“ Come on,” I said, rising and pushing back my chair. “ We’ve finished dinner. Come on, Ned, pay the bill and we’ll go.”
“ I don’t want to go home! ” cried Beryl. “ It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday party! ”
“ My burshday too! ” shrieked Zilla. “ My burshday shame as Beryl. All our burshdays! ”
The waiter turned to me. “ Please make them go, sir,” he implored. “ The manager doesn’t like this sort of thing. It gives the place a bad name.”
My face was burning and my hands were clammy with perspiration. I had never felt so ashamed in my life. “ Come on,” I said, taking Ned by the arm. “ Pay the bill and come. We don’t want to stay where we’re not wanted.”
“ Not wanted! ” cried Harry. “ That’s a funny thing! Not wanted! ”
Ned took out his pocket-book and began to count out the money.
“ I’ll go shares,” said Harry. “ It’s been a good party. I don’t mind paying for my fun.”
“ And David——” said Beryl looking at me. “ David’ll go shares too.”
I looked at Ned but he was busy paying the bill and objecting to some of the items. “ Whass this? ” he was saying. “ We didn’t have coffee; nobody had coffee.”
“ Here you are! ” said Harry, throwing down a wad of notes. “ Pay the blinking bill. Nobody can say I’m stingy.”
“ David’s stingy,” said Joan with her irritating giggle. “ David doesn’t want to go shares. I don’t think much of your new boy-friend, Beryl. He’s too Scotch; that’s what’s the matter with him.”
“ Stingy,” agreed Beryl, looking at me with glassy eyes. “ David’s stingy. Don’t like stingy people.”
I said nothing. My one idea was to get them on the move and presently after a good deal of argument the bill was settled and we trailed out to the car. Zilla could hardly walk and Beryl was not much better but somehow or other we managed. Ned opened the door of the car and climbed into the driving seat.
“ Here! ” exclaimed Harry. “ You better let me drive. You’re tight.”
“ I’m not. Just a bit lit up—thass all. We’ll go to Chertsey—I know a pub at Chertsey—nice little pub—do us good to have a drink.”
“ I want to go home,” said Joan. “ Let Harry drive! Ned, let Harry drive! I want to go home.”
“ I don’t want to go home! ” cried Beryl.
“ Harry’s tight too! ” screamed Zilla. “ We’re all tight excep’ David. David thinks we’re awful. Beryl, look at David! He thinks we’re awful! ”
I lifted her into the car and the others crawled in after her. Ned and Harry were still arguing about which of them was to drive. Obviously neither of them was fit to drive and I decided that I must take a firm line and drive the car myself. My licence had expired months ago but that could not be helped.
“ Where’s your bag, Beryl? ” exclaimed Joan.
“ My bag! ”
“ Yes, your handbag; the little red bag I gave you for your birthday. You’ve lost it! ”
“ I’ve lost it! ” wailed Beryl. “ I’ve lost my bag! ”
“ It’s all right,” I told her. “ I’ll go back and look for your bag. I expect it slipped under the table.”
The last thing I wanted to do was to go back to that dining-room for Beryl’s bag. I walked back slowly (they can wait for me, I thought. It will do them no harm to wait). I walked back through the car-park and up the steps. When I got into the hall I hesitated. Could I do it? Could I go back to the dining-room and grope under the table for that horrible little bag? Everybody in the room would look at me. “ That’s one of those awful people! ” they would say.
I was still hesitating when the waiter came out of the dining-room with the little red bag in his hand. He handed it to me and said, “ I’m sorry; but we have to consider our other patrons, you see. This is a quiet sort of place. People come here and bring their families.”
“ I know,” I said. “ I’m sorry about it, too—and ashamed.”
He smiled at me. He had a nice open face and he was quite young, not much older than I was. “ I could see that,” he said. “ But I shouldn’t worry if I were you. There’s no harm done. These things happen sometimes.”
“ It’s never happened to me before and it never will again! ”
“ I shouldn’t worry too much,” he repeated. “ The only thing is—you came in a car, didn’t you, sir? ”
“ Yes.”
