CHAPTER II.
Mr. Trew could scarcely be suspected of exceeding his instructions; hehad, upon his return, given privately an account of the words used,with frequent use of the phrases, "I says to him," and "He says to me."But as evenings of the week went by, and other girls at Hilbert's, onleaving at the hour of seven, were met by courageous youths near thedoor, and by shyer lads at a more reticent spot (some of these tookambush in doorways, affecting to read cricket results in the eveningpaper), then Gertie Higham began to wonder whether the message had beencommunicated in the precise tone and manner that she had given it. Theblue pinafored girls, stitching gold thread in the workroom atHilbert's, cultivated little reserve, and when they had occasion toenter the office they sometimes told her of young men encountered (say)at a dance, of ardent protestations of love, faithful promises to meetagain.
"And from that day to this," the accounts finished, "not so much as asign of his lordship."
There was encouragement in the thought that he knew the number in GreatTitchfield Street; was aware that she walked thence to Praed Street.And each evening on the way home a straw hat temporarily imposed uponher, a tall boyish figure and an eager method of walking deceived. AtPraed Street, Mrs. Mills, noting that time had not been wasted on thejourney, beamed approval and made much of her niece, telling her shewas a good, sensible girl; one bound to get on in the world. Gertiedid not leave again after her arrival, but turned out a room upstairs,and swept and dusted with extraordinary energy.
Good spirits increased at Great Titchfield Street when Friday came, andmen at the looms above sang loudly; girls who had borrowed small sumswere reminded by lenders that the moment for payment was close at hand.At the hour, wages were given through the pigeon-hole of the windows byMadame, with the assistance of Gertie, and the young women hung uppinafores, pinned hats, and flew off with the sums as though there wasdanger of a refund being demanded. When they had gone, Madame,dispirited by the paying out of money, said there was not now theprofit in the business that there had been in her father's day, whenyou charged what you liked, and everybody paid willingly. To restorecheerfulness, the two faced each other at the sloping desks, and Madamedictated whilst Gertie took bills, headed "Hilbert's MilitaryAccoutrement Manufacturers," and wrote the words, "To a/c rendered."Later, she left to Madame the task of locking up.
Near the print shop over the way, a tall young figure in a tweed suitmarched from one unlighted lamp-post to another; the girl drew back tothe staircase, snatching a space for consideration. The next momentshe was crossing the street with the air of an art patron anxious toinspect before making a purchase.
"You gave me such a start," she declared, as a hand touched hershoulder lightly. "I'd begun to think you'd disappeared altogether.Where've you been hiding?"
"Do you mind very much," he asked, gazing down at her contentedly, "ifI honour you with my company a part of the way?"
"No objection whatever. Hasn't it been a scorcher? Up there, whatwith the heat and the noise of the machines going, it's made my headache."
"You won't care to go to a concert then. Shall we have a boat again inRegent's Park? We are both magnificent sailors."
"I'd rather be somewheres where we can talk."
"Why," he declared, "that is just what I should prefer. The similarityin our tastes is almost alarming."
"Primrose Hill is rather a nice open space."
"Sounds perfectly delightful," he agreed; "but I can't in the leastguess where it is."
"I know my way about London," said Gertie Higham.
They walked along Oxford Street, the girl endeavouring to keep in stepwith him, and he attempting to keep in step with her; they appeared todecide near to Wells Street that it would be more convenient to fallback on individual methods. At the corner of Tottenham Court RoadGertie hailed a yellow omnibus which was on the point of starting; sheskipped up the steps with a confidence that made the conductor'swarning "'Old tight!" superfluous.
"You didn't mind my sending out that message the other evening?"Beginning the conversation breathlessly.
"I considered it kind of you to be so thoughtful."
"It wasn't exactly that. I didn't want a row with aunt. What did youthink of Mr. Trew?"
"Do you know, it occurred to me that he looked rather like an omnibusdriver."
"He is an omnibus driver."
"A relative?"
"Better than that--a friend. I s'pose you're somewhat particular aboutrelations?"
