for having + their blood shed. + </p> + <p> + “Senor Bleke,” resumed the speaker, frowning at one of his companions + whose hand was hovering above the bottle of liqueur brandy, “you are a man + of sense. You know what is safe and what is not safe. Believe me, this + scheme of yours is not safe. You have been led away, but there is still + time to withdraw. Do so, and all is well. Do not so, and your blood be + upon your own head.” + </p> + <p> + “My blood!” gasped Roland. + </p> + <p> + The speaker bowed. + </p> + <p> + “That is all,” he said. “We merely came to give the warning. Ah, Senor + Bleke, do not be rash. You think that here, in this great London of yours, + you are safe. You look at the policeman upon the corner of the road, and + you say to yourself 'I am safe.' Believe me, not at all so is it, but much + the opposite. We have ways by which it is of no account the policeman on + the corner of the road. That is all, Senor Bleke. We wish you a good + night.” + </p> + <p> + The deputation withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Maraquita, informed of the incident, snapped her fingers, and said “Poof!” + It sometimes struck Roland that she would be more real help in a difficult + situation if she could get out of the habit of saying “Poof!” + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No?” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “We easily out-trick them, isn't it? You make a will leaving your money to + the Cause, and then where are they, <i>hein</i>?” + </p> + <p> + It was one way of looking at it, but it brought little balm to Roland. He + said so. Maraquita scanned his face keenly. + </p> + <p> + “You are not weakening, Roland?” she said. “You would not betray us now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course, I don't know about betraying, you know, but still——. + What I mean is——” + </p> + <p> + Maraquita's eyes seemed to shoot forth two flames. + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” she cried. “With me it is nothing, for I know that your heart + is with Paranoya. But, if the others once had cause to suspect that your + resolve was failing—ah! If Bombito——” + </p> + <p> + Roland took her point. He had forgotten Bombito for the moment. + </p> + <p> + “For goodness' sake,” he said hastily, “don't go saying anything to + Bombito to give him the idea that I'm trying to back out. Of course you + can rely on me, and all that. That's all right.” + </p> + <p> + Maraquita's gaze softened. She raised her glass—they were lunching + at the time—and put it to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “To the Savior of Paranoya!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Beware!” whispered a voice in Roland's ear. + </p> + <p> + He turned with a start. A waiter was standing behind him, a small, dark, + hairy man. He was looking into the middle distance with the abstracted air + which waiters cultivate. + </p> + <p> + Roland stared at him, but he did not move. + </p> + <p> + That evening, returning to his flat, Roland was paralyzed by the sight of + the word “Beware” scrawled across the mirror in his bedroom. It had + apparently been done with a diamond. He rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” said the competent valet. (“Competent valets are in attendance at + each of these flats.”—<i>Advt.</i>) + </p> + <p> + “Has any one been here since I left?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. A foreign-looking gentleman called. He said he knew you, sir. I + showed him into your room.” + </p> + <p> + The same night, well on in the small hours, the telephone rang. Roland + dragged himself out of bed. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that Senor Bleke?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Beware!” + </p> + <p> + Things were becoming intolerable. Roland had a certain amount of nerve, + but not enough to enable him to bear up against this sinister persecution. + Yet what could he do? Suppose he did beware to the extent of withdrawing + his support from the royalist movement, what then? Bombito. If ever there + was a toad under the harrow, he was that toad. And all because a perfectly + respectful admiration for the caoutchouc had led him to occupy a stage-box + several nights in succession at the theater where the peerless Maraquita + tied herself into knots. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + There was an air of unusual excitement in Maraquita's manner at their next + meeting. + </p> + <p> + “We have been in communication with Him,” she whispered. “He will receive + you. He will give an audience to the Savior of Paranoya.