CHAPTER VIII
SISSIE'S BUSINESS
I
One evening, ten days later, Mr. Prohack slipped out of his own house asstealthily as a thief might have slipped into it. He was curedprovisionally. The unseen, unfelt, sinister duodenum no longermysteriously deranged his whole engine. Only a continual sensation ofslight fatigue indicated all the time that he was not cleverer thannature and that he was not victoriously disposing of his waste products.But he could walk mildly about; his zest for smoking had in partreturned; and to any uninstructed observer he bore a close resemblanceto a healthy man.
Four matters worried him, of which three may be mentioned immediately.He could not go to the Treasury. His colleague Hunter had amiably calledthe day after his seizure, and Mrs. Prohack had got hold of Hunter. Herinfluence over sane and well-balanced males was really extraordinary.Mr. Prohack had remained in perfect ignorance of the machinations ofthese two for eight days, at the end of which period he received by postan official document informing him that My Lords of the Treasury hadgranted him six months' leave of absence for reasons of ill-health. Dr.Veiga had furnished the certificate unknown to the patient. The quickdespatch of the affair showed with what celerity a government departmentcan function when it is actuated from the inside. The leave of absencefor reasons of ill-health of course prevented Mr. Prohack from appearingat his office. How could he with decency appear at his office seeminglyvigorous when it had been officially decided that he was too ill towork? And Mr. Prohack desired greatly to visit the Treasury. The habitof a life-time had been broken in a moment, and since Mr. Prohack wasthe creature of that habit he suffered accordingly. He had beensuffering for two days. This was the first matter that worried Mr.Prohack.
The second matter had to do with his clubs. He was cut off from hisclubs. Partly for the same reason as that which cut him off from theTreasury--for both his clubs were full of Civil Servants--and partlybecause he was still somehow sensitive concerning the fact of hisinheritance. He would have had a similar objection to entering his clubsin Highland kilt. The explanation was obvious. He hated to beconspicuous. His inheritance was already (through Mr. Softly Bishop) thetalk of certain official and club circles, and Mr. Prohack apprehendedthat every eye would be curiously upon him if he should set foot in aclub. He could not bear that, and he could not bear the questions andthe pleasantries. One day he would have to bear them--but not yet.
The third matter that worried him was that he could not, even in secret,consult his own doctor. How could he go to old Plott and say: "Plott,old man, I've been ill and my wife insisted upon having another doctor,but I've come to ask you to tell me whether or not the other doctor'sright?" The thing was impossible. Yet he badly wanted to verify Veiga byPlott. He still mistrusted Veiga, though his mistrust lessened daily,despite his wish to see it increase.
Mrs. Prohack had benevolently suggested that he should run down to hisclub, but on no account for a meal--merely "for a change." He haddeclined, without giving the reason, and she had admitted that perhapshe was right.
He attributed all the worries to his wife.
"I pay a fine price for that woman," he thought as he left the house, "arare fine price!" But as for her price, he never haggled over it. She,just as she existed in her awful imperfection, was his first necessaryof life. She had gone out after dinner to see an acquaintance about ahouse-maid (for already she was reorganising the household on a morespecious scale); she was a mile off at least; but she would havedisapproved of him breaking loose into his clubs at night, and so theTerror of the departments stole forth, instead of walking forth,intimidated by that moral influence which she left behind her.Undoubtedly since the revolt of the duodenum her grip of him hadsensibly tightened.
Not that Mr. Prohack was really going to a club. He had deceitfully toldhimself that he _might_ stroll down to his principal club, for the sakeof exercise (his close friends among the members were lunchers notdiners), but the central self within himself was aware that no clubwould see him that evening.
A taxi approached in the darkness; he knew by its pace that it wasempty. He told the driver to drive to Putney. In the old days of elevendays ago he would not have dared to tell a taxi-driver to drive toPutney, for the fare would have unbalanced his dizzy private weeklybudget; and even now he felt he was going the deuce of a pace. Even nowhe would prudently not have taken a taxi had not part of the Americanhundred thousand pounds already materialised. Mr. Softly Bishop had beento see him on the previous day, and in addition to being mysteriouslysympathetic about his co-heir's ill-health had produced seven thousandpounds of the hundred thousand. A New York representative had cabledfourteen thousand, not because Mr. Prohack was in a hurry for seven, butbecause Mr. Softly Bishop was in a hurry for seven. And Mr. SoftlyBishop had pointed out something which Mr. Prohack, Treasury official,had not thought of. He had pointed out that Mr. Prohack might beginimmediately to spend just as freely as if the hundred thousand wereactually in hand.