The conductor came, and the girl had thought of other questions by thetime fares to the Adelaide were paid. A man on the seat in frontturned to ask her companion for a match; he handed over a silver boxthat bore a monogram. She begged permission, when it was given back,to look at the case.
"Which stands for the Christian name?"
"The H."
"And D. is for the surname then--H. D."
"Henry Douglass," he said.
"I like the sound of it," she declared. "What do you think the name ofthe forewoman at our place of business is?" She chattered on, and helistened attentively, as though the sound of her voice was all thatmattered.
At the Adelaide they alighted, and, walking up the short hill, foundRegent's Park Road; she explained the geography of the district,pointed out that away south it was all open country until you came toMarylebone Road. And was it not wonderful how fresh and bracing theair seemed up here, even on a summer's evening; you could easilyimagine yourself miles and miles away from London. Did he care for thecountry? She did not. For one thing, the people there had such an oddway of speaking that it was a trouble to realize what they were drivingat. She sometimes wondered whether they understood each other.
"You're letting me do all the talk," she remarked, as they took seatsin the enclosed space at the top of the hill. Boys were playing on theslopes, punctuating the game with frequent disputes. A young coupleseated near a tree attracted her notice; the girl's eyes were closed,head resting on the shoulder of the young man, who had an aspect ofgloomy resignation.
"Sillies some people make of themselves, don't they?" she said.
"I suppose we are, most of us, ludicrous to other people."
"Do you laugh at me sometimes?"
"No, no," he said earnestly; "I like you too much to do that."
"You think you're a bit fond of me," she said, gazing ahead andspeaking deliberately, "because I'm different from most of the girlsyou're in the habit of meeting, and my ways make a change for you.That's about all. You'd soon get tired of me and my manner if we sawmuch of each other. I know it won't last."
"I shall not trouble to contradict that," he remarked good-temperedly,"because I know you don't believe it yourself. Why, it would beabsolutely splendid to be always with you."
Another couple walked by, breathless after the climb. Gertie,recognizing her friend Miss Radford, nodded; and that young lady, aftera short scream of astonishment, gave a bow, and nudged her blushingcompanion as an instruction to imitate the example by raising his hat.
"I'm glad she's seen us," said Gertie. "Didn't the young fellow turnred?"
"He's a junior clerk in my office."
"What a score for me!" she cried exultantly. "I've a good mind to askyou now what you do for a living exactly, only that I'd rather findeverything out bit by bit."
"You queer little person," he said affectionately. "Tell me insteadabout yourself. What is a day like at your place of business? Do youmind--it helps to concentrate my attention--if I hold your hand whilstyou talk?"
"Why should I?" asked Gertie.
There could be no doubt, as she progressed with the description ofGreat Titchfield Street, that her mind was well occupied with the dailywork; she gave the recital clearly and well, avoiding repetition andexcluding any suggestion of monotony. Every moment of the hours thereseemed to engage her interest. It was her duty to keep the books, andkeep them straight; to answer the telephone, and sometimes makepurchases of reels of gold thread and of le
ather. The looms and thenetting machine were worked by men; the rest was done by girls. Theforewoman was described, and her domestic troubles lightly sketched(Miss Rabbit's father backed horses, excepting when they came infirst). Madame herself was spoken of in lowered respectfultones--partly because of her high position, partly because of shrewdand businesslike methods. Madame, it appeared, attributed any successshe attained to the circumstance that she had steered clear ofmatrimony. Madame told the girls sometimes that you could wed yourselfto business, or you could wed yourself to a man, but women who tried todo both found themselves punished for bigamy, sooner or later. Gertiewas a favourite of Madame's; the main reason was, the girl thought,that--
"Shan't tell you!" she said, interrupting herself.
"Let me hear the worst," begged young Douglass cheerfully. "I have,just for the moment, the courage of a lion."
"Well, the reason is that she's under the impression I don't care muchfor--for anybody special."
"And is Madame correct in her sanguine anticipations?"
"She was. Until a month or so ago."
He took the other hand quickly.