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Who will?” + </p> + <p> + “Our beloved Alejandro. He wishes to see his faithful servant. We are to + go to him at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At his own house. He will receive you in person.” + </p> + <p> + Such was the quality of the emotions through which he had been passing of + late, that Roland felt but a faint interest at the prospect of meeting + face to face a genuine—if exiled—monarch. The thought did flit + through his mind that they would sit up a bit in old Fineberg's office if + they could hear of it, but it brought him little consolation. + </p> + <p> + The cab drew up at a gloomy-looking house in a fashionable square. Roland + rang the door-bell. There seemed a certain element of the prosaic in the + action. He wondered what he should say to the butler. + </p> + <p> + There was, however, no need for words. The door opened, and they were + ushered in without parley. A butler and two footmen showed them into a + luxuriously furnished anteroom. Roland entered with two thoughts running + in his mind. The first was that the beloved Alejandro had got an + uncommonly snug crib; the second that this was exactly like going to see + the dentist. + </p> + <p> + Presently the squad of retainers returned, the butler leading. + </p> + <p> + “His Majesty will receive Mr. Bleke.” + </p> + <p> + Roland followed him with tottering knees. + </p> + <p> + His Majesty, King Alejandro the Thirteenth, on the retired list, was a + genial-looking man of middle age, comfortably stout about the middle and a + little bald as to the forehead. He might have been a prosperous + stock-broker. Roland felt more at his ease at the very sight of him. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Mr. Bleke,” said His Majesty, as the door closed. “I have been + wanting to see you for some time.” + </p> + <p> + Roland had nothing to say. He was regaining his composure, but he had a + long way to go yet before he could feel thoroughly at home. + </p> + <p> + King Alejandro produced a cigaret-case, and offered it to Roland, who + shook his head speechlessly. The King lit a cigaret and smoked + thoughtfully for a while. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Mr. Bleke,” he said at last, “this must stop. It really must. I + mean your devoted efforts on my behalf.” + </p> + <p> + Roland gaped at him. + </p> + <p> + “You are a very young man. I had expected to see some one much older. Your + youth gives me the impression that you have gone into this affair from a + spirit of adventure. I can assure you that you have nothing to gain + commercially by interfering with my late kingdom. I hope, before we part, + that I can persuade you to abandon your idea of financing this movement to + restore me to the throne. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand—er—your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “I will explain. Please treat what I shall say as strictly confidential. + You must know, Mr. Bleke, that these attempts to re-establish me as a + reigning monarch in Paranoya are, frankly, the curse of an otherwise very + pleasant existence. You look surprized? My dear sir, do you know Paranoya? + Have you ever been there? Have you the remotest idea what sort of life a + King of Paranoya leads? I have tried it, and I can assure you that a + coal-heaver is happy by comparison. In the first place, the climate of the + country is abominable. I always had a cold in the head. Secondly, there is + a small but energetic section of the populace whose sole recreation it + seems to be to use their monarch as a target for bombs. They are not very + good bombs, it is true, but one in, say, ten explodes, and even an + occasional bomb is unpleasant if you are the target. + </p> + <p> + “Finally, I am much too fond of your delightful country to wish to leave + it. I was educated in England—I am a Magdalene College man—and + I have the greatest horror of ever being compelled to leave it. My present + life suits me exactly. That is all I wished to say, Mr. Bleke. For both + our sakes, for the sake of my comfort and your purse, abandon this scheme + of yours.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Roland walked home thoughtfully. Maraquita had left the royal residence + long before he had finished the whisky-and-soda which the genial monarch + had pressed upon him. As he walked, the futility of his situation came + home to him more and more. Whatever he did, he was bound to displease + somebody; and these Paranoyans were so confoundedly impulsive when they + were vexed. + </p> + <p> + For two days he avoided Maraquita. On the third, with something of the + instinct which draws the murderer to the spot where he has buried the + body, he called at her house. + </p> + <p> + She was not present, but otherwise there was a full gathering. There were + the marquises; there were the counts; there was Bombito. + </p> + <p> + He looked unhappily round the crowd. + </p> + <p> + Somebody gave him a glass of champagne. He raised it. + </p> + <p> + “To the revolution,” he said mechanically. + </p> + <p> + There was a silence—it seemed to Roland an awkward silence. As if he + had said something improper, the marquises and counts began to drift from + the room, till only Bombito was left. Roland regarded him with some + apprehension. He was looking larger and more unusual than ever. + </p> + <p> + But to-night, apparently, Bombito was in genial mood. He came forward and + slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came to light + that Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English. + </p> + <p> + “My old chap,” he said. “I would have a speech with you.” + </p> + <p> + He slapped Roland again on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “The others they say, 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' Maraquita say + 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' So I break it with you gently.” + </p> + <p> + He dealt Roland a third stupendous punch. Whatever was to be broken + gently, it was plain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenly there + came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito was nervous. + </p> + <p> + “After all you have done for us, Senor Bleke, we shall seem to you + ungrateful bounders, but what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder, perhaps. + The whole fact is that there has been political crisis in Paranoya. Upset. + Apple-cart. Yes? You follow? No? The Ministry have been—what do you + say?