CHAPTER VIII.
Frederick Bulpert, having obtained two professional engagements atseven shillings and sixpence each, resigned his situation in the PostOffice, and this left him free to call at Praed Street whenever hecared to do so. Mrs. Mills described him as a hearty eater, but shemade much of him, apparently out of gratitude. Gertie had spoken toher about Henry's letters--
"She looked rather white," said Mrs. Mills to Mr. Trew confidentially;"but I must admit she kept her temper wonderfully well, considering!"
--And the girl took charge of the intercepted envelopes with theircontents. Her aunt declared, with emphasis, that all along she hadacted for the best. Gertie remarked that people said this wheneverthey had done their worst: this was the only reproach given, and Mr.Trew, as a candid friend, assured Mrs. Mills she had been let off verylightly. Mr. Trew had anxieties of his own. The new motor omnibusesstill broke down occasionally, and he was able, in passing, to makeoffers for the conveyances at an extremely low figure; but many of themran without accident, and ran speedily, and he was losing customershitherto considered faithful and regular. Summing up, he came to theconclusion that the world was becoming a jolly sight too clever; theonly comfort he found was that it could not possibly exist much longer.Regaining cheerfulness, he mentioned that if Mrs. Mills happened tohear of an American heiress who wanted a good-looking English husbandwith a special and particular knowledge of horses, well acquainted withLondon, and fond of the sea, why, it would be kind of her to drop him apostcard, giving the name and address.
"When you've finished talking nonsense," she said, "perhaps you'llkindly tell me how I'm to manage in order to get these two young peoplemarried. She'll be happy enough, once she settles down; but,meanwhile, I don't like seeing her so quiet and thoughtful."
"I have never denied," he remarked, "that you are the prize packet ofyour sex, and in many respects you've got almost the intelligence of aman. But in a matter of this kind--remember, she's as pretty as theymake 'em--you're a born muddler. Leave it to me, and I'll do the bestI can for you."
Wherefore, Mr. Trew made appointments with Bulpert and held secretdiscussions with him, sheltering his words with a broad, big hand,enjoying greatly the sense of management, and, even more, theatmosphere of conspiracy. Bulpert, on his side, began to realize hisimportance, and treated Praed Street with a condescension that wasmeant to represent a correct and proper pride. One evening, seated atthe counter there, and waiting for the return of Gertie, he gave aformal warning to the effect that any cigar presented to him was, infuture, to be taken from the threepenny box.
At Great Titchfield Street, Gertie tried to divert her mind frompersonal anxieties by throwing energy into work, with more than commonresolution. A large commission arrived from a ruler of an Easternnation, who considered a new and elaborately ornamental sash wouldrevive a feeling of loyalty in his army and patriotism in his country.The girls were not permitted except on strictly limited occasions towork after nine o'clock in the evening, and extra assistants had to beengaged; the men upstairs who made the leather foundations were watchedand encouraged; Madame begged Gertie to recommend them to keep off thedrink, adding that they would take more notice of this advice if itcame from Miss Higham and not from Madame herself. All the looms wereat their noisy spider work; reels of gold thread were ordered intwenties; the bobbins began to dance around the maypole,sewing-machines sang lustily; the telephone only ceased ringing todeliver messages. Miss Rabbit became hysterical, vehement, cross;Gertie's intervention became necessary to prevent a strike amongst thepinafored young women.
"We can be led, Miss Higham," they announced determinedly, "but wewon't be drove. You tell her to keep a civil tongue in her head, andall will go well. We're not going to be treated as though we wasRussians."
The rush of work had, for consequence, a distinct advantage to Gertie,apart from useful occupation of the mind. She stayed late to finishbooks which could not be entered up in the day, and this meant that, onreturning home, the good news was frequently communicated that Mr.Bulpert had gone; there was also the comfortable fact that she feltsufficiently tired to go straight to bed. Bunny, at Great TitchfieldStreet, on the occasions when she herself had to depart and leaveMadame and Miss Higham together, was a picture of woeful apprehension;if she managed to gain the private ear of the girl, she reminded herthat no good ever yet came to one who failed to keep a solemn promise.
"Don't you worry," answered Gertie. "I'm not a parrot."
"I shan't feel happy about you," said the forewoman solicitously,"until I hear you've got another berth. The smash-up will come as asurprise to the others, but I don't care a snap of the fingers aboutthem or about myself. It's you I'm thinking about!"
Madame one night, at the sloping desk, referred vaguely to a wish that,as she hastened to add, could never in any circumstances be gratified.Urged by Gertie, on the other side, to put the desire into words,Madame took off spectacles which she wore only when the rest of thestaff had gone, and said wistfully that if she could but get aparagraph into the newspapers containing the name of the firm, shethought it would be possible to die happy. Having ascertained this didnot mean that suicide would follow, Gertie sent a note to ClarenceMills, absent since the evening of the impulsive departure from Ewelme.No answer came, and Gertie was assuming that her cousin intended, inthis way, to prove he was not on terms of peace with her, when one ofthe loom workers brought in, after lunch hour, an evening journal,obtained by him because he required advice regarding the investment ofsmall sums on the prospects of racehorses.
