by W. W. Jacobs
CHAPTER VIII--_George Early holds Fortune in his Arms_
The constant surveillance of the irrepressible George was beginning totell upon Gray. The golden dreams inspired by the possession of fivehundred pounds a year were slowly fading, and he began to look backwith some relish to the days when he could cheerfully call for awhisky-and-soda. What was the use of this wealth without the means ofenjoying it? Certainly he might hoard it up for a year or two, thencast off the yoke. But could he live through the trial? Besides, theblackmailer must have his due, which considerably diminished the sum.
Gray firmly believed that George had taken infinite pains to worry him,instead of apportioning his vigilance equally among the three legatees.Why couldn't he go and live with Busby or Parrott? Gray could onlysuppose that these schemers had outwitted the wily George, and it madehim mad to feel that he couldn't do the same. Busby especiallyirritated Gray, for lately he had put on airs till his manner becameoverbearing.
"If I could only discover what he's being paid to keep off, I'd make itwarm for him," thought Gray, savagely. He pondered over the variousdrawbacks he had noticed in Busby previous to Old Joe's death, butcouldn't call to mind any special vice among them.
"He was always a mean-spirited cuss altogether," he thought. "I supposehe's getting the money to take a Sunday School class and sing hymns."
Gray sounded George on the subject, but met with a cool reception.
"You know my principles," said George. "Do you suppose I'd tell anotherman's secrets?"
"No, of course not," said Gray. "You wouldn't do anything wrong; you'resuch a good young man."
George smiled at this subtle flattery.
"I'd like to have a go at that hound," Gray said with emphasis. "He'sbeen putting on airs a bit too much lately, and as you don't seem to beable to keep him under, you might hand over the responsibility tosomebody else."
"I might," said George; "but it wouldn't be right. You ought not to askme such a thing."
"Of course I ought not. I'd give a sovereign to know, all the same."
This tempting offer was lost upon the secretary, who busied himselfwith his work.
"I believe I'd venture two," said Gray, "just to get a smack at him.What do you say to that?"
"It'd be worth it," said George.
"Well, jot it down," said Gray, "and I'll hand you the cash. Youneedn't be afraid of my giving the game away to any one else."
"I wonder you can ask me to do such a thing for a paltry two pounds,"said George. "Now, if you'd offered five----"
"I'll see you hanged before you get a fiver out of me," said Gray,rudely.
Seeing, however, that George was indifferent as to whether he spoke ornot, he presently ventured to offer him three pounds, and finallygrudgingly promised five.
The secretary showed no inclination to impart the secret until themoney was produced, and even then was loath to speak.
"It's a mean action," he said, fingering the note lovingly. "I'm notsure that I ought to tell."
"You're sure enough of the money, anyway," Gray pointed out.
"I'll do it for you!" said George, pocketing the money suddenly."You're not a bad sort, Gray. And I know that you won't try to makemoney out of it, because that would be robbing me of my little bit.Between ourselves, I must say that there's not another man in thebuilding I'd do a good turn to so willingly as you. You're a man, Gray,that a fellow can depend on, and I'll always stick up for you, comewhat may. I like you because you are honest and----"
"Hang the honesty, and stop that rot!" said Gray. "Tell me what I'vepaid for."
George held up his hand, then tiptoed to the door of Miss Fairbrother'sroom. Having satisfied himself that there were no listeners, he drewGray out on the staircase, closing the door behind them.
When Gray returned to his seat in the lower office it was with theconsciousness that he had paid a big price for a very small secret. Helooked over at Busby, sitting complacently at his work, and mused onthe garrulity of old age that had led Joseph Fairbrother to try toreform such a man.
"There's something solid about my failing," he thought. "Drink hasruined many men, and it's worth all the money I get to keep off it. Butto allow five hundred pounds a year to a person like Busby for notswearing gets over me. Why, a man like that would be afraid to swear.It's a waste of money."
So potent is the spirit of vengeance that Gray could not wait for anopportunity, but must needs force his new-found knowledge upon theunsuspecting Busby. Avoiding his lodger at the hour of closing, Grayfollowed his new enemy homewards. There was a sprightliness in the footof Busby as he tripped nimbly along on the greasy pavement, and astubbornness in that of Gray as he followed.
Fortune favoured the man from Leytonstone before the couple had gonethe whole length of the street. Busby placed his heel upon someslippery substance, and cleaved at the air with his hands. He regainedhis balance and uttered a most emphatic "Damn!"
A second later he was looking into the stern, relentless eye of JamesGray.
"I was nearly over," said Busby, easily, recognizing his colleague."Those fools who throw orange-peel on the pavement ought to beprosecuted. Mind you don't step on it."
Gray said nothing, but kept a piercing eye on the face of the cashier.
"Do you want me?" said Busby, "or are you coming my way? Don't standthere looking like that."