—put through it. Expelled. Broken up. No more ministry. New + ministry wanted. To conciliate royalist party, that is the cry. So + deputation of leading persons, mighty good chaps, prominent merchants and + that sort of bounder, call upon us. They offer me to be President. See? + No? Yes? That's right. I am ambitious blighter, Senor Bleke. What about + it, no? I accept. I am new President of Paranoya. So no need for your kind + assistance. Royalist revolution up the spout. No more royalist + revolution.” + </p> + <p> + The wave of relief which swept over Roland ebbed sufficiently after an + interval to enable him to think of some one but himself. He was not fond + of Maraquita, but he had a tender heart, and this, he felt, would kill the + poor girl. + </p> + <p> + “But Maraquita——?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, splendid old chap. No need to worry about Maraquita, + stout old boy. Where the husband goes, so does the wife go. As you say, + whither thou goes will I follow. No?” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't understand. Maraquita is not your wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly, good old heart. What else?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been married to her all the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly, good, dear boy.” + </p> + <p> + The room swam before Roland's eyes. There was no room in his mind for + meditations on the perfidy of woman. He groped forward and found Bombito's + hand. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove,” he said thickly, as he wrung it again and again, “I knew you + were a good sort the first time I saw you. Have a drink or something. Have + a cigar or something. Have something, anyway, and sit down and tell me all + about it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EPISODE OF THE HIRED PAST + </h2> + <p> + Final Story of the Series [First published in <i>Pictorial Review</i>, + October 1916] + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean—you can't marry him after all? After all what? Why + can't you marry him? You are perfectly childish.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Evenwood's gentle voice, which had in its time lulled the House of + Peers to slumber more often than any voice ever heard in the Gilded + Chamber, had in it a note of unwonted, but quite justifiable, irritation. + If there was one thing more than another that Lord Evenwood disliked, it + was any interference with arrangements already made. + </p> + <p> + “The man,” he continued, “is not unsightly. The man is not conspicuously + vulgar. The man does not eat peas with his knife. The man pronounces his + aitches with meticulous care and accuracy. The man, moreover, is worth + rather more than a quarter of a million pounds. I repeat, you are + childish!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know he's a very decent little chap, Father,” said Lady Eva. “It's + not that at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be gratified, then, to hear what, in your opinion, it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you think I could be happy with him?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Kimbuck gave tongue. She was Lord Evenwood's sister. She spent a very + happy widowhood interfering in the affairs of the various branches of her + family. + </p> + <p> + “We're not asking you to be happy. You have such odd ideas of happiness. + Your idea of happiness is to be married to your cousin Gerry, whose only + visible means of support, so far as I can gather, is the four hundred a + year which he draws as a member for a constituency which has every + intention of throwing him out at the next election.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Eva blushed. Lady Kimbuck's faculty for nosing out the secrets of her + family had made her justly disliked from the Hebrides to Southern + Cornwall. + </p> + <p> + “Young O'Rion is not to be thought of,” said Lord Evenwood firmly. “Not + for an instant. Apart from anything else, his politics are all wrong. + Moreover, you are engaged to this Mr. Bleke. It is a sacred responsibility + not lightly to be evaded. You can not pledge your word one day to enter + upon the most solemn contract known to—ah—the civilized world, + and break it the next. It is not fair to the man. It is not fair to me. + You know that all I live for is to see you comfortably settled. If I could + myself do anything for you, the matter would be different. But these + abominable land-taxes and Blowick—especially Blowick—no, no, + it's out of the question. You will be very sorry if you do anything + foolish. I can assure you that Roland Blekes are not to be found—ah—on + every bush. Men are extremely shy of marrying nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially,” said Lady Kimbuck, “into a family like ours. What with + Blowick's scandal, and that shocking business of your grandfather and the + circus-woman, to say nothing of your poor father's trouble in '85——” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Sophia,” interrupted Lord Evenwood, hurriedly. “It is + unnecessary to go into all that now. Suffice it that there are adequate + reasons, apart from all moral obligations, why Eva should not break her + word to Mr. Bleke.