CHAPTER TWO
MRS. GOLDMARK'S EATING-HOUSE
Lauriston thrust his hands in his pockets and looked at the girl insheer perplexity. She was a very pretty, dark girl, nearly as tall ashimself, slender and lissom of figure, and decidedly attractive. Therewas evident sense of fun and humour in her eyes, and about the cornersof her lips: he suddenly got an idea that she was amused at hisembarrassment.
"How much can you lend me?" he asked. "What--what's it worth?"
"No, that's not it!" she answered. "It's--what do you want to borrow?You're not used to pledging things, are you?"
"No," replied Lauriston. "This is the first time. Can--can you lend mea few pounds?"
The girl picked up the watch again, and again, examined it.
"I'll lend you three pounds fifteen on it," she said suddenly, inbusiness-like tones. "That do?"
"Thank you," replied Lauriston. "That'll do very well--I'm muchobliged. I suppose I can have it back any time."
"Any time you bring the money, and pay the interest," replied the girl."Within twelve calendar months and seven days." She picked up a pen andbegan to fill out a ticket. "Got any copper?" she asked presently.
"Copper?" exclaimed Lauriston. "What for?"
"The ticket," she answered. Then she gave him a quick glance and justas quickly looked down again. "Never mind!" she said. "I'll take it outof the loan. Your name and address, please."
Lauriston presently took the ticket and the little pile of gold,silver, and copper which she handed him. And he lingered.
"You'll take care of that watch," he said, suddenly. "It was myfather's, you see."
The girl smiled, reassuringly, and pointed to a heavily-built safe inthe rear.
"We've all sorts of family heirlooms in there," she observed. "Makeyourself easy."
Lauriston thanked her, raised his hat, and turned away--unwillingly. Hewould have liked an excuse to stop longer--and he did not quite knowwhy. But he could think of none, so he went--with a backward look whenhe got to the door. The pretty pawnbroker smiled and nodded. And thenext moment he was out in the street, with money in his pocket, and astrange sense of relief, which was mingled with one of surprise. For hehad lived for the previous four days on a two-shilling piece--andthere, all the time, close by him, had been a place where you couldborrow money, easily and very pleasantly.
His first thought was to hurry to his lodgings and pay his landlady. Heowed her six weeks' rent, at ten shillings a week--that would takethree pounds out of the money he had just received. But he would stillhave over fourteen shillings to be going on with--and surely thoseexpected letters would come within the next few postal deliveries. Hehad asked the editor who had taken two short stories from him to lethim have a cheque for them, and in his inexperience had expected to seeit arrive by return of post. Also he had put his pride in his pocket,and had written a long letter to his old schoolmate, John Purdie, infar-away Scotland, explaining his present circumstances, and askinghim, for old times' sake, to lend him some money until he had finishedand sold a novel, which, he was sure, would turn out to be a smallgold-mine. John Purdie, he knew, was now a wealthy young man--successorto his father in a fine business; Lauriston felt no doubt that he wouldrespond. And meantime, till the expected letters came, he hadmoney--and when you have lived for four days on two shillings, fourteenshillings seems a small fortune. Certainly, within the last half-hour,life had taken on a roseate tinge--all due to a visit to the pawnshop.
Hurrying back along Praed Street, Lauriston's steps were suddenlyarrested. He found himself unconsciously hurrying by an old-fashionedeating-house, from whence came an appetizing odour of cooking food. Heremembered then that he had eaten nothing for four-and-twenty hours.His landlady supplied him with nothing: ever since he had gone to herhe had done his own catering, going out for his meals. The last meal,on the previous evening, had been a glass of milk and a stale, thoughsizable bun, and now he felt literally ravenous. It was only by aneffort that he could force himself to pass the eating-house; oncebeyond its door, he ran, ran until he reached his lodgings and slippedthree sovereigns into Mrs. Flitwick's hands.
"That'll make us right to this week end, Mrs. Flitwick," he said. "Putthe receipt in my room."
"And greatly obliged I am to you, Mr. Lauriston," answered thelandlady. "And sorry, indeed, you should have had to put yourself tothe trouble, but--"
"All right, all right--no trouble--no trouble at all," exclaimedLauriston. "Quite easy, I assure you!"
He ran out of the house again and back to where he knew there was food.He was only one-and-twenty, a well-built lad, with a healthy appetite,which, until very recently, had always been satisfied, and just then hewas feeling that unless he ate and drank, something--he knew notwhat--would happen. He was even conscious that his voice was weakening,when, having entered the eating-house and dropped into a seat in one ofthe little boxes into which the place was divided, he asked thewaitress for the food and drink which he was now positively aching for.And he had eaten a plateful of fish and two boiled eggs and severalthick slices of bread and butter, and drunk the entire contents of apot of tea before he even lifted his eyes to look round him. But bythat time he was conscious of satisfaction, and he sat up and inspectedthe place to which he had hurried so eagerly. And in the same moment heonce more saw Melky.