“ You’ll drive, won’t you? There might be serious trouble—if you see what I mean.”
“ Yes, I’ll drive,” I said, nodding. I gave him a tip, for I knew he had not got much from Ned and he thanked me and said good night.
Somehow talking to him had made me feel better. He was sane and sensible—the first sane, sensible person I had spoken to for hours. As I walked back to the car I had an absurd feeling that I could be friends with that waiter. I wondered what his name was and where he lived … it was foolish, of course; I knew nothing about him, nothing except that he was sensible and kind.
When I got back to the car-park there was no green car to be seen. For a moment I could not believe my eyes. I stood there gazing at the empty space in blank amazement. The big green car had vanished. They had gone without me.
Suddenly I began to laugh. It was a cracking joke. They had gone without me! Perhaps they had got tired of waiting; quite possibly they had forgotten me. I did not care. I was so delighted to be rid of my companions that I did not care a hoot. If I had to walk all the way back to Bloomsbury I did not care!
In my pocket there was a sixpence and three pennies (I had given the waiter ten shillings and that was all I had left) so it looked as if I should have to walk most of the way, but it was a fine starry night and the air was sweet and clean. I started off down the road. Perhaps I should have been worrying about the fate of the green car and its occupants but the plain truth is that I was not worrying at all. The plain truth is I did not care a pin what happened to them. I was utterly fed up and disgusted with the whole crowd.
It was my own fault of course. I should never have accepted the invitation to the party. I had known from the very beginning that Ned was not my sort. It was nothing to do with class, it was his character; Ned was a third-rate person and his friends were of the same pattern. Oddly enough I was much more angry and disgusted with Beryl—perhaps because I had liked her—I was so furious with Beryl that I could not think of her without a curious sort of constriction in my chest.
There were streets and streets, all quiet and deserted with scarcely a creature to be seen. I threw back my shoulders and stretched my legs and strode along at a round pace. The fresh night air was exhilarating and presently I began to feel better. I remembered what Father had said about digging—digging was the best cure for a sore heart—and I decided that walking at night was almost as good, especially if the stars were bright in a clear dark-blue sky. Why didn’t more people walk at night in London? Why didn’t I, for that matter? The pavements, which in the daytime were thick with crowds of pedestrians, were wide and empty and free.
I had walked for about an hour when I came to a coffee-stall drawn up at the corner of a street. The smell of coffee was tempting and after a moment’s hesitation I joined the little group of people who had gathered round the stall. They were an odd collection: a tall man in evening dress, two navvies, a stout individual with a check cap (who might have been a bookie) and several others. The proprietor had grey hair and a red face; he was pouring coffee into big thick cups and serving sausage rolls and sandwiches.
“ Wot’ll you ’ave? ” he asked.
“ What can you give me for ninepence? ”
“ Ninepence! ”
“ That’s all I’ve got,” I told him.
He looked at me. “ ’Ave you ’ad your pocket picked? ”
“ No,” I said. “ I was with some friends and they went off without me, that’s all.”
The other people had stopped chatting and were gaz
ing at me with interest.
“ Funny sort of thing to do,” said the man in the check cap. “ Not my ideer of a joke. I’d see them far enough before I gave them another chance.”
“ They won’t get another chance,” I said with feeling.
The coffee-stall proprietor gave me a cup of steaming coffee and a sausage roll. “ There you are, young feller,” he said.
“ Where are you going? ” asked the man in evening dress.
“ Bloomsbury,” I replied. I fished out the sixpence and the three pennies to pay for the food and handed it over.
“ You better keep it,” said the coffee-stall proprietor, smiling at me, “ you’ve a long way to go. You might get a bus or something——”
“ Not now, ’e won’t,” declared one of the navvies.
“ It’s all right,” I said. “ I like walking and it’s a lovely night. I’ve been wondering why more people don’t walk at night in London.”
“ They’ve enough to do in the day,” suggested the man in the check cap.
The man in evening dress looked at me thoughtfully. “ You aren’t a Londoner,” he said.
I laughed. “ No, I’m a country cousin.”