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Kimbuck's encyclopedic grip of the family annals was a source of the + utmost discomfort to her relatives. It was known that more than one firm + of publishers had made her tempting offers for her reminiscences, and the + family looked on like nervous spectators at a battle while Cupidity fought + its ceaseless fight with Laziness; for the Evenwood family had at various + times and in various ways stimulated the circulation of the evening + papers. Most of them were living down something, and it was Lady Kimbuck's + habit, when thwarted in her lightest whim, to retire to her boudoir and + announce that she was not to be disturbed as she was at last making a + start on her book. Abject surrender followed on the instant. + </p> + <p> + At this point in the discussion she folded up her crochet-work, and rose. + </p> + <p> + “It is absolutely necessary for you, my dear, to make a good match, or you + will all be ruined. I, of course, can always support my declining years + with literary work, but——” + </p> + <p> + Lady Eva groaned. Against this last argument there was no appeal. + </p> + <p> + Lady Kimbuck patted her affectionately on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “There, run along now,” she said. “I daresay you've got a headache or + something that made you say a lot of foolish things you didn't mean. Go + down to the drawing-room. I expect Mr. Bleke is waiting there to say + goodnight to you. I am sure he must be getting quite impatient.” + </p> + <p> + Down in the drawing-room, Roland Bleke was hoping against hope that Lady + Eva's prolonged absence might be due to the fact that she had gone to bed + with a headache, and that he might escape the nightly interview which he + so dreaded. + </p> + <p> + Reviewing his career, as he sat there, Roland came to the conclusion that + women had the knack of affecting him with a form of temporary insanity. + They temporarily changed his whole nature. They made him feel for a brief + while that he was a dashing young man capable of the highest flights of + love. It was only later that the reaction came and he realized that he was + nothing of the sort. + </p> + <p> + At heart he was afraid of women, and in the entire list of the women of + whom he had been afraid, he could not find one who had terrified him so + much as Lady Eva Blyton. + </p> + <p> + Other women—notably Maraquita, now happily helping to direct the + destinies of Paranoya—had frightened him by their individuality. + Lady Eva frightened him both by her individuality and the atmosphere of + aristocratic exclusiveness which she conveyed. He had no idea whatever of + what was the proper procedure for a man engaged to the daughter of an + earl. Daughters of earls had been to him till now mere names in the + society columns of the morning paper. The very rules of the game were + beyond him. He felt like a confirmed Association footballer suddenly + called upon to play in an International Rugby match. + </p> + <p> + All along, from the very moment when—to his unbounded astonishment—she + had accepted him, he had known that he was making a mistake; but he never + realized it with such painful clearness as he did this evening. He was + filled with a sort of blind terror. He cursed the fate which had taken him + to the Charity-Bazaar at which he had first come under the notice of Lady + Kimbuck. The fatuous snobbishness which had made him leap at her + invitation to spend a few days at Evenwood Towers he regretted; but for + that he blamed himself less. Further acquaintance with Lady Kimbuck had + convinced him that if she had wanted him, she would have got him somehow, + whether he had accepted or refused. + </p> + <p> + What he really blamed himself for was his mad proposal. There had been no + need for it. True, Lady Eva had created a riot of burning emotions in his + breast from the moment they met; but he should have had the sense to + realize that she was not the right mate for him, even tho he might have a + quarter of a million tucked away in gilt-edged securities. Their lives + could not possibly mix. He was a commonplace young man with a fondness for + the pleasures of the people. He liked cheap papers, picture-palaces, and + Association football. Merely to think of Association football in + connection with her was enough to make the folly of his conduct clear. He + ought to have been content to worship her from afar as some inaccessible + goddess. + </p> + <p> + A light step outside the door made his heart stop beating. + </p> + <p> + “I've just looked in to say good night, Mr.—er—Roland,” she + said, holding out her hand. “Do excuse me. I've got such a headache.