"Let's move on," she recommended, rising sedately. "I don't want to betoo late on pay night. Aunt will be thinking I've been knocked downand robbed of my purse. She's country-bred--Berkshire--and she saysshe doesn't trust Londoners." They went down the slope.
"Does she happen to know the town of Wallingford, I wonder?"
He declared, on receiving the answer, that nothing could be morefortunate; this was, indeed, pure luck. For he too was acquainted withWallingford, and especially well he knew a village not far off: if hecould but meet Gertie's aunt, here was a subject of mutual interest.Throwing away the serious manner that came intermittently, hechallenged her to race him down to the Albert Road gate; and she wentat her best speed, not discouraged by shouts from youngsters of "Go it,little 'un!" They arrived together at the gate, where Gertie had torest for a few moments to regain breath. She pointed out that skirtshampered one; he admitted he ought to have given her fifty yards start.They took Regent's Park more demurely.
"When you get a colour," he said, "you look like a schoolgirl."
"As a matter of fact, I shan't see twenty again."
"Do you want to?"
"No," she replied candidly; "I'm as happy just now as ever I want tobe. It'll always be something to look back upon."
"I wish," he said with earnestness, "that you wouldn't talk as thoughour friendship was only going to be temporary."
"We never know our luck," she remarked. "Aunt was saying only theother evening, 'Gertie,' she said--Now I've been and let you know myname."
He repeated it twice quietly to himself.
"Have you been fond of any one before this?" she asked. The girl hadso many questions that her mind jumped from one topic to another.
"Oh yes," he answered. "When I was a schoolboy at Winchester I fell inlove--deeply in love. She was a widow, and kept a confectioner's shop.Good shop, too."
"Nothing more serious than that?" He shook his head. "Glad I'm thefirst," she said. "And I wish my plan for getting you acquainted withaunt had come off the other night. It would have made it all seem morelegal, somehow."
"We'll manage it," he promised. "Meanwhile, and always, don't forgetthat you are my dear sweetheart."
Miss Radford called at Praed Street, inquiring anxiously; and Mrs.Mills, summoning invention to her aid, said Gertie was not in. Mrs.Mills followed this up by mentioning that an occasional visit from MissRadford could be tolerated, but it was not necessary for her to bealways in and out of the place. Miss Radford, asserting that she neverforced her company upon any one, swung out of the shop; and Mrs. Millssaid to the cat that they did not want too many flighters about.
"Why, Mr. Bulpert!" With a quick change of manner to a newcomer."This is a pleasant surprise. Mr. Trew was talking about you not twodays ago."
The young man took the chair near the counter and, giving it a twirl,sat down heavily, and rested his chin on the back. "I'm putting on toomuch avoirdupois," he said gloomily. "Saturday, I had to get intoevening dress, and it was as much as I could do to make the waistcoatbuttons meet."
"You ought to take more exercise."
"What's the use of talking like that? If I take more exercise, I findmyself with a bigger appetite, and then I'm worse off than ever." Hedismissed the problem as insoluble. "Where's Gertie? I've got a newrecitation that she'd very much like to hear. I place a certain valueon her criticism."
"I'll call her down. And, Mr. Bulpert, I want you to be as nice andpleasant to her as you can. I had to talk rather sharply to her notmany days ago; now I'd like to make it up. I'm bound to say she tookit very well."
"You won't forget," he urged, "that I'm a man who can always get anyamount of refined society. Sought after as I am for _al fresco_concerts and what not--"
"I know," agreed Mrs. Mills. "Only Gertie hasn't many friends, and Iwant her, just now, to make the most of 'em."
She called her niece, and Gertie came, turning the page of a book,entitled, "Hints for Gentlewomen." Gertie offered her hand to Bulpert,and remarked that he was growing stout; he advised her, with somevehemence, to take to glasses before her eyesight became furtherimpaired. Mrs. Mills went back to the shop with a waggish cautionagainst too much love-making. Bulpert, after shifting furniture, tookup a position on the white hearthrug, and gave a stirring adventure inthe life of a coastguardsman who saved from a wreck his wife and child.At the end, Bulpert mopped face, readjusted collar, and waited forcongratulations.
"Did you make it up out your own head, Mr. Bulpert?"
