CHAPTER XXIII
THE YACHT
I
Mr. Prohack was lounging over his breakfast in the original old house inthe Square behind Hyde Park. He came to be there because that same househad been his wedding present to Sissie, who now occupied it with herspouse, and because the noble mansion in Manchester Square was beingre-decorated (under compulsion of some clause in the antique lease) andEve had invited him to leave the affair entirely to her. In the fewmonths since Charlie's great crisis, all things conspired together toprove once more to Mr. Prohack that calamities expected never arrive.Even the British Empire had continued to cohere, and revolution seemedto be further off than ever before. The greatest menace to his peace ofmind, the League of all the Arts, had of course quietly ceased to exist;but it had established Eve as a hostess. And Eve as a hostess hadgradually given up boring herself and her husband by large and stiffparties, and they had gone back to entertaining none butwell-established and intimate friends with the maximum of informality asof old,--to such an extent that occasionally in the vast and gorgeousdining-room of the noble mansion Eve would have the roast planted on thetable and would carve it herself, also as of old; Brool did not seem tomind.
Mr. Prohack had bought the lease of the noble mansion, with all thecontents thereof, merely because this appeared to be the easiest thingto do. He had not been forced to change his manner of life; far from it.Owing to a happy vicissitude in the story of the R.R. CorporationCharlie had called upon his father for only a very small portion of theoffered one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and had even repaid thatwithin a few weeks. Matters had thereafter come to such a pass withCharlie that he had reached the pages of _The Daily Picture_, and wasreputed to be arousing the jealousy of youthful millionaires in theUnited States; also the figure which he paid weekly for rent of hisoffices in the Grand Babylon Hotel was an item of common knowledge inthe best clubs and not to know it was to be behind the times in currentinformation. No member of his family now ventured to offer advice toCharlie, who still, however, looked astonishingly like the old Charlieof motor-bicycle transactions.
The fact is, people do not easily change. Mr. Prohack had seemed tochange for a space, but if indeed any change had occurred in him, he hadchanged back. Scientific idleness? Turkish baths? Dandyism? Allvanished, contemned, forgotten. To think of them merely annoyed him. Hedid not care what necktie he wore. Even dancing had gone the same way.The dancing season was over until October, and he knew he would neverbegin again. He cared not to dance with the middle-aged, and if hedanced with the young he felt that he was making a fool of himself.
It had been rather a lark to come and stay for a few days in his oldhome,--to pass the sacred door of the conjugal bedroom (closed for everto him) and mount to Charlie's room, into which Sissie had put the bulkof the furniture from the Japanese flat--without overcrowding it.Decidedly amusing to sleep in Charlie's old little room! But theromantic sensation had given way to the sensation of the hardness of thebed.
Breakfast achieved, Mr. Prohack wondered what he should do next, for hehad nothing to do; he had no worries, and almost no solicitudes; he hadsuccessfully adapted himself to his environment. Through the half-opendoor of the dining-room he heard Sissie and Ozzie. Ozzie was off to theday's business, and Sissie was seeing him out of the house, as Eve usedto see Mr. Prohack out. Ozzie, by reason of a wedding present of tenthousand pounds given in defiance of Sissie's theories, and with thehelp of his own savings, was an important fellow now in the theatricalworld, having attained a partnership with the Napoleon of the stage.
"You'd no business to send for the doctor without telling me," Sissiewas saying in her harsh tone. "What do I want with a doctor?"
"I thought it would be for the best, dear," came Ozzie's lisping reply.
"Well, it won't, my boy."
The door banged.
"Eve never saw me off like that," Mr. Prohack reflected.
Sissie entered the room, some letters in her hand. She was exceedinglyattractive, matron-like, interesting--but formidable.
Said Mr. Prohack, glancing up at her:
"It is the duty of the man to protect and the woman to charm--and Idon't care who knows it."
"What on earth do you mean, dad?"
"I mean that it is the duty of the man to protect and the woman to_charm_."
Sissie flushed.
"Ozzie and I understand each other, but you don't," said she, and made adelicious rude face. "Carthew's brought these letters and he's waitingfor orders about the car." She departed.