A big tall fellow at the other end of the stall leant forward and stared at me. He had red hair and a ruddy complexion and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “ I’m thinking ye come frae the norrth,” he declared.
“ You’re right, I’ve done most of my walking on the hills.”
“ See here, I’ll tak’ ye tae Bloomsbury—it’s a wee bit oot o’ my way but niver heed.”
The sound of his slow Scots voice with its lilting cadences was music in my ears. I exclaimed impulsively, “ You’re a Hawick man! ”
Back came the answer. “ Na, na, ye’re oot o’ yer reckoning, laddie. I’m frae Tushielaw.” He grinned at me and added, “ I’m, awa’ back hame the morn’s morn. Wull ye come? ”
“ What’s he saying? ” asked the man in evening dress and I was not surprised for my brother Scot had tendered his invitation in the broad dialect of the district where he was born and which I had recognised at once. (Tushielaw is less than twenty miles from Hawick.)
“ It’s double Dutch,” declared the man in the check cap. “ That’s what it is.”
“ Sounds like Danish to me,” said the man in evening dress. “ He looks like a Dane, too.”
“ He’s a Scot,” I said, laughing. “ So am I. He’s offering me a lift home to Scotland, and I’d give my ears to take him at his word.”
“ I thought you wanted to go to Bloomsbury.”
“ I don’t want to go to Bloomsbury, but I’ve got to,” I explained.
“ Come awa’ then, laddie,” said the Scot. “ If I’m taking ye tae Bloomsbury we’ll need tae get stairted. D’ye ken the road? ”
I had only the vaguest idea of the way to Bloomsbury but they were all interested by this time and all joined in a discussion of the best and shortest route, but the advice we received was so varied as to be almost useless and after listening to it for a few moments my friendly Scot lost patience.
“ Och away! ” he exclaimed. “ There’s too mony roads hereabouts. We’ll trust oor sense o’ direction.”
I said good-bye and followed him to his van. It was a big furniture van painted green, a solid-looking vehicle. We climbed into the front seat and set off.
“ They’re kind, mind you, but they’re awful silly whiles,” said the Tushielaw man reflectively.
Fortunately we had little difficulty in finding our way—the river was our guide—and as we went we chatted comfortably about Haines and Tushielaw and other matters of interest. It was nearly three o’clock when the green van drew up before the door of Mrs. Hall’s boarding-house and I thanked my new friend for his kindness.
“ Ye’re welcome,” he said simply, and we shook hands.
The key of the front door was in my pocket; I let myself in quietly and crept up the stairs. So much had happened that it was not until I was safely in bed that I remembered Ned and Beryl and the other members of the party and wondered whether or not they too were safely in bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Neither Ned nor Beryl appeared at breakfast and I was not surprised. It was Sunday, of course, so there was nothing to prevent them from sleeping off the effects of the party.
Mr. Kensey asked if I had had a good time but before I could think of a suitable reply Miss Bulwer chipped in:
“ I heard you come in,” declared Miss Bulwer. “ It was after three o’clock. Disgraceful, I call it! Do you realise it was Sunday morning, Mr. Kirke? ”
“ They were home before twelve,” said Owen in his sing-song voice. “ Yes, indeed they were. I heard Ned and Beryl talking on the landing. They were having a row. Very noisy, they were. It shows little consideration for others to be talking so loudly on the landing at that time of night. So you see, Miss Bulwer, you were wrong. It was twelve o’clock that they came in and not three.”
“ It was three o’clock,” interrupted Miss Bulwer. “ I heard Mr. Kirke come in. His room is next door to mine. I looked at my watch.”
They argued about it. Oddly enough it did not seem to occur to them to refer the matter to me, and this being so I went on eating my breakfast and did not interfere.
It was my habit to go out for the whole day on Sundays and I saw no reason to break it. I went to St. Paul’s for the morning service; I lunched in a small restaurant not far from the Cathedral and then I walked in the Park. When I got back Ned was alone in the lounge sitting beside a smoky fire and reading a Sunday paper. He was even paler than usual and his eyes were swollen and puffy; in fact I had scarcely ever seen a more miserable-looking object.