"I did not make it up out of my own head," he said resentfully. "Thatisn't my line, and well you know it. It was written by a chap yourcousin, Clarence Mills, introduced me to."
"Ask him to write it again. It seems to me a stupid piece. The wife'sbeen away for ten years, and the baby is eighteen months old."
"That does require a slight alteration. But what about my rendering ofit?"
"Overdone," answered Gertie. "If only you'd stand up and say themquietly, your pieces would go a lot better."
"But I've got to convey the meaning to the ordience."
"Give 'em credit for some intelligence. When the coastguardsman isgoing out to the wreck, it isn't necessary to wave your arms about likea windmill. You say he's swimming, and that's enough. And if afloating spar knocked him senseless before he got to the wreck, I don'tbelieve he could take them both in his arms and swim back to the shore."
"It says he did in the poetry," contended Bulpert with warmth. "Thewhole fact of the matter is that you don't in the least know whatyou're talking about." A sound of voices came from the shop, andGertie flushed. "Now it's no use your getting hot-tempered about it,"he went on. "You speak your mind to me, and I'm entitled to speak mymind to you. What you suffer from is nothing more nor less than sheerignorance. Imperfect education; that's what the complaint is called."
"Gertie!" A call from the shop.
"Yes, aunt."
"Do come here just a moment. Here's the strangest coincidence I evercame across." Gertie obeyed with signs of nervousness. "This younggentleman tells me that he knows Ewelme, and he's actually been insidethe house where I was born!"
"How do you do?" said Gertie.
"And he's going down there again shortly," went on Mrs. Mills withanimation, "and he means to bring me back some roses from the garden.Isn't it good of him?"
"Your daughter is fond of flowers?"
"She's only my niece," explained Mrs. Mills volubly. "Her motherkicked the bucket some years ago, and her father--What's Wallingfordlike now, sir? I've said over and over again that I'd one day take theGreat Western to go and have a look and see what alterations had beenmade. But," regretfully, "it's never been anything more than talk.I'd like Gertie to see the place though, so that she could tell whetherit comes up to my description."
He seemed inclined to make an
impetuous offer, but a brief shake of thegirl's head arrested him. A boy entered and asked for an eveningnewspaper, and Gertie attended to the transaction.
"By the bye," turning to the stationery counter, "I want one or twomagazines." Their heads came closely together as a selection was beingmade; she whispered a caution not to stay too long. In a louder voice,Gertie announced that the total cost was two shillings and sixpence.Mrs. Mills beamed across from the tobacco counter, and asked whether heknew who was keeping "The Lamb"; Henry Douglass could not supply theinformation, but guaranteed to obtain particulars, and bring them toPraed Street. Mrs. Mills declared herself ashamed to give so muchtrouble.
"Are you in business, sir, may I ask?"
"I am, in a very small way, an architect."
"Really?" said Gertie interestedly.
"But," said Mrs. Mills, "you're not wearing a white tie!"
"She's thinking of an archbishop," remarked Bulpert, coming forward."I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Daresay you know me byname." He found a card in his letter-case, and Henry took it near thelight to examine the wording.
"'Fred W. Bulpert,'" he read. "'Society Entertainer and Elocutionist.'"
"That's in the evenings, of course," said Bulpert. "By day, I'm in theWest Central district. Post Office, to tell you the truth. I'lltrouble you for the card back, because I'm running somewhat short ofthem. And if you should be arranging a concert at any time, either foryour own benefit or any body else's, you might bear me in mind. F. W.B. is a great draw, if I may say so, because, you see, a lot of peoplehave heard him before."
The customer asked whether there was an underground station near; Mrs.Mills instructed Gertie to walk along with the young gentleman, and topoint out the building. As they left, she urged Henry not to forgethis promise concerning the roses.
"Nice, quiet-spoken lad," she commented. "I wish Gertie would take upwith some one like him, or even you, and forget all about that societyyoung man she's been seen strolling with."
"I hadn't heard about that," said Bulpert seriously. "What are thesolid facts of the matter? Why am I kept in the dark about everything?"
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