Among the few letters was one from Softly Bishop, dated Rangoon. It wasfull of the world-tour. "We had a success at Calcutta that really doesbaffle description," it said.
"'We!'" commented Mr. Prohack. There was a postscript: "By the way, I'veonly just learnt that it was your son who was buying those Royal Rubbershares. I do hope he was not inconvenienced. I need not say that if Ihad had the slightest idea who was standing the racket I should havewaived--" And so on.
"Would you!" commented Mr. Prohack. "I see you doing it. And what's moreI bet you only wrote the letter for the sake of the postscript. Yourtour is not a striking success, and you'll be wanting to do businesswith me when you come back, but you won't do it.... And here I amlecturing Sissie about hardness!"
He rang the bell and told a servant who was a perfect stranger to him totell Carthew that he should not want the car.
"May Carthew speak to you, sir?" said the servant returning.
"Carthew may," said he, and the servant thought what an odd gentlemanMr. Prohack was.
"Well, Carthew," said he, when the chauffeur, perturbed, entered theroom. "This is quite like old times, isn't it? Sit down and have acigarette. What's wrong?"
"Well, sir," replied Carthew, after he had lighted the cigarette andejected a flake of tobacco into the hearth. "There may be somethingwrong or there mayn't, if you understand what I mean. But I'm thinkingof getting married."
"Oh! But what about that wife of yours?"
"Oh! Her! She's dead, all right. I never said anything, feeling as itmight be ashamed of her."
"But I thought you'd done with women!"
"So did I, sir. But the question always is, Have women done with you? Iwas helping her to lift pictures down yesterday, and she was standingon a chair. And something came over me. And there you are before youknow where you are, sir, if you understand what I mean."
"Perfectly, Carthew. But who is it?"
"Machin, sir. To cut a long story short, sir, I'd been thinking abouther for the better part of some time, because of the boy, sir, becauseof the boy. She likes him. If it hadn't been for the boy--"
"Careful, Carthew!"
"Well, perhaps you're right, sir. She'd have copped me anyway."
"I congratulate you, Carthew. You've been copped by the best parlourmaidin London."
"Thank you, sir. I think I'll be getting along, sir."
"Have you told Mrs. Prohack?"
"I thought I'd best leave that to Machin, sir."
Mr. Prohack waved a hand, thoughtful. He heard Carthew leave. He heardDr. Veiga arrive, and then he heard Dr. Veiga leaving, and rushed to thedining-room door.
"Veiga! A moment. Come in. Everything all right?"
"Of course. Absolutely normal. But you know what these young husbandsare. I can't stop unless you're really ill, my friend."
"I'm worse than really ill," said Mr. Prohack, shutting the door. "I'mreally bored. I'm surrounded by the most interesting phenomena and I'mreally bored. I've taken to heart all your advice and I'm really bored.So there!"
The agreeable, untidy, unprofessional Portuguese quack twinkled at him,and then said in his thick, southern, highly un-English voice: "Theremedy may be worse than the disease. You are bored because you have noworries, my friend. I will give you advice. Go back to your Treasury."
"I cannot," said Mr. Prohack. "I've resigned. I found out that my friendHunter was expecting promotion in my place."
"Ah, well!" replied
Dr. Veiga with strange sardonic indifference. "Ifyou will sacrifice yourself to your friends you must take theconsequences like a man. I will talk to you some other time, when I'vegot nothing better to do. I am very busy, telling people what theyalready know." And he went.
A minute later Charlie arrived in a car suitable to his grandeur.
"Look here, dad," said Charlie in a hurry. "If you're game for a day outI particularly want to show you something. And incidentally you'll seesome driving, believe me!"
"My will is made! I am game," answered Mr. Prohack, delighted at theprospect of any diversion, however perilous.
II
When Charlie drew up at the Royal Pier, Southampton (having reachedthere in rather less time than the train journey and a taxi at each endwould have required), he silently handed over the wheel to thechauffeur, and led his mystified but unenquiring father down the stepson the west side of the pier. A man in a blue suit with a peaked cap anda white cover on the cap was standing at the foot of the steps, justabove the water and above a motor-launch containing two other men inblue jerseys with the name "Northwind" on their breasts and on theirforeheads. A blue ensign was flying at the stem of the launch.