"Here's a bit about us, miss," he said exultantly, with thumb againstthe paragraph. "Here we are. Large as life, and twice as natural!"
The paragraph was found in other newspapers, and indeed it went aboutGreat Britain later and found its way to the Colonies. "An OrientalOmen" it was headed, and Madame's only regret appeared to be that itcould not be held to be distinguished by the quality of absolute truth.But there it stood in print, and there was the name of Hilbert and Co.,the old established firm, making a speciality of manufacturing militaryaccoutrements, dating from the glorious year of Waterloo, and Madame'sdelight proved beyond the powers of expression; her gratitude to MissHigham was conveyed by a kiss. One competing firm, it was discovered,wrote a sarcastic letter to the papers that must have taken hours tocompose, throwing doubts on the accuracy of the report and inquiringwhether it was a fact that Wellington's achievement followed theFranco-Prussian War, and this might have been inserted but for thesuggestion of self-advertisement made with something less than thedexterity that belonged to Clarence's pen.
"I tell you what, Miss Higham," said Madame definitely. "You must cometo supper at my house the very next Sunday evening that ever is. Youraunt won't mind for once. I'll write down the address. My proper nameis Jacks. Yes, dear, I'm married, to tell you the truth, only I don'twant it talked about here."
Frederick Bulpert, when he arrived on the Sunday evening, entered awarm protest against what he described as this eternal gadding about.On ascertaining the destination, he admitted circumstances alteredcases; where business was concerned, private interests had to give way.He explained that some of his present irritation was due to the factthat, at a Bohemian concert the previous evening, an elderly gentlemanhad been pointed out to him as the representative of an importantSunday newspaper; the comic singer who gave the information,encountered a few minutes since in Marylebone Road, confessed that itwas one of his jokes. "And all the drinks I stood," complainedBulpert, "and all the amiable remarks I made, absolutely wasted!"Gertie, apparelled in her finest and best, went at the hour of seven,after Bulpert and her aunt had quarrelled regarding the best andspeediest mode of transit, to make her way to King's Road, Chelsea.There, in a turning she twice walked by without noticing, she found ahouse with several brass knobs at the side of the door. A maidanswered her ring.
"Sounds as though they're in the studio," remarked the maid, with awink. "What name?"
Th
e servant opened the door and gave the announcement, but in thetumult it was not heard. Madame's husband was informing Madame in aloud voice that the most unfortunate day in his life was the occasionwhen he allowed her to drag him into a registrar's office. Gertie wentback a few steps, and the maid repeated the name.
"You dear!" cried Madame, coming forward pleasantly. "This is myhusband. You know him by name, I expect." She whispered, "Thecelebrated river painter. Most successful. And such a worker. Neveridle for a moment."
"How d'ye do?" said Mr. Jacks, coming forward casually. "Sorry I'mjust going out. What's the night like?"
Madame switched on the electric light, and Gertie could see that theroom suggested a large cucumber frame with a sloping glass roof andwindows at the far end. On a raised square platform in a corner stooda draped lay figure, not, apparently, quite sober.
"Well," said Madame's husband, after glancing again at the visitor, "ifit's fine, I don't know that there's any special necessity for me togo. What do you say, darling?" This to his wife.
"Please yourself, Digby, my sweet. If you think you can put up withour company, I am sure Miss Higham and myself will be delighted if youcan stay. Mr. Jacks," she explained to Gertie, "is naturally attractedto his club, not only because he finds there all the latest newsconcerning his profession, but because it gives him an opportunity ofcoming into contact with other bright, vivacious spirits." She tookGertie's coat and hat. "Perhaps we can get him to tell us some of hisbest stories presently."
Her husband smoothed his hair at the mirror with both hands, and gavestyle and uniformity to the two halves of his moustache. This done, heturned and asked the girl whether she did not consider Whistler anoverrated artist. Just because he happened to be dead, people ravedabout him. Would not allow any one else to produce impressions of theThames round about Chelsea. Mr. Jacks said, rather bitterly, that whenhe too was no more, folk would doubtless be going mad about him, andJubilee Place might become impassable owing to the crowd of dealerswaiting their turn there.
"And what good do you imagine that will do to me?" he demanded. "Eh,what? No use you saying that I ought to be content with the praise ofposterity."
"I didn't say so. How many hours do you work a day?"
"I can't work unless the fit takes me," argued Madame's husband weakly.
"Are you subject to them? Fits, I mean?"
Madame, assisting the maid in setting the table, took up the case forthe defence, and pointed out to Miss Higham that one professiondiffered from another. In the case of painting, for instance, youcould not expect to be ruled by office hours; you had to wait untilinspiration came, and then the light was, perhaps, not exactly what yourequired. Besides, friends might drop in at that moment for a smokeand a chat.