Gray took Busby's arm in a vice-like grip. "I heard it," he said,solemnly.
"Heard it?" said Busby.
"I was close behind," said Gray. "You didn't know it, but I was there."
Busby misunderstood. "I wish you'd been in front," he said, "thenperhaps you'd have found the orange-peel first. I was as near as atouch going over. When you've quite done with my arm I'll have it forpersonal use."
"Don't try to fool me," said Gray, sternly, without relaxing his hold."I know what I heard, and you know what I heard."
Busby's temper now began to get out of hand.
"I don't know what you heard," he said, "but I know that you're makinga juggins of yourself. Leave go my arm!"
Gray complied.
"Now, what do you want?" asked Busby, offensively.
Gray lifted one finger dramatically, without appearing to notice thelast remark. "I give you warning," he said, in a sepulchral voice."Beware!"
Busby began to laugh.
"There's something wrong with you, Jimmy; you'd better see a doctor.Come and have a whisky."
"No," shouted Gray. "I refuse to have your whisky."
"Oh, all right," said Busby. "I won't force it on you. You used not towant asking twice; but I've noticed you've been off it a bit lately."
Gray winced visibly under this remark, and proceeded to turn theconversation. He drew nearer to Busby, and whispered hoarsely--
"I've warned you once, but the next time I may tell. Be careful, andremember that Gray is the man who knows."
With this melodramatic exclamation, he turned and disappeared up a sidealley with appropriate mystery.
Busby stood looking after him, quite at a loss to understand.
"The man who knows? What the dickens is he talking about?"
Being satisfied that Gray was either drunk or labouring under adelusion, he continued his walk towards Fleet Street.
Gray went home alone that evening, the wounds of the past weeks soothedby this new ointment of retaliation. At the tea-table sat his lovingwife, charming as only a woman can be with news on the tip of hertongue.
"Hallo!" said Gray, who saw that something had happened. "You've hadsome money left you."
Mrs. Gray opened her mouth, perplexed.
"You've found a purse," said her husband, "with three pounds in it, alock of hair, and some love-letters."
"Jim!"
"You haven't? Then somebody's given you a valuable recipe for thecomplexion, or is it a new hair-wash?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"I know," said Gray. "You've got another lodger. If that isn't right, Igive it up."
/> "I don't know what you're talking about," said Mrs. Gray; "but it'smost ridiculous, whatever it is. I had something to tell you; but ifyou don't want to listen, why, of course, it doesn't matter."
"It does matter," said Gray. "I've been trying to guess."
This was not quite what Mrs. Gray expected, for who among us likes tobe read? News, to be news, must burst like a thunder-clap, especiallyif it isn't very interesting. Seeing that she had been anticipated, thelittle woman was not anxious to talk; but, seeing that to hold what shehad intended to divulge would have been more worrying than to tell it,she poured out the story of her meeting with Mrs. Busby, the familygossip, and, lastly, the legacy left by Mr. Fairbrother.
"It's a shame!" she cried hotly. "You ought to have got a legacy, too,Jim; you're as good as Mr. Busby, I'm sure! Why shouldn't you get alegacy for studying books?"
"I may get one yet," said the uncomfortable Jim, affecting to pass itover lightly. "These things often take a long time in the lawyers'hands. I dare say I shall get one later on."
Inwardly he was smarting from a fresh wound, which he managed to calmby a great effort. George Early had got the better of him again! He hadmade a fool of him, and charged five pounds for it. He waited forGeorge to come home.
It so happened that he was doomed to disappointment, for some hours atleast. George, with the five pounds chinking in his pocket, had decidedto take an evening off, after the cares of a business day in the City,and was at the very moment that Gray awaited him partaking of acomfortable seven-course dinner in no less luxurious a place than theCafe Royal. It was evident, too, from the negligent manner in which heordered a coffee and benedictine, that he had no intention of hurryinghome. Gray had therefore ample time in which to think out his plan ofargument.
* * * * *
No sign of impending trouble was visible on the face of George as heemerged leisurely from the gaily lighted restaurant, and stood incontemplation for awhile on the pavement, enjoying his Havana. Thefingers of his right hand were in his pocket, toying with the amplebalance of Gray's fiver, and his train of thought, instead of leadinghim, as might have been quite natural, to dwell on the ingenuousness ofhis landlord, turned to the usefulness of money as an aid to theenjoyment of life.