"How d'ye do, Snow?" Charlie greeted the first man, who raised his cap.
Father and son got into the launch and the man after them: the launchbegan to snort, and off it went at a racing speed from the pier towardsmidchannel. Mr. Prohack, who said not a word, perceived a string ofvessels of various sizes which he judged to be private yachts, though hehad no experience whatever of yachts. Some of them flew bunting and someof them didn't; but they all without exception appeared, as Mr. Prohackwould have expected, to be the very symbols of complicated elegance andluxury, shining and glittering buoyantly there on the brilliant bluewater under the summer sun. The launch was rushing headlong through itsown white surge towards the largest of these majestic toys. As itapproached the string Mr. Prohack saw that all the yachts were muchlarger than he imagined, and that the largest was enormous. The launchflicked itself round the stern of that yacht, upon which Mr. Prohackread the word "Northwind" in gold, and halted bobbing at a staircasewhose rails were white ropes, slung against a dark blue wall; the wallwas the side of the yacht. Mr. Prohack climbed out of the bobbinglaunch, and the staircase had the solidity under his feet of masonry onearth. High up, glancing over the wall, was a capped face.
"How d'ye do, skipper," called Charlie, and when he had got his parenton to the deck, he said: "Skipper, this is my father. Dad--CaptainCrowley."
Mr. Prohack shook hands with a short, stoutish nervous man with anhonest, grim, marine face.
"Everything all right?"
"Yes, sir. Glad you've come at last, sir."
"Good!"
Charlie turned away from the captain to his father. Mr. Prohack saw aman hauling a three-cornered flag up the chief of the three masts whichthe ship possessed, and another man hauling a large oblong flag up apole at the stern.
"What is the significance of this flag-raising?" asked Mr. Prohack.
"The significance is that the owner has come aboard," Charlie replied,not wholly without self-consciousness. "Come on. Have a look at her.Come on, skipper. Do the honours. She used to be a Mediterranean trader.The former owner turned her into a yacht. He says she cost him a hundredthousand by the time she was finished. I can believe it."
Mr. Prohack also believed it, easily; he believed it more and moreeasily as he was trotted from deck to deck and from bedroom to bedroom,and sitting-room to sitting-room, and library to smoking-room, andmusic-room to lounge, and especially from bathroom to bathroom. In noland habitation had Mr. Prohack seen so many, or such marmoreal, or suchluxurious bathrooms. What particularly astonished Mr. Prohack was theexceeding and minute finish of everything, and what astonished him evenmore than the finish was the cleanliness of everything.
"Dirty place to be in, sir, Southampton," grinned the skipper. "We dothe best we can."
They reached the dining-room, an apartment in glossy bird's-eye mapleset in the midst of the virgin-white promenade deck.
"By the way, lunch, please," said Charlie.
"Yes, sir," responded eagerly the elder of two attendants in jacketsstriped blue and white.
"Have a wash, guv'nor? Thanks, skipper, that'll do for the present."
Mr. Prohack washed in amplitudinous marble, and wiped his paternal faceupon diaper into which was woven the name "Northwind." He then, with hisson, ate an enormous and intricate lunch and drank champagne out ofcrystal engraved with the name "Northwind," served to him by aceremonious person in white gloves. Charlie was somewhat taciturn, butover the coffee he seemed to brighten up.
"Well, what do you think of the old hulk?"
"She must need an awful lot of men," said Mr. Prohack.
"Pretty fair. The wages bill is seven hundred a month."
"She's enormous," continued Mr. Prohack lamely.
"Oh, no! Seven hundred tons Thames measurement. You see those funnelsover there," and Charlie pointed through the port windows to a row offour funnels rising over great sheds. "That's the _Mauretania_. She's ahundred times as big as this thing. She could almost sling this affairin her davits."
"Indeed! Still, I maintain that this antique wreck is enormous," Mr.Prohack insisted.
They walked out on deck.
"Hello! Here's the chit. You can always count on _her_!" said Charles.