"You see," said he, "the interest has been accumulating over there eversince Angmering's death, and it will continue to accumulate until we getall the capital; and the interest runs up to about a couple of hundred aweek for each of us."
Now Mr. Prohack had directed the taxi to his daughter's dance studio,and perhaps it was the intention to do so that had made him stealignobly out of the house. For Eve would assuredly have rebelled. A stateof war existed between Eve and her daughter, and Mr. Prohack'sintelligence, as well as his heart, had ranged him on Eve's side. SinceSissie's departure, the girl had given no sign whatever to her parents.Mrs. Prohack had expected to see her on the next day after herdefection. But there was no Sissie, and there was no message fromSissie. Mrs. Prohack bulged with astounding news for Sissie, of herfather's illness and inheritance. But Mrs. Prohack's resentful pridewould not make the first move, and would not allow Mr. Prohack to makeit. They knew, at second-hand through a friend of Viola Ridle's, thatSissie was regularly active at the studio; also Sissie had had theeffrontery to send a messenger for some of her clothes--without even anote! The situation was incredible, and waxed daily in incredibility.Sissie's behaviour could not possibly be excused.
This was the fourth and the chief matter that worried Mr. Prohack. Heregarded it sardonically as rather a lark; but he was worried to thinkof the girl making a fool of herself with her mother. Her mother wasdemonstrably in the right. To yield to the chit's appallingheartlessness would be bad tactics and it would be humiliating.Nevertheless Mr. Prohack had directed the taxi-driver to thedance-studio at Putney. On the way it suddenly occurred to him, almostwith a shock, that he was a rich man, secure from material anxieties,and that therefore he ought to feel light-hearted. He had been losingsight of this very important fact for quite some time.
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II
The woman in the cubicle near the door was putting a fresh disc on to agramophone and winding up the instrument. She was a fat, youngish woman,in a parlourmaid's cap and apron, and Mr. Prohack had a few days earlierhad a glimpse of her seated in his own hall waiting for a package ofSissie's clothes.
"Very sorry, sir," said she, turning her head negligently from thegramophone and eyeing him seriously. "I'm afraid you can't go in ifyou're not in evening dress." Evidently from her firm, polite voice, sheknew just what she was about, did that young woman. She added: "Therule's very strict on Fridays."
At the same moment a bell rang once. The woman immediately released thecatch of the gramophone and lowered the needle on to the disc, and Mr.Prohack heard music, but not from the cubicle. There was a round hole inthe match-board partition, and the trumpet attachment of the gramophonedisappeared beyond the hole.
"This affair is organised," thought Mr. Prohack, decidedly impressed bythe ingenuity of the musical arrangement and by the promptness of theorchestral director in obeying the signal of the bell.
"My name is Prohack," said he. "I'm Miss Prohack's father."
This important announcement
ought to have startled the sangfroid of theguardian, but it did not. She merely said, with a slight mechanicalsmile:
"As soon as this dance is over, sir, I'll let Miss Prohack know she'swanted." She did not say: "Sir, a person of your eminence is aboverules. Go right in."
Two girls in all-enveloping dark cloaks entered behind him."Good-evening, Lizzie," one of them greeted the guardian. And Lizzie'sface relaxed into a bright genuine smile.
"Good-evening, miss. Good-evening, miss."
The two girls vanished rustlingly through a door over which was hung apiece of cardboard with the written words: "Ladies' cloakroom." In a fewmoments they emerged, white and fluffy apparitions, eager,self-conscious, and they vanished through another door. Mr. Prohackjudged from their bridling and from their whispers to each other thatthey belonged to the class which ministers to the shopping-class. Headmitted that they looked very nice and attractive; but he had thesensation of having blundered into a queer, hitherto unknown world, andof astonishment and qualms that his daughter should be a ruler in thatworld.