George Early was not so young as to have never thought of this before;but who can help ruminating on the advantages of wealth amid theluxuriousness of Regent Street? On one side a jeweller's, heavy withgems, flashes its wealth insultingly upon passers-by; next door, afurrier calmly displays a two-hundred guinea wrap; lower down, half adozen shops are surmounted by the royal arms, and only by turning intoa side street can one realize the significance of any coin under asovereign. In Regent Street, every other vehicle bears the stamp ofwealth, with its spotless coachmen, and horses better groomed than halfthe men in the City. Languid young lords stroll by arm in arm,displaying a dazzling amount of shirt-front; elaborately coiffuredladies, fresh from some Park Lane boudoir, trip across the pavement,and dive into gorgeous restaurants. Now and again a son of toil passes,but his poverty is swamped by the surrounding glitter.
George looked on at this everyday scene with a comfortable feeling thatfor the time being he was one of the _elite_. He eyed thedress-suits with the air of a connoisseur, and approved of the toiletteof every pretty woman that passed. Among his other fancies, George hada keen eye for a good figure and trim ankles, and it must be put downto his good taste in frocks and frills that he narrowly observed oneyoung lady in particular, who stood for quite five minutes on the edgeof the kerb without appearing to have made up her mind what to do next.
When a man is attracted by a feminine figure that presents a gracefuland pleasing back view, he comes in time to speculate upon the looks ofthe owner, and, if the back view is accorded long enough, to have anatural desire to see if good looks or the reverse are her portion.This is precisely how George felt; but as the figure continued to standon the edge of the kerb, he was forced to stroll up the street tosatisfy his curiosity. As he did so, the lady made up her mindsuddenly, and crossed the road at the same time as two hansom cabs camealong in opposite directions. To an observer like George the moment forcrossing was obviously ill-timed.
The lady hesitated, went forward, then started back. The driversyelled, the horses slid, the lady screamed, and George dashedforward--just in time to drag her out of danger.
In less than two minutes a crowd had gathered, and George, much to hisown amazement, was handing the lady into a hansom cab, and, what ismore, getting in beside her. For the lady was Miss Fairbrother, head ofthe old-established firm of Fairbrother and Co., and employer of Georgehimself.
It was all so odd and strange and sudden, George couldn't believe it.Even when he assisted her out and up the steps of the Fairbrothermansion; even when he paid the cab-man, and walked away, and found thathe was really in Kensington, it didn't seem real. He had a faintremembrance of hearing her say "Thank you, Mr. Early," and of hishaving explained the occurrence to the butler; but it was all hazy andincomprehensible.
The night was still young when George again set foot in Piccadilly. Hehad seen fit to walk all the way back, it suited his frame of mind.From dreaming of the odd chance that should throw him into MissFairbrother's arms, or her into his, he had come to recalling the plainfacts of the adventure, incident by incident, more minutely each time,till he stood still, metaphorically, in the middle of Regent Street,with one arm round the slender waist of his employer.
George was conscious now that it was a very slender waist, although hehadn't been aware of it at the time. He recollected, too, many otherdetails that he had observed imperfectly in the rush of events. Herhead had dropped on his shoulder, and one fair hand had clutchedconvulsively at his coat. He could see the red lips, the soft cheeks,the dimpled chin, the brown hair, close to his own. She wore anelaborate straw-hat creation that had grazed his forehead, the spotglowed even now as he recalled it. But what he chiefly realized now wasthat delicious sense of pleasure he had had in holding her in his armsfor two seconds, a feeling that the exigencies of the moment hadstrongly necessitated his suppressing. His present leisure calling forno such harsh measure, he was at liberty to halt, in his fancy, andgaze, in his fancy, at the red lips and dimples of Miss EllenFairbrother.
In his present mood, and with his present faculty for handling thesubject, he could have gone on from Regent Street to Brunswick Terrace,backwards and forwards, for the rest of the evening, halting each timefor a considerable period in the middle of Regent Street, with cabsbehind and before, and Miss Fairbrother's head on his shoulder. Hecould have gone on doing this, and have asked for no other amusement,if the bustling activity of Piccadilly had not led his mind away fromthe subject. The real truth is that George woke up from his dream in amost unpleasant fashion. In plain words, something descended veryheavily on George's right foot.
To recount all that George said, and the uncomplimentary remarks hemade on the other man's want of grace, together with the personalallusions to his figure, and what he would have done to himself if hehad had such feet, would not be fitting in a respectable book likethis. Such detail is also quite irrelevant. What has to be recorded isthat in one of the intervals of vituperation the other man saidsuddenly--
"George!"
A look of astonishment appeared on the face of George Early, and in amoment his resentment fled. He said, "Well, I'm hanged!" and laughed.The man he was consigning to other regions was Busby.
Under the circumstances, there was nothing to do but retire to thenearest hostelry, and endeavour, by means of the flowing bowl, tore-establish amicable relations. This was done without demur on thepart of either combatant; in fact, the fracture seemed likely to be themeans of making a strong friendship out of what had been at best a merebusiness acquaintance. George toasted "his friend Busby," and paid forthe drinks, whereupon Busby toasted "his pal George," and called formore.