The launch was again approaching the yacht, and a tiny figure with adespatch case on her lap sat smiling in the stern-sheets.
"She's come down by train," Charles explained.
Miss Winstock in her feminineness made a delicious spectacle on thespotless deck. She nearly laughed with delight as she acknowledged Mr.Prohack's grave salute and shook hands with him, but when Charlie said:"Anything urgent?" she grew grave and tense, becoming the faithful,urgent, confidential employe in an instant.
"Only this," she said, opening the despatch case and producing atelegram.
"Confound it!" remarked Charles, having read the telegram. "Here, you,Snow. Please see that Miss Winstock has something to eat at once.That'll do, Miss Winstock."
"Yes, Mr. Prohack," she said dutifully.
"And his mother thought he would be marrying her!" Mr. Prohack seniorreflected. "He'll no more marry her than he'll marry Machin. Goodnessknows whom he will marry. It might be a princess."
"You remember that paper concern--newsprint stuff--I've mentioned to youonce or twice," said Charlie to his father, dropping into abasket-chair. "Sit down, will you, dad? I've had no luck with it yet."He flourished the telegram. "Here the new manager I appointed has goneand got rheumatic fever up in Aberdeen. No good for six months at least,if ever. It's a great thing if I could only really get it going. But no!The luck's wrong. And yet a sound fellow with brains could put thataffair into such shape in a year that I could sell it at a profit offour hundred per cent to the Southern Combine. However--"
Soon afterwards he went below to talk to the chit, and the skipper tookcharge of Mr. Prohack and displayed to him the engine-room, theofficers' quarters, the forecastle, the galley, and all manner of arcanathat Charlie had grandiosely neglected.
"It's a world!" said Mr. Prohack, but the skipper did not quitecomprehend the remark.
"Well," said Charlie, returning. "We'll have some tea and then we mustbe off again. I have to be in town to-night. Have you seen everything?What's the verdict? Some ship, eh?"
"Some ship," agreed Mr. Prohack. "But the most shockingly uneconomicthing I've ever met with in all my life. How often do you use theyacht?"
"Well, I haven't been able to use her yet. She's been lying here waitingfor me for nearly a month. I hope to get a few days off soon."
"I understand there's a crew of thirty odd, all able-bodied and knowingtheir job, I suppose. And all waiting for a month to give you and me alunch and a tea. Seven hundred pounds in wages alone for lunch and a teafor two, without counting the food and the washing!"
"And why not, dad?" Ch
arlie retorted calmly. "I've got to spend a bit ofmoney uneconomically, and there's nothing like a yacht for doing it.I've no use for racing, and moreover it's too difficult not to mix withrascals if you go in for racing, and I don't care for rascals. Also it'sa mug's game, and I don't want to be a mug. As for young women, no! Theyonly interest me at present as dancing partners, and they cost menothing. A good yacht's the sole possible thing for my case, and a yachtbrings you into contact with clean and decent people, not bookmakers. Ibought this boat for thirty-three thousand, and she's a marvellousbargain, and that's something."
"But why spend money uneconomically at all?"
"Because I said and swore I would. Didn't I come back from the war andtry all I knew to obtain the inestimable privilege of earning my livingby doing something useful? Did I succeed in obtaining the privilege?Why, nobody would look at me! And there were tens of thousands like me.Well, I said I'd take it out of this noble country of mine, and I amdoing; and I shall keep on doing until I'm tired. These thirty men or sohere might be at some useful productive work, fishing ormerchant-marining. They're otherwise engaged. They're spending apleasant wasteful month over our lunch and tea. That's what I enjoy. Itmakes me smile to myself when I wake up in the middle of the night....I'm showing my beloved country who's won the Peace."
"It's a scheme," murmured Mr. Prohack, rendered thoughtful as much bythe quiet and intense manner, as by the matter, of his son's oration."Boyish, of course, but not without charm."
"We were most of us boys," said Charlie.
Mr. Prohack marshalled, in his head, the perfectly plain, simplereasoning necessary to crush Charlie to powder, and, before crushinghim, to expose to him the crudity of his conceptions of organised socialexistence. But he said nothing, having hit on another procedure forcarrying out his parental duty to Charles. Shortly afterwards theydeparted from the yacht in the launch. Long ere they reached the waitingmotor-car the bunting had been hauled down.