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, rather; I'm awfully sorry.” + </p> + <p> + If there was one person in the world Roland despised and hated at that + moment, it was himself. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going out with the guns to-morrow?” asked Lady Eva languidly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, rather! I mean, no. I'm afraid I don't shoot.” + </p> + <p> + The back of his neck began to glow. He had no illusions about himself. He + was the biggest ass in Christendom. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd like to play a round of golf, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, rather! I mean, no.” There it was again, that awful phrase. He + was certain he had not intended to utter it. She must be thinking him a + perfect lunatic. “I don't play golf.” + </p> + <p> + They stood looking at each other for a moment. It seemed to Roland that + her gaze was partly contemptuous, partly pitying. He longed to tell her + that, tho she had happened to pick on his weak points in the realm of + sport, there were things he could do. An insane desire came upon him to + babble about his school football team. Should he ask her to feel his quite + respectable biceps? No. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” she said, kindly. “I daresay we shall think of something to + amuse you.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand again. He took it in his for the briefest possible + instant, painfully conscious the while that his own hand was clammy from + the emotion through which he had been passing. + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Thank Heaven, she was gone. That let him out for another twelve hours at + least. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later found Roland still sitting, where she had left + him, his head in his hands. The groan of an overwrought soul escaped him. + </p> + <p> + “I can't do it!” + </p> + <p> + He sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I won't do it.” + </p> + <p> + A smooth voice from behind him spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are quite right, sir—if I may make the remark.” + </p> + <p> + Roland had hardly ever been so startled in his life. In the first place, + he was not aware of having uttered his thoughts aloud; in the second, he + had imagined that he was alone in the room. And so, a moment before, he + had been. + </p> + <p> + But the owner of the voice possessed, among other qualities, the cat-like + faculty of entering a room perfectly noiselessly—a fact which had + won for him, in the course of a long career in the service of the best + families, the flattering position of star witness in a number of England's + raciest divorce-cases. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Teal, the butler—for it was no less a celebrity who had broken + in on Roland's reverie—was a long, thin man of a somewhat priestly + cast of countenance. He lacked that air of reproving hauteur which many + butlers possess, and it was for this reason that Roland had felt drawn to + him during the black days of his stay at Evenwood Towers. Teal had been + uncommonly nice to him on the whole. He had seemed to Roland, stricken by + interviews with his host and Lady Kimbuck, the only human thing in the + place. + </p> + <p> + He liked Teal. On the other hand, Teal was certainly taking a liberty. He + could, if he so pleased, tell Teal to go to the deuce. Technically, he had + the right to freeze Teal with a look. + </p> + <p> + He did neither of these things. He was feeling very lonely and very + forlorn in a strange and depressing world, and Teal's voice and manner + were soothing. + </p> + <p> + “Hearing you speak, and seeing nobody else in the room,” went on the + butler, “I thought for a moment that you were addressing me.” + </p> + <p> + This was not true, and Roland knew it was not true. Instinct told him that + Teal knew that he knew it was not true; but he did not press the point. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean—you think I am quite right?” he said. “You don't + know what I was thinking about.” + </p> + <p> + Teal smiled indulgently. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, sir. A child could have guessed it. You have just come + to the decision—in my opinion a thoroughly sensible one—that + your engagement to her ladyship can not be allowed to go on. You are quite + right, sir. It won't do.” + </p> + <p> + Personal magnetism covers a multitude of sins. Roland was perfectly well + aware that he ought not to be standing here chatting over his and Lady + Eva's intimate affairs with a butler; but such was Teal's magnetism that + he was quite unable to do the right thing and tell him to mind his own + business. “Teal, you forget yourself!” would have covered the situation. + Roland, however, was physically incapable of saying “Teal, you forget + yourself!” The bird knows all the time that he ought not to stand talking + to the snake, but he is incapable of ending the conversation. Roland was + conscious of a momentary wish that he was the sort of man who could tell + butlers that they forgot themselves. But then that sort of man would never + be in this sort of trouble. The “Teal, you forget