CHAPTER V
Jacob, in the midst of those pleasant activities necessitated by hischange of fortunes, found time to write a letter. He wrote it withgreat care and after many revisions, and not until after it wasdispatched did he realise with how much anxiety he awaited the reply.
The Cottage, Marlingden.
Dear Miss Bultiwell,
I am venturing to write these few lines to assure you of my very deep sympathy with you in the loss which you have sustained, and I beg also to express the earnest hope that you will not associate me in any way with those misfortunes of your father which I was powerless to avert or lighten.
I have a further object in writing to you, which I hesitate to touch upon for fear I should give you offence, but I do beg, Miss Bultiwell, that you will accept my offer in a kind and generous spirit, and believe that it is entirely dictated by feelings of friendship for you. I gather that your father's affairs are so much involved that a considerable interval may elapse before any substantial sum can be collected from his estate for the benefit of yourself and your mother. I beg, therefore, as a person into whose hands great wealth has come quite unexpectedly, that you will, if it is the slightest convenience to you, permit me to offer to make any advance necessary for your comfort. At a word from you, it will give me the greatest pleasure to place a thousand pounds, or any such sum, in any bank you may name, for your use until the estate is wound up.
If I have expressed myself crudely, please forgive me, Miss Bultiwell. I have a sincere desire to be of service to you, and I would like very much to be able to sign myself
Your friend, Jacob Pratt.
The reply came by return of post. It was dated from the late Mr.Bultiwell's house, a few miles farther down the line than Marlingden.
Dear Mr. Pratt,
The offer contained in your letter, which I received this morning, may possibly have been kindly meant, but I wish you to know that I consider it an insult. My father took his life after an interview with you, during which I understand that you rejected a business proposition of his in terms which I cannot help suspecting, from your attitude while I was present, were unnecessarily brutal. Under those circumstances, you can scarcely wonder that I, his daughter, feel the greatest resentment at your offer and decline without the slightest hesitation your proposal of friendship.
Yours truly, Sybil Bultiwell.
Jacob read the letter as he sat out amongst his roses, with the engineof his motor-car purring in the street, waiting to take him to town.For a few moments all the joy of his new prosperity seemed to slipaway from him. The perfume of his cherished flowers lost itssweetness; the pleasant view of spreading meadows, with theirbackground of dim blue hills, faded from before his eyes. Heremembered the girl's face as he had first seen and afterwards dreamedof it, the eyes shining with kindliness, the proud lips smilingencouragement, her tone purposely softened, leading him on to talkabout himself, his pleasant hobbies, his dawning ambitions. And thenagain he thought of her as she must have looked when she sat downto write that letter, amidst the discomfort of a dismantled home,embittered and saddened by the sordid approach of ignominious poverty.He shivered a little and looked up as Dauncey approached.
"I almost wish," he declared, "that I had bought that old swindler'sbusiness. It wouldn't have cost me a tenth part of what I am worth."
"Has the girl been unkind?" his friend asked.
Jacob showed him the letter.
"She's not generous," was Dauncey's comment, as he returned it.
"She's loyal, at any rate," Jacob replied.
Dauncey's face suddenly softened. His wife was leaning over the gatewaving her hand. His eyes watched her retreating figure until shedisappeared.
"Somehow or other," he ventured a little hesitatingly, as he turnedback to Jacob, "I can't help thinking that the tone of that letterisn't altogether womanly. She must know the truth about her father'sposition. It doesn't seem fair to blame you for your perfectlyreasonable attitude."
"Why, even you thought I was hard at the time," Jacob reminded him.
"You were hard but you were just, and your offer to the young lady andher mother should certainly have evoked some feeling of gratitude. Idon't like a woman to be too independent."
"You've never seen her," Jacob groaned.
"Not to speak to, but I've seen her once or twice on the platform withher father. She is very good-looking, of course," Dauncey continuedhesitatingly, "although she always reminded me of one of theconventional pictures of the birth or purse-proud young women whichadorn the illustrated papers."
"You've never seen her smile," Jacob said gloomily, as he rose to hisfeet. "However, she may get more reasonable after the first shock haspassed away.... Time we started for the City, eh, Dick?"