Lizzie stood up and peeped through a little square window in thematch-boarding. As soon as she had finished peeping Mr. Prohack tookliberty to peep also, and the dance-studio was revealed to him. Somehowhe could scarcely believe that it was not a hallucination, and that hewas really in Putney, and that his own sober house in which Sissie hadbeen reared still existed not many miles off.
For Mr. Prohack, not continuously but at intervals, possessed adisturbing faculty that compelled him to see the phenomena of human lifeas they actually were, and to disregard entirely the mere names ofthings,--which mere names by the magic power of mere names usuallysuffice to satisfy the curiosity of most people and to allay theirmisgivings if any. Mr. Prohack now saw (when he looked downwards) arevolving disc which was grating against a stationary needle and therebyproducing unpleasant rasping sounds. But it was also producing a quitedifferent order of sounds. He did not in the least understand, and hedid not suppose that anybody in the dance-studio understood, thedelicate secret mechanism by which these other sounds were produced. Allhe knew was that by means of the trumpet attachment they weretransmitted through the wooden partition and let loose into the largerair of the studio, where the waves of them had a singular effect on thebrains of certain bright young women and sombre young and middle-agedmen who were arranged in clasped couples: with the result that thebrains of the women and men sent orders to their legs, arms, eyes, andthey shifted to and fro in rhythmical movements. Each woman placedherself very close--breast against breast--to each man, yielding hervolition absolutely to his, and (if the man was the taller) often gazingup into his face with an ecstatic expression of pleasure andacquiescence. The physical relations between the units of each couplewould have caused censorious comment had the couple been alone orstanding still; but the movement and the association of couples seemedmysteriously to lift the whole operation above criticism and to endow itwith a perfect propriety. The motion of the couples, and their manner ofmoving, over the earth's surface were extremely monotonous; some couplesindeed only walked stiffly to and fro; on the other hand a few exhibitedvariety, lightness and grace, in manoeuvres which involved a high degreeof mutual trust and comprehension. While only some of the faces wereecstatic, all were rapt. The ordinary world was shut out of this room,whose inhabitants had apparently abandoned themselves with all theirsouls to the performance of a complicated and solemn rite.
Odd as the spectacle was, Mr. Prohack enjoyed it. He enjoyed the youthand the prettiness and the litheness of the brightly-dressed girls andthe stern masculinity of the men, and he enjoyed the thought that bothgirls and men had had the wit to escape from the ordinary world intothis fantastic environment created out of four walls, a few Chineselanterns, some rouge, some stuffs, some spangles, friction between twopieces of metal, and the profoundest instinct of nature. Beyondeverything he enjoyed the sight of the lithest and most elegant of thegirls, whom he knew to be Eliza Brating and who was dancing with apartner whose skill obviously needed no lessons. He would have liked tosee his daughter Sissie in Eliza's place, but Sissie was playing theman's role to a stout and nearly middle-aged lady, whose chief talentfor the rite appeared to be an iron determination.
Mr. Prohack was in danger of being hypnotised by the spectacle, butsuddenly the conflict between the disc and the needle grew more acute,and Lizzie, the guardian, dragged the needle sharply from the bosom ofits antagonist. The sounds ceased, and the brains of the couples in thestudio, no longer inspired by the sounds, ceased to inspire the musclesof the couples, and the rite suddenly finished. Mr. Prohack drew breath.
"To think," he reflected, "that this sort of thing is seriously going onall over London at this very instant, and that many earnest persons aremaking a livelihood from it, and that nobody but me perceives howmarvellous, charming, incomprehensible and disconcerting it is!"
He said to the guardian:
"There doesn't seem to be much 'lesson' about this business. Everybodyhere seems to be able to dance all right."
To which Lizzie replied with a sagacious, even ironic, smile:
"You see, sir, on these gala nights they all do their very best."
"Father!"
Sissie had arrived upon him. Clearly she was preoccupied, if notworried, and the unexpected sight of her parent forced her, as it were,unwillingly from one absorbing train of ideas into another. She wasstartled, self-conscious, nervous. Still, she jumped at him and kissedhim,--as if in a dream.
"Nothing the matter, is there?"
"Nothing."