"Sounds like an easy life," remarked Gertie.
"You forget the wear and tear of the brain," said Madame.
"But we get that in our business."
"Hush!" whispered the other. "He doesn't like hearing that referredto."
Conversation during the meal was restricted to the subject of theproduction of pictures and their subsequent disposal; Madame showedgreat deference to the arguments of her husband, occasionallyinterposing a mild suggestion which he had no difficulty in knockingdown. At moments of excited contention Madame's husband becameinarticulate, and had to fall back upon the gestures of the studio,that conveyed nothing to the visitor.
"How much do you make a year?" she asked, when an opportunity came. Hepaused in his task of opening another bottle of stout, and regarded herwith something of surprise.
"My good girl," he replied, "I don't estimate my results by pounds,shillings, and pence."
"Do you earn a hundred in twelve months?"
"Wish I did," confessed Madame's husband. "In that case, I shouldn'thave to be beholden to other people."
"How would you manage if you weren't married?"
He looked at the mantelpiece, and inquired of his wife if the clock wasindicating the correct time. Receiving the answer, Madame's husbandbecame alarmed, declaring it a fortunate thing that he had remembered ahighly important appointment. It represented, he said, the chance of alifetime, and to miss it would be nothing short of madness; he badeMiss Higham good evening in a curt way, and Madame accompanied him tothe front door. There they had a spirited discussion. Madameconsidered an allowance of half a crown would be ample; he said, ingoing, that his wife was a mean, miserable cat.
"I'm afraid, my dear, you shunted him off," remarked Madame, comingback to the studio. "You don't seem to know how to manage men, do you?"
"Had my suspicions of that before now."
"Of course, they're very trying but"--helplessly--"I don't know.Sometimes I wish I'd kept single, and then again at other times, whenI've had a hard day of it, I feel glad I'm not coming home to emptyrooms. Taking the rough with the smooth, I suppose most women thinkthat any husband is better than no husband at all."
"Rather than get hold of one who didn't earn his living," declaredGertie with vehemence, "I'd keep single all my life."
"He did nearly sell a picture," argued the other, "once!"
They took easy-chairs, and Madame found a box of chocolates. Mr.Jacks, it appeared, was not Madame's first love. Mr. Jacks'spredecessor had been ordered out years ago to take part in a war thatimproved the receipts entered up in Hilbert's books; on the debit side,the loss of a good sweetheart had to be placed. Madame dried her eyes,and in less than half a minute the two were on the subject whichabsorbed their principal interests. Price of gold thread, difficultywith one of the home workers, questions of aiguillettes, sword belts,sashes, grenades; hopes that the King would shortly issue a new orderconcerning officers' uniforms. Madame said that, nowadays, profitswere cut very close; she could remember, in her father's time, when, ifthere was not a balance at the end of the year of over a thousandpounds, serious anxiety ensued. Madame brought out a large album toshow pictures of gorgeous apparel that belonged to days before thriftbecame a hobby.
"Seems to me," she said, without leading up to the remark, "that MissRabbit is the weak link in our chain." Gertie did not make anycomment. "I'm going to tell you something. I want to give her otherwork to do, and get you to take her place. It will amount to an extraten shillings a week, Miss Higham."
"Do you really mean it?"
"It's why I asked you to come here this evening. You see, you haveimproved so much this summer. Improved in style, speech, everything!"
"There's a reason for that!"
Gertie Higham walked up and down the studio with excitement in hereyes. She wanted to ask Madame how long the firm was likely to endure,but to do this might lead to the betrayal of confidence; meanwhile shefired inquiries, and Madame, eager to gain her approval of thesuggestion, answered each one promptly. Bunny was not to be reduced inwages; only in position. One of the new duties would be to run aboutand see people; Madame's nerves were not quite all they used to be, andthe hurried traffic of the street frightened her. Next to Madame,Gertie would be considered, so to speak, as head cook andbottle-washer. Gertie, collecting all this information, wondered howit would be possible to let Henry Douglass know that she was makingimportant progress. Possibly it could be managed through ClarenceMills and Miss Loriner; she might meet him in London, at someunexpected moment.
"Do you object, Madame," she asked, "if I run off now, and tell auntabout it?"
"You accept the offer?"
"Like a shot!" answered Gertie.
"You dear!" cried Madame.
Frederick Bulpert was on the point of leaving when she reached PraedStreet; he came back into the shop parlour to hear the news. Her auntkissed her, and said Gertie was a good, clever girl; Bulpert declaredthe promotion well earned.
"This is distinctly frankincense and myrrh," he acknowledged. "I feelproud of you, and I don't care who hears me say so. Let me see; yourbirthday's next week, isn't it? How about arranging something in thenature of a conversazione, or w
hat not?"
"I hope," said Mrs. Mills, escorting him through the shop, "that, lateron, you'll do your best to make her happy."
"But it's her," protested Bulpert, "it's her that's got to make mehappy."
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