At the third round, Busby, feeling that some explanation of hisprese
nce in that part was necessary, confided to George that he was onhis way to a smoking concert, a confession that prompted George to givesome information regarding himself, which he did with due caution,especially that part relating to the five-pound note.
"He's a sly dog, Gray," said Busby; "I'll bet you had a tough job toget a fiver out of him."
George agreed.
"I couldn't be close like that, Early, old chap. You know that what Igive I give freely. I don't blame any man for making a bit when he getsthe chance. It's nothing to me to tip you a sovereign out of a littlewindfall like that."
"Of course it isn't," said George, "nor two for that matter."
"No, nor two, you know well enough that I wouldn't make the slightestbother. But Gray, he's that close----"
"Close!" said George; "he worships it. He keeps every farthing."
"I couldn't be mean like that. It's a pity that he hasn't got a fewmore to tackle him harder than you do."
"So it is," said George.
"He ought to have me!" said Busby. "Why, if I knew--but, of course,it's no business of mine. It would be a spree to get at him. It'd be apicnic to let him see that I knew all about it. He'd have a fit."
The thought of Gray writhing under the knowledge that a second manpossessed his secret pleased Busby immensely, and his merriment onlysubsided on his observing that George was not enjoying the joke.
"Don't you be afraid, old chap," he said. "I wouldn't ask you to tellanything that you didn't want to."
"I know you wouldn't," said George. "You're not that sort."
But the idea having entered into the head of Busby was not easy to getrid of. Perhaps, in spite of his unwillingness to draw secrets from hisfriend George, he had some idea of doing so when he invited that younggentleman to turn his steps towards the smoking concert, and be passedin as a friend. From what we have seen of George Early, it seemsdoubtful that he could be easily led into imparting knowledge that wasof sterling value to himself, while he kept it to himself; but one cannever tell what a man will do for friendship's sake when under theinfluence of alcoholic liquor.
George Early and Busby went to the concert, and encored the choruseswith great gusto. At intervals they had refreshments, and in due coursemade their way to Charing Cross in a very friendly spirit.
Probably George had imbibed as freely as Busby, but to all appearancesthe cashier had surrendered himself unreservedly to the strength ofwhat he had taken. In this mood he was inclined to refer to the subjectof Gray's legacy, which he did at intervals, and at which times George,with his usual skill, let his own tongue run loose within bounds.
"You're a close dog," said Busby, at length, "nearly as close as Grayhimself."
"What!" said George in astonishment. "You wouldn't have me tell----"
"Tell, be hanged!" said Busby. "He deserves it, doesn't he? Isn't he anoutsider? Doesn't everybody know he is? Why, I'd tell anything about aman like that. Everybody knows he's a mean----"
"Ssh!" said George, looking behind him. "Don't shout; somebody'll hearyou."
"What does it marrer? Let 'em hear. Everybody knows he's mean."
"Ssh!" said George again.
"Ssh! yourself," said Busby, giving him a playful punch. "Let 'em hear,I say. What does it marrer? What does----"
He stopped suddenly, and caught George by the arm. They looked eachother steadily in the eye, and then Busby burst into a wild, sillylaugh.
"It's no good, Georgie. It's no good, old man. You've done it--you'vegiven him away. You've fairly given him away; now, haven't you? That'sthe secret--I've got it!"
George walked sullenly on without replying, until Busby persuasivelyurged him not to take it to heart.
"You're too clever for me," said George.
"Never mind, old man, I won't cut you out if I can help it."
"Look here," said George, putting on his most serious air; "don't yougo borrowing all his loose cash just because he's obliged to lend it.That won't be fair, you know. You must give me a chance."
Busby magnanimously promised that George should not be made to suffermore than he could help.
Elated with his success in one direction, he next began to hazard aguess at the prominent vice of Parrott, which resulted in George'simploring him to "draw it mild" for the sake of friendship. But, beingstarted, it was no easy matter to stop a man like Busby. The onlycourse for George Early to take was to dexterously swap the vices ofParrott and Gray, which he did with great success. When Busby hit uponthe drink question, George was seized with a trembling fit, and Busbylaughed again in triumph.
"I told you you were too clever for me," said George. "All I hope isthat you won't over-do it."
Busby hilariously swore at his two absent confreres, and vowed to"tickle them up a bit," just to pay off old scores.
Having embraced his friend, he rolled into a cab, and trundled off tothe suburbs.
"He's too clever for me," said George, facetiously, with a smile, asthe cab rolled off--"they all are. But I dare say I shall pull through.Now for a small select hotel, and bed."
Instead of seeking the small hotel straight away, he stood for a fullfive minutes gazing absently across Trafalgar Square. Busby and thesmoking concert were entirely forgotten, and George stood again in themiddle of Regent Street, with one arm round his employer's waist.