As he had said in his letter, at three o'clock precisely Mr. Soper arrived at the shop, and Brodie, who stood ready, immediately came forward and greeted him; but, as they shook hands, Brodie seemed to sense more firmness and less effusiveness in the other's grasp, though he ignored this suspicion and said, with a great assumption of cordiality:
"Come away into my office, Mr. Soper. Moderate weather for the time of year. Yes! Very mild indeed."
Somehow his visitor was not inclined to discuss the weather. As they sat down on opposite sides of the desk he looked at Brodie with a politely formal mien, then looked away. He was well aware of Brodie's position and for the sake of old association had intended to be kind; but now the rank odour of spirits which clung to the other and the loose, easy manner of his greeting prejudiced him intensely. Soper himself was a man of well-defined ideas on moral grounds, being a strong adherent of the sect of Plymouth Brethren, and, in addition, a handsome contributor to the Scottish Temperance Association; as he sat there in his rich, well-fitting clothes, contemplating his admirably kept finger nails, he drew in his lips in a manner totally adverse to Brodie's interest.
"If this open weather continues they'll be gettin' on well with the ploughin'. I saw they had made a bend at the Main's Farm the other day I was out," Brodie persevered, his sluggish wit failing to attune itself to the other's inimical attitude, his obtuse mind compelling him to continue to force remarks in the usual strain set by the precedent of such interviews in the past. "I often take a bit run into the country when I have the opportunity ay! I'm real fond o' seein' a good pair o' horses turnin' up the fine, rich land up by there."
Soper let him run on, then suddenly, in a cold, incisive voice he cut in.
"Mr. Brodie, your total indebtedness to my firm is exactly one hundred and twenty-four pounds ten shillings and sixpence. I am here at the request of my co-partners to request payment."
Brodie stopped as if he had been shot.
"Wha' what?" he stammered. "What's come on ye?"
"I appreciate that it is a large sum, but you have postponed payment of our bills on the last three visits of our representative, and in consequence of the large amount involved and the fact that you are an old client I have, as you may have surmised, made this personal visit to request settlement."
In Brodie's mind two opposing forces, rage at the other's manner and consternation at the amount of his debt, dragged against each other violently. Although he had no records for verification, he knew at once that Soper's figure must, although it appalled him, be correct; these people never made mistakes. But the other's chilling attitude left him aghast and the fact that he was powerless to deal with it as he would have wished infuriated him. If he had possessed the money he would have paid Soper instantly and closed his account with the firm on the spot; but he was well aware of his inability to do this and, with an effort, stifled his fury.
"You'll surely give an old client like myself time to settle?" he managed to articulate, as a negative confession of his inability to find the money.
"You have paid us nothing for over twelve months, Mr. Brodie, and we are naturally becoming anxious. I'm afraid I must ask you to meet this bill now."
Brodie looked at him, then at his safe set in the wall which contained, he knew, less than five pounds, thought futilely of his banking account which had dwindled to an inconsiderable trifle.
"If you don't," Soper was continuing, "I'm afraid we must press. We don't like it, but we shall have to press."
Brodie's eye grew sullen like that of a baited bull.
"I cannot pay," he said. "I cannot pay to-day. But there will be no need for ye to press, as ye call it; ye should well know that James Brodie is an honest man. I'll pay ye but you must give me time to raise the money."
"How do you propose to do that, might I ask, Mr. Brodie?"
"Ye can ask till you're blue in the face, man, but it's no duty of mine to enlighten you. All that ye need to know is that you'll have your precious money by the end o' the week. I have said it and my word is my bond."
Looking at him, Soper's face softened slightly.
"Yes," he said after a pause, "I know that. I know you've had your difficulties, Mr. Brodie. These undercutting companies with their modern shops," he shrugged his shoulders expressively. "But we have our troubles as well and we have our own obligations to meet. There's little room for sentiment in business nowadays. But still how exactly are things with you?"
As Brodie tried to think of a devastating reply, suddenly it seemed to him with a grim humour that nothing would shock the other more than the plain truth.
"Less than three pounds has come into the business in two weeks," he shot out abruptly. "How do ye like that?"
The other raised his well-kept hands in horror.
"Mr. Brodie, you shock me! I had been told, but I did not know it was as bad as that." He looked at Brodie's harsh face for a moment then said, in a more kindly tone, "There's a saying on 'change, man, which you might well consider. It's sometimes better to cut your losses. Cut your losses rather than go under. Don't batter your head against a brick wall. You'll forgive me but you understand what I mean." He rose to go.
"I don't understand! What the devil do you mean?" asked Brodie. "I'm here. I've always been here, and, by God, I'll stay here."
Soper paused on his way to the door.