yourself” type of man + would be a first-class shot, a plus golfer, and would certainly consider + himself extremely lucky to be engaged to Lady Eva. + </p> + <p> + “The question is,” went on Mr. Teal, “how are we to break it off?” + </p> + <p> + Roland felt that, as he had sinned against all the decencies in allowing + the butler to discuss his affairs with him, he might just as well go the + whole hog and allow the discussion to run its course. And it was an + undeniable relief to talk about the infernal thing to some one. + </p> + <p> + He nodded gloomily, and committed himself. Teal resumed his remarks with + the gusto of a fellow-conspirator. + </p> + <p> + “It's not an easy thing to do gracefully, sir, believe me, it isn't. And + it's got to be done gracefully, or not at all. You can't go to her + ladyship and say 'It's all off, and so am I,' and catch the next train for + London. The rupture must be of her ladyship's making. If some fact, some + disgraceful information concerning you were to come to her ladyship's + ears, that would be a simple way out of the difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + He eyed Roland meditatively. + </p> + <p> + “If, for instance, you had ever been in jail, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “No offense intended, sir, I'm sure. I merely remembered that you had made + a great deal of money very quickly. My experience of gentlemen who have + made a great deal of money very quickly is that they have generally done + their bit of time. But, of course, if you——. Let me think. Do + you drink, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Teal sighed. Roland could not help feeling that he was disappointing + the old man a good deal. + </p> + <p> + “You do not, I suppose, chance to have a past?” asked Mr. Teal, not very + hopefully. “I use the word in its technical sense. A deserted wife? Some + poor creature you have treated shamefully?” + </p> + <p> + At the risk of sinking still further in the butler's esteem, Roland was + compelled to answer in the negative. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid not,” said Mr. Teal, shaking his head. “Thinking it all over + yesterday, I said to myself, 'I'm afraid he wouldn't have one.' You don't + look like the sort of gentleman who had done much with his time.” + </p> + <p> + “Thinking it over?” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your account, sir,” explained Mr. Teal. “On the family's. I + disapproved of this match from the first. A man who has served a family as + long as I have had the honor of serving his lordship's, comes to entertain + a high regard for the family prestige. And, with no offense to yourself, + sir, this would not have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it looks as if it would have to do,” said Roland, gloomily. “I + can't see any way out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can, sir. My niece at Aldershot.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Teal wagged his head at him with a kind of priestly archness. + </p> + <p> + “You can not have forgotten my niece at Aldershot?” + </p> + <p> + Roland stared at him dumbly. It was like a line out of a melodrama. He + feared, first for his own, then for the butler's sanity. The latter was + smiling gently, as one who sees light in a difficult situation. + </p> + <p> + “I've never been at Aldershot in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “For our purposes you have, sir. But I'm afraid I am puzzling you. Let me + explain. I've got a niece over at Aldershot who isn't much good. She's not + very particular. I am sure she would do it for a consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” + </p> + <p> + “Be your 'Past,' sir. I don't mind telling you that as a 'Past' she's had + some experience; looks the part, too. She's a barmaid, and you would guess + it the first time you saw her. Dyed yellow hair, sir,” he went on with + enthusiasm, “done all frizzy. Just the sort of young person that a young + gentleman like yourself would have had a 'past' with. You couldn't find a + better if you tried for a twelvemonth.” + </p> + <p> + “But, I say——!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose a hundred wouldn't hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I suppose not, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Then put the whole thing in my hands, sir. I'll ask leave off to-morrow + and pop over and see her. I'll arrange for her to come here the day after + to see you. Leave it all to me. To-night you must write the letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally, there would be letters, sir. It is an inseparable feature of + these cases.