“ David! ” he exclaimed. “ Good heavens, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you all day. I want to talk to you.”
“ Talk away,” I said.
“ You’re not angry, are you? I mean it was all a mistake. Look here, old boy, I’ll explain the whole thing. It was like this you see; Harry wanted to drive, but I was blowed if I was going to let him. He kept on trying to drag me out of the seat—he was as tight as a drum—I couldn’t let him drive, could I? It wouldn’t have been safe. So I just stepped on the gas and drove off. I thought you were in the car—really I did, David. The girls kept on yelling at me to go back but I didn’t understand—I mean I didn’t want to go back to that foul place. I just drove on and took no notice. As a matter of fact I had a devil of a job getting out of that beastly car-park; the gate was so narrow that I scraped off half the wing. They were all screaming their heads off in the back and Harry was bawling in my ear and clutching at the wheel.”
I laughed. I could not help it.
“ What are you laughing at? ” he said. “ There was nothing to laugh at, I can tell you. I was absolutely boiling with rage. I just drove on and took no notice of them and it wasn’t until we’d gone some distance that they stopped behaving like a pack of lunatics and explained that you’d been left behind. We went back at once—honestly David—we went straight back but you weren’t there. That’s how it happened.”
“ It doesn’t matter,” I said.
“ I couldn’t help it. The whole thing was a mistake.”
“ It doesn’t matter,” I repeated.
“ But it does. You’re as sick as mud—I can see that. You’re fed up because we drove off without you—but we were only gone a few minutes and when we got back you weren’t there. What could we do? It was no good hanging about waiting for you. We didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“ I walked home.”
“ You walked home! ”
“ Most of the way. Then I got a lift in a van.”
“ Why didn’t you wait for us? ”
“ I never thought of it. I didn’t know you were coming back. But you needn’t worry. As a matter of fact I was very glad when I realised you’d gone without me. I had had enough.”
“ That’s a funny thing to say! ” cried Ned. “ You’d had en
ough. My hat, we’d had enough of you! We asked you to the party and you were no more use than a sick headache. Harry said you were a stuffed shirt and so you were! ”
Quite suddenly I was angry. I had made up my mind to say nothing but this sensible resolution was swept away. Harry thought I was a stuffed shirt, did he?
“ I didn’t like your party—or your friends,” I said. “ I’ve never seen such a crew! You all got drunk and behaved so badly that we were kicked out of the hotel.”
“ We weren’t kicked out! ”
“ We were—and I didn’t blame them. I’ve never been so ashamed before in all my life.”
“ Oh lord,” groaned Ned. “ My head’s splitting! ”
“ Small wonder! ” I said unsympathetically, and I sat down and opened the paper.
“ It was that hock. I don’t believe it was good stuff.”
“ It was foul,” I replied shortly.
He was silent for a few moments and then he continued in a dreary tone. “ It was a stinking place for a party—absolutely lousy—we should have gone somewhere and danced. I wish I’d never suggested having a party. It was an absolute wash-out. I did it for Beryl and instead of being pleased she’s fed-up to the back teeth. She keeps on saying there was no band. How could I know there wouldn’t be a band? Of course I thought there’d be a band at a place like that. That party cost the earth and it was no good at all. I suppose you couldn’t lend me a few quid to go on with, David? ”
I could hardly believe my ears.
“ David, could you? ” he asked. “ It would only be till the end of the week. I’m absolutely cleaned out.”
“ Cleaned out? ” I said, putting down the paper and looking at him. “ How can you be cleaned out? I gave you three pounds and Harry shared the bill with you. How much did you have to pay? Precious little! ”
“ It was the car. I mean I’ll have to pay for the wing to be repaired.”
“ Wasn’t it insured? ”
“ Well—no——” he muttered. “ Not really. I mean it’s insured when the boss is driving. I mean it’s a bit difficult to explain to anyone who doesn’t understand.” He paused and looked at me. “ I had to have a big car,” he said miserably. “ There were six of us. How could six of us fit into a mouldy little bus? Harry’s used to doing things in style. Oh hell, I don’t know what the boss will say to-morrow when he sees that wing! ”
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