"I'm frightfully busy to-night. Just come in here, will you?"
And she took him into the ladies' cloakroom--an apartment the like ofwhich he had never before seen. It had only one chair, in front of asort of dressing-table covered with mysterious apparatus andinstruments.
Mr. Prohack inspected his daughter as though she had been somebodyelse's daughter.
"Well," said he. "You look just like a real business woman, except thedress."
She was very attractive, very elegant, comically young (to him), andvery business-like in her smart, short frock, stockings, and shoes.
"Can't you understand," she objected firmly, "that this is my businessdress, just as much as a black frock and high collar would be in anoffice?"
He gave a short, gentle laugh.
"I don't know what you're laughing at, dad," she reproached him, notunkindly. "Anyhow, I'm glad some one's come at last. I was beginning tothink that my home had forgotten all about me. Even when I sent up forsome clothes no message came back."
The life-long experience of Mr. Prohack had been that important andunusual interviews rarely corresponded with the anticipation of them,and the present instance most sharply confirmed his experience. He hadexpected to be forgiving an apologetic daughter, but the reality wasthat he found himself in the dock. He hesitated for words, and Sissiewent on:
"Here have I been working myself to death reorganising this place afterViola went--and I can tell you it needed reorganising! Haven't had aminute in the mornings, and of course there are the lessons afternoonand evening. And no one's been down to see how I was getting on, or evenwritten. I do think it's a bit steep. Mother might have known that if I_had_ had any spare time I should have run up."
"I've been rather queer," he excused himself and the family. "And yourmother's been looking after me, and of course you know Charlie's stillin Glasgow."
"I don't know anything," she corrected him. "But you needn't tell methat if you've been unwell mother's been looking after you. Does sheever do anything else? Are you better? What was it? You _look_ allright."
"Oh! General derangement. I haven't been to the office since youdecamped." He did not feel equal to telling her that he would not bereturning to the office for months. She had said that he looked allright, and her quite honest if hasty verdict on his appearance gave hima sense of guilt, and also renewed suspicions of Dr. Veiga.
"Not been to the office!" The statement justly amaz
ed the girl, almostshocked her. But she went on in a fresh, satirical accent recalling Mr.Prohack's own: "You _must_ have been upset! But of course you're highlynervous, dad, and I expect the excitement of the news of your fortunewas too much for you. I know exactly how you get when anything unusualhappens."
She had heard of the inheritance!
"I was going to tell you about that little affair," he said awkwardly."So you knew! Who told you?"
"Nobody in my family at any rate," she answered. "I heard of it from anoutsider, and of course from sheer pride I had to pretend that I knewall about it. And what's more, father, you knew when you gave me thatfifty pounds, only you wouldn't let on. Don't deny it.... Naturally I'mglad about it, very glad. And yet I'm not. I really rather regret it foryou and mother. You'll never be as happy again. Riches will spoil mypoor darling mother."
"That remains to be seen, Miss Worldly Wisemiss," he retorted withunconvincing lightness. He was disturbed, and he was impressed, by herindifference to the fortune. It appeared not to concern or to interesther. She spoke not merely as one who objected to unearned wealth but asone to whom the annals of the Prohack family were henceforth a matter ofminor importance. It was very strange, and Mr. Prohack had to fightagainst a feeling of intimidation. The girl whom he had cherished forover twenty years and whom he thought he knew to the core, wasabsolutely astounding him by the revelation of her individuality. Hedidn't know her. He was not her father. He was helpless before her.
"How are things here?" he demanded, amiably inquisitive, as anacquaintance.
"Excellent," said she. "Jolly hard work, though."
"Yes, I should imagine so. Teaching men dancing! By Jove!"
"There's not so much difficulty about teaching men. The difficulty'swith the women. Father, they're awful. You can't imagine theirstupidity."
Lizzie glanced into the room. She simply glanced, and Sissie returnedthe glance.
"You'll have to excuse me a bit, father," said Sissie. "I'll come backas quick as I can. Don't go." She departed hurriedly.
"I'd better get out of this anyhow," thought Mr. Prohack, surveying theladies' cloakroom. "If one of 'em came in I should have to explain myunexplainable presence in this sacred grot."
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