Melky had evidently just entered the little eating-house. Evidently,too, he was in no hurry for food or drink. He had paused, just withinthe entrance, at a desk which stood there, whereat sat Mrs. Goldmark,the proprietress, a plump, pretty young woman, whose dark, flashingeyes turned alternately from watching her waitresses to smiling on hercustomers as they came to the desk to pay their bills. Melky, his smartbilly-cock hat cocked to one side, his sporting-looking overcoatadorned with a flower, was evidently paying compliments to Mrs.Goldmark as he leaned over her desk: she gave him a playful push andcalled to a waitress to order Mr. Rubinstein a nice steak. And Melky,turning from her with a well satisfied smile, caught sight ofLauriston, and sauntered down to the table at which he sat.
"Get your bit of business done all right?" he asked, confidentially, ashe took a seat opposite his fellow-lodger and bent towards him. "Findthe old gent accommodating?"
"I didn't see him," answered Lauriston. "I saw a young lady."
"My cousin Zillah," said Melky. "Smart girl, that, mister--worth a pileo' money to the old man--she knows as much about the business as whathe does! You wouldn't think, mister," he went on in his soft, lispingtones, "but that girl's had a college education--fact! Old Daniel, hetook her to live with him when her father and mother died, she being alittle 'un then, and he give her--ah, such an education as I wish I'dhad--see? She's quite the lady--is Zillah--but sticks to the oldshop--not half, neither!"
"She seems very business-like," remarked Lauriston, secretly pleasedthat he had now learned the pretty pawnbroker's name. "She soon didwhat I wanted."
"In the blood," said Melky, laconically. "We're all of us in that sorto' business, one way or another. Now, between you and me, mister, whatdid she lend you on that bit o' stuff?"
"Three pounds fifteen," replied Lauriston.
"That's about it," assented Melky, with a nod. He leaned a littlenearer. "You don't want to sell the ticket?" he suggested. "Give you acouple o' quid for it, if you do."
"You seem very anxious to buy that watch," said Lauriston, laughing."No--I don't want to sell the ticket--not I! I wouldn't part with thatwatch for worlds."
"Well, if you don't, you don't," remarked Melky. "And as to wanting tobuy--that's my trade. I ain't no reg'lar business--I buy and sell,anything that comes handy, in the gold and silver line. And as youain't going to part with that ticket on no consideration, I'll tell youwhat it's worth, old as it is. Fifteen quid!"
"That's worth knowing, any way," said Lauriston. "I shall always havesomething by me then, while I have that. You'd have made a profit of anice bit, then, if I'd sold it to you?"
"It 'ud be a poor world, mister, if you didn't get
no profit, wouldn'tit?" assented Melky calmly. "We're all of us out to make profit. Lookhere!--between you and me--you're a lit'ry gent, ain't you? Write abit, what? Do you want to earn a fiver--comfortable?"
"I should be very glad," replied Lauriston.
"There's a friend o' mine," continued Melky, "wholesale jeweller, downShoreditch way, wants to get out a catalogue. He ain't no lit'rypowers, d'you see? Now, he'd run to a fiver--cash down--if some writingfeller 'ud touch things up a bit for him, like. Lor' bless you!--itwouldn't take you more'n a day's work! What d'ye say to it?"
"I wouldn't mind earning five pounds at that," answered Lauriston.
"Right-oh!" said Melky. "Then some day next week, I'll take you down tosee him--he's away till then. And--you'll pay me ten per cent. on thebit o' business, won't you, mister? Business is business, ain't it?"
"All right!" agreed Lauriston. "That's a bargain, of course."
Melky nodded and turned to his steak, and Lauriston presently left himand went away. The plump lady at the desk gave him a smile as shehanded him his change.
"Hope to see you again, sir," she said.
Lauriston went back to his room, feeling that the world had changed. Hehad paid his landlady, he had silver and copper in his pocket, he hadthe chance of earning five pounds during the coming week--and heexpected a cheque for his two stories by every post. And if John Purdiemade him the loan he had asked for, he would be able to devote a wholemonth to finishing his novel--and then, perhaps, there would be fameand riches. The dismal November evening disappeared in a dream of hope.
But by the end of the week hope was dropping to zero again withLauriston. No letters had arrived--either from John Purdie or theeditor. On the Sunday morning he was again face to face with the lasthalf-crown. He laid out his money very cautiously that day, but when hehad paid for a frugal dinner at a cheap coffee-shop, he had only ashilling left. He wandered into Kensington Gardens that Sundayafternoon, wondering what he had best do next. And as he stood by therailings of the ornamental water, watching the water-fowls' doings,somebody bade him good-day, and he turned to find the pretty girl ofthe pawnshop standing at his side and smiling shyly at him.
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