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that I have got to write to her? But I shouldn't know what to + say. I've never seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be quite all right, sir, if you place yourself in my hands. I + will come to your room after everybody's gone to bed, and help you write + those letters. You have some note-paper with your own address on it? Then + it will all be perfectly simple.” + </p> + <p> + When, some hours later, he read over the ten or twelve exceedingly + passionate epistles which, with the butler's assistance, he had succeeded + in writing to Miss Maud Chilvers, Roland came to the conclusion that there + must have been a time when Mr. Teal was a good deal less respectable than + he appeared to be at present. Byronic was the only adjective applicable to + his collaborator's style of amatory composition. In every letter there + were passages against which Roland had felt compelled to make a modest + protest. + </p> + <p> + “'A thousand kisses on your lovely rosebud of a mouth.' Don't you think + that is a little too warmly colored? And 'I am languishing for the + pressure of your ivory arms about my neck and the sweep of your silken + hair against my cheek!' What I mean is—well, what about it, you + know?” + </p> + <p> + “The phrases,” said Mr. Teal, not without a touch of displeasure, “to + which you take exception, are taken bodily from correspondence (which I + happened to have the advantage of perusing) addressed by the late Lord + Evenwood to Animalcula, Queen of the High Wire at Astley's Circus. His + lordship, I may add, was considered an authority in these matters.” + </p> + <p> + Roland criticized no more. He handed over the letters, which, at Mr. + Teal's direction, he had headed with various dates covering roughly a + period of about two months antecedent to his arrival at the Towers. + </p> + <p> + “That,” Mr. Teal explained, “will make your conduct definitely + unpardonable. With this woman's kisses hot upon your lips,”—Mr. Teal + was still slightly aglow with the fire of inspiration—“you have the + effrontery to come here and offer yourself to her ladyship.” + </p> + <p> + With Roland's timid suggestion that it was perhaps a mistake to overdo the + atmosphere, the butler found himself unable to agree. + </p> + <p> + “You can't make yourself out too bad. If you don't pitch it hot and + strong, her ladyship might quite likely forgive you. Then where would you + be?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Maud Chilvers, of Aldershot, burst into Roland's life like one of the + shells of her native heath two days later at about five in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + It was an entrance of which any stage-manager might have been proud of + having arranged. The lighting, the grouping, the lead-up—all were + perfect. The family had just finished tea in the long drawing-room. Lady + Kimbuck was crocheting, Lord Evenwood dozing, Lady Eva reading, and Roland + thinking. A peaceful scene. + </p> + <p> + A soft, rippling murmur, scarcely to be reckoned a snore, had just + proceeded from Lord Evenwood's parted lips, when the door opened, and Teal + announced, “Miss Chilvers.” + </p> + <p> + Roland stiffened in his chair. Now that the ghastly moment had come, he + felt too petrified with fear even to act the little part in which he had + been diligently rehearsed by the obliging Mr. Teal. He simply sat and did + nothing. + </p> + <p> + It was speedily made clear to him that Miss Chilvers would do all the + actual doing that was necessary. The butler had drawn no false picture of + her personal appearance. Dyed yellow hair done all frizzy was but one fact + of her many-sided impossibilities. In the serene surroundings of the long + drawing-room, she looked more unspeakably “not much good” than Roland had + ever imagined her. With such a leading lady, his drama could not fail of + success. He should have been pleased; he was merely appalled. The thing + might have a happy ending, but while it lasted it was going to be + terrible. + </p> + <p> + She had a flatteringly attentive reception. Nobody failed to notice her. + Lord Evenwood woke with a start, and stared at her as if she had been some + ghost from his trouble of '85. Lady Eva's face expressed sheer amazement. + Lady Kimbuck, laying down her crochet-work, took one look at the + apparition, and instantly decided that one of her numerous erring + relatives had been at it again. Of all the persons in the room, she was + possibly the only one completely cheerful. She was used to these + situations and enjoyed them. Her mind, roaming into the past, recalled the + night when her cousin Warminster had been pinked by a stiletto in his own + drawing-room by a lady from South America. Happy days, happy days. + </p> + <p> + Lord Evenwood had, by this time, come to the conclusion that the festive + Blowick must be responsible for this visitation. He rose with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “To what are we——?” he began. + </p> + <p> + Miss Chilvers, resolute young woman, had no intention of standing there + while other people talked. She shook her gleaming head and burst into + speech. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know I've no right to be coming walking in here among a lot of + perfect strangers at their teas, but what I say is, 'Right's right and + wrong's wrong all the world over,' and I may be poor, but I have my + feelings. No, thank you, I won't sit down. I've not come for the weekend. + I've come to say a few words, and when I've said them I'll go, and not + before. A lady friend of mine happened to be reading her Daily Sketch the + other day, and she said 'Hullo! hullo!' and passed it on to me with her + thumb on a picture which had under it that it was Lady Eva Blyton who was + engaged to be married to Mr. Roland Bleke. And when I read that, I said + 'Hullo! hullo!' too, I give you my word. And not being able to travel at + once, owing to being prostrated with the shock, I came along to-day, just + to have a look at Mr. Roland Blooming Bleke, and ask him if he's forgotten + that he happens to be engaged to me. That's all. I know it's the sort of + thing that might slip any gentleman's mind, but I thought it might be + worth mentioning. So now!