They motored through the old-fashioned villages and along the quietcountry lanes, towards where the wide-flung arms of the great citycrept out like tentacles of hideous brick and mortar, to gather in herchildren. This morning ride was to both of them a never-ending sourceof delight. Jacob especially had the air of a schoolboy when heremembered the punctual train, his punctual appearance at the dingywarehouse in Bermondsey Street, his inevitable sallying forth,half-an-hour later, with a list of names in his pocket, a few samplesof leather in his bag, and the stock phrases of the market packed intohis head by the never-satisfied Mr. Smith.
"A free man, Dick," he observed, taking his cigar from his mouth anddrawing a long breath of content. "A free man at thirty-four years ofage. It's wonderful!"
"If it only lasts!" Dauncey muttered, with a touch of his oldpessimism.
"You can cut that out, old fellow," Jacob insisted firmly. "I gavePedlar a cheque for thirty-eight thousand pounds yesterday, and thatleft me fifty-five thousand of the original hundred thousand. Sincethen I have received bonds to the registered par value of four hundredthousand pounds, which are being sold to-day in New York at eighttimes their par value. Then there was a quarterly dividend chequeyesterday for nine thousand pounds. You'll admit the money's there."
"Can't deny facts," Dauncey agreed, with returning cheerfulness.
"As regards your personal position," Jacob went on, "I made my willyesterday and I left you five hundred a year."
"Jacob!"
Jacob patted his friend on the shoulder.
"I've only told you this, old chap," he went on, "because I want youto lift up your head when you walk, remember that you owe nobodyanything, and that, whatever measure of bad luck you may have, you areoutside all risk of financial trouble for the rest of your life. It'sa wonderful feeling, that, Dick. Half the men you meet in life admitthat they have their fits of depression, their dark days, theiranxieties. If you analyse these, you will find that nearly every oneof them is financial. The man who is free from all financial cares forhimself and his family should walk about with a song on his lips thewhole of the day. You and I are in that position, Dick, and don't letus forget it."
Dauncey drew in a deep breath of realisation, and his face for amoment glowed.
"Jacob," he confided, "I don't feel that I could ever be unhappyagain. I have what I always dreamed of--Nora and the kids and freedomfrom anxiety. But you--where will life lead you, I wonder? I havereached the summit of my ambitions. I'm giddy with the pleasure of it.But you--it would be horrible if you, with all your money, were tomiss happiness."
Jacob smiled confidently.
"My dear Dick," he said, "I am happy--not because I have twelve suitsof clothes coming home from Savile Row to-day, not because of thisRolls-Royce car, my little flat at the Milan Court, my cottage atMarlingden, with Harris there for gardener now, and Mrs. Harris withnot a worry in the world except how to make me comfortable. I am happynot because of all these things, but because you and I together aregoing to test lif
e. I have the master key to the locked chambers. I amready for adventures."
"I have about as much imagination as an owl," Dauncey sighed.
Jacob's eyes were fixed upon the haze which hung over the city.
"When I speak of adventures," he went on, "I do not mean theadventures of romance. I mean rather the adventures of the pavement.Human beings interest me, Dick. I like to see them come and go, studytheir purposes, analyse their motives, help them if they deserve help,stand in their way if they seek evil. These are the day-by-dayadventures possible to the man who is free from care, and who mixeswithout hindrance with his fellows."
"I begin to understand," Dauncey admitted, "but I still don't quitesee by what means you are sure of coming into touch with interestingpeople."
Jacob knocked the ash from his cigar.
"Dick," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "you are a verysuperficial student of humanity. A story such as mine attracts theimagination of the public. Every greedy adventurer in the worldbelieves that the person who has acquired wealth without individualeffort is an easy prey. I expect to derive a certain amount ofamusement from those who read of my good fortune and seek to profitby it. That is why I had no objection to telling my story to thereporters, why I let them take my photograph, why I gave them all theinformation they wanted about the payment of my creditors in full andmy sudden wealth. All that we need now is the little West End officewhich I am going to take within the next few days, and a brass plateupon the door. The fly will then sit still and await the maraudingspiders."
Dauncey smiled with all the enthusiasm of his new-found sense ofhumour.
"Five hundred a year," he murmured, "to be henchman to a bluebottle!"
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