In the car Mr. Prohack said:
"Tell me something more about that paper-making business. It soundsinteresting."
III
When Mr. Prohack reached his daughter's house again late in the night,it was his wife who opened the door to him.
"Good heavens, Arthur! Where have you been? Poor Sissie is in such astate--I was obliged to come over and stay with her. She needs thegreatest care."
"We had a breakdown," said Mr. Prohack, rather guiltily.
"Who's we? Where? What breakdown? You went off without saying a word toany one. I really can't imagine what you were thinking about. You'rejust like a child sometimes."
"I went down to Southampton with Charlie," the culprit explained, givinga brief and imperfect history of the day, and adding that on the wayhome he had made a detour with Charles to look at a paper-manufactory.
"And you couldn't have telephoned!"
"Never thought of it!"
"I'll run and tap at Sissie's door and tell her. Ozzie's with her. You'dbetter go straight to bed."
"I'm hungry."
Eve made a deprecating and expostulatory noise with her tongue againsther upper teeth.
"I'll bring you something to eat. At least I'll try to find something,"said she.
"And are you sleeping here, too? Where?" Mr. Prohack demanded when Evecrept into Charlie's old bedroom with a tray in her hands.
"I had to stay. I couldn't leave the girl. I'm sleeping in her oldroom."
"The worst of these kids' rooms," said Mr. Prohack, with an affectationof calm, "is that there are no easy chairs in them. It never struck mebefore. Look here, you sit on the bed and put the tray down _there_,and I'll occupy this so-called chair. Now, I don't want any sermons. Andwhat is more, I can't eat unless you do. But I tell you I'm very hungry.So would you be, if you'd had my day."
"You won't sleep if you eat much."
"I don't care if I don't. Is this whiskey? What--bread and cheese? Thesimple life! I'm not used to it.... Where are you off to?"
"There came a letter for you. I brought it along. It's in the otherbedroom."
"Open it for me, my good child," said Mr. Prohack, his mouth full andhis hands occupied, when she returned. She did so.
"It seems to me that you'd better read this yourself," she said,naughtily.
The letter was from Lady Massulam, signed only with her initials,announcing with a queer brevity that she had suddenly decided to go backat once to her native country to live.
"How strange!" exclaimed Mr. Prohack, trying to be airy. "Listen! Whatdo you make of it. You're a woman, aren't you?"
"I make of it," said Eve, "that she's running away from you. She'safraid of herself, that's what she is! Didn't I always tell you? Oh!Arthur. How simple you are! But fancy! At her age! Oh, my poor boy!Shall you get over it?" Eve bent forward and kissed the poor boy, whowas cursing himself for not succeeding in not being self-conscious.
"Rot!" he exploded at last. "I said you were a woman, and by all thegods you are! Give me some more food."
He was aware of a very peculiar and unprecedented thrill. He hated tocredit Eve's absurd insinuation, but...! And Eve looked at himsuperiorly, triumphant, sure of him, sure of her everlasting power overhim! Yet she was not romantic, and her plump person did not in the leastsymbolise romance.
"I've a piece of news for you," he said, after a pause. "After to-nightI've done with women and idleness. I'm going into business. I've boughthalf of that paper-making concern from your singular son, and I'm goingto put it on its legs. I know nothing about paper-making, and I can onlyhope that the London office is not as dirty and untidy as the works. I'dno idea what works were. The whole thing will be a dreadful worry, and Ishall probably make a horrid mess of it, but Charlie seems to think Ishan't."
"But why--what's come over you, Arthur? Surely we've got enough money.What _has_ come over you? I never could make you out and I never shall."
"Nothing! Nothing!" said he. "Only I've got a sort of idea that some oneought to be economic and productive. It may kill me, but I'll dieproducing, anyhow."
He waited for her to begin upbraiding him for capricious folly andexpatiating upon the fragility of his health. But you never know whereyou are with an Eve. Eves have the most disconcerting gleams of insight.She said:
"I'm rather glad. I was getting anxious about you."
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