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Roland, perspiring in the shadows at the far end of the room, felt that + Miss Chilvers was overdoing it. There was no earthly need for all this + sort of thing. Just a simple announcement of the engagement would have + been quite sufficient. It was too obvious to him that his ally was + thoroughly enjoying herself. She had the center of the stage, and did not + intend lightly to relinquish it. + </p> + <p> + “My good girl,” said Lady Kimbuck, “talk less and prove more. When did Mr. + Bleke promise to marry you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right. I'm not expecting you to believe my word. I've got + all the proofs you'll want. Here's his letters.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Kimbuck's eyes gleamed. She took the package eagerly. She never lost + an opportunity of reading compromising letters. She enjoyed them as + literature, and there was never any knowing when they might come in + useful. + </p> + <p> + “Roland,” said Lady Eva, quietly, “haven't you anything to contribute to + this conversation?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Chilvers clutched at her bodice. Cinema palaces were a passion with + her, and she was up in the correct business. + </p> + <p> + “Is he here? In this room?” + </p> + <p> + Roland slunk from the shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bleke,” said Lord Evenwood, sternly, “who is this woman?” + </p> + <p> + Roland uttered a kind of strangled cough. + </p> + <p> + “Are these letters in your handwriting?” asked Lady Kimbuck, almost + cordially. She had seldom read better compromising letters in her life, + and she was agreeably surprized that one whom she had always imagined a + colorless stick should have been capable of them. + </p> + <p> + Roland nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's lucky you're rich,” said Lady Kimbuck philosophically. “What + are you asking for these?” she enquired of Miss Chilvers. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Lord Evenwood, relieved. “Precisely. Your sterling common + sense is admirable, Sophia. You place the whole matter at once on a + businesslike footing.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you imagine for a moment——?” began Miss Chilvers slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lady Kimbuck. “How much?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Chilvers sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “If I have lost him for ever——” + </p> + <p> + Lady Eva rose. + </p> + <p> + “But you haven't,” she said pleasantly. “I wouldn't dream of standing in + your way.” She drew a ring from her finger, placed it on the table, and + walked to the door. “I am not engaged to Mr. Bleke,” she said, as she + reached it. + </p> + <p> + Roland never knew quite how he had got away from The Towers. He had + confused memories in which the principals of the drawing-room scene + figured in various ways, all unpleasant. It was a portion of his life on + which he did not care to dwell. Safely back in his flat, however, he + gradually recovered his normal spirits. Indeed, now that the tumult and + the shouting had, so to speak, died, and he was free to take a broad view + of his position, he felt distinctly happier than usual. That Lady Kimbuck + had passed for ever from his life was enough in itself to make for gaiety. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + He was humming blithely one morning as he opened his letters; outside the + sky was blue and the sun shining. It was good to be alive. He opened the + first letter. The sky was still blue, the sun still shining. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear Sir,” (it ran). + + “We have been instructed by our client, Miss Maud Chilvers, of the + Goat and Compasses, Aldershot, to institute proceedings against + you for Breach of Promise of Marriage. In the event of your being + desirous to avoid the expense and publicity of litigation, we are + instructed to say that Miss Chilvers would be prepared to accept + the sum of ten thousand pounds in settlement of her claim against + you. We would further add that in support of her case our client + has in her possession a number of letters written by yourself to + her, all of which bear strong prima facie evidence of the alleged + promise to marry: and she will be able in addition to call as + witnesses in support of her case the Earl of Evenwood, Lady + Kimbuck, and Lady Eva Blyton, in whose presence, at a recent + date, you acknowledged that you had promised to marry our client. + + “Trusting that we hear from you in the course of post. + We are, dear Sir, + Yours faithfully, + Harrison, Harrison, Harrison, & Harrison.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Man of Means, by P. G. Wodehouse and C. H. 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