"I mean this kindly to you, Mr. Brodie," he exclaimed, "and what I say is offered to you in a helpful spirit of advice. You can take it or leave it, but experience tells me that you are in an impossible position here. You've had a grand thing here in your day but now these folks next door have got you beat a hundred ways. Man alive, remember this is the year 1881. We're all moving with new ideas and up-to-date methods but you, and the wheels of progress have run ye down. It's a wise man who knows when he's beat and if I were you I would shut up my shop and get out with what I could. Why don't you get out of here and try something else? A big man like you could stock a farm and work it with the best." He held out his hand frankly and said in parting: "You'll not forget us at the end of the week!"
Brodie gazed after him with a flat expressionless face, gripping the edge of the desk until the sinews on the back of his hands showed white under the dark, hairy skin and the veins rose up like twisted cords.
"Stock a farm!" he muttered. "He surely doesna kisow what little. I have left;" and, as his thoughts rushed outwards into open spaces in a wild regret, he whispered to himself, "He's right, though! That would have been the life for me if I could have managed it. I could have settled down close to the land I love so weel, the land that should be mine. But I canna do't now. I maun battle on here."
He was now aware that he would have to bond his house, his sole remaining asset, in order to find the money to settle his account with Soper and to discharge the remainder of these obligations which had gradually accumulated. No one would know; he would go secretly to a lawyer in Glasgow who would arrange everything, but already he felt dully as if his own house did not belong to him. It was as if, with his own hands, he was compelled to begin the destruction and disintegration of the solid structure he had seen arise stone by stone, like the gradual erection of an edifice of his own hopes. He loved his house, yet he would have to pledge it to maintain the honour of his name. Above everything he must keep untarnished his reputation for equity and honesty, must demonstrate at once that he James Brodie could owe no man a penny. There were some things that he could not do! Then, with a sudden turn of his mind, he seemed by contrast' to remember something; his eye glistened, his lower lip protruded slowly and his mouth twisted into a warped smile. Amongst the desert of his troubles he suddenly espied a green oasis of pleasure. There were some things that he could do! Darkly, a hidden purpose concealed within him like the secret of a crime, he went out of the shop, heedlessly leaving it untenanted, and slowly directed his course towards the Winton Arms.
VII
MRS. BRODIE was resting on the parlour sofa, an unwonted indolen
ce on her part, more especially at this early hour of the afternoon, when she should have been industriously occupied in washing the dinner dishes. To-day, however, her forces had spent themselves sooner than usual and she had felt that she must rest before nightfall.
"I'm so knocked up," she mentioned to Grandma Brodie, "I feel ready to drop. I think I'll lie down a wee."
The old woman had eyed her reprovingly and, moving hastily out of the room for fear she herself might be asked to wash up, had replied:
"It surely doesna take much to upset you; you're always moanin' and groanin' about your health they days. When I was your age I did twice your work and never blinked an eye ower it."
Nevertheless, on her departure, Mamma had gone quietly into the parlour and lain down, and now, feeling better, refreshed and restored, she reflected idly that if only she had made a habit of this short afternoon repose earlier in her life she might have worn better; still she felt thankful that, for the past ten days, she had suffered no recurrence of her excruciating pain but merely that dragging
ache which, through long familiarity, she now almost ignored.
Nearly three weeks had elapsed since the dispatch of the money to Matt and, for all the acknowledgment which she had received, the forty pounds might still have rested securely in the coffers of McSevitch. To think, even, of that ridiculous, hateful name made her shiver slightly, it was costing her so dear to scrape together the first instalment of her debt, to stint and save parsimoniously so that, from time to time, she might thankfully place some coins in the tin box specially put aside, hidden in her own drawer for this not to be forgotten purpose. It seemed to her, from the painful difficulty of her accumulation, as if this debt would hang threateningly above her head for the next two years, like a perpetually suspended sword.
Here, of course, she made no allowance for Matt, and now, amidst the harassing thoughts of her present position, the mere consideration of his return caused a pallid smile to enliven her features. She was firmly assured in her inmost heart that the moment he came back he would stretch out his hand lovingly, compassionately, and with one word relieve her of this racking responsibility. The corners of her drawn lips relaxed as she reflected that it would not be long
before her son was once more in her arms, comforting her, rewarding her a hundredfold for the superhuman effort she had made on his behalf. She pictured the last stages of his journey, saw him, an impatient manly figure, pacing the deck of the ship, disembarking impetuously, now driving hurriedly through crowded, thronging streets, sitting restlessly in the corner of his railway compartment, and finally flinging himself eagerly into the cab which would restore him to her.
The vision of his return hung before her, dazzled her with its imminence, yet as she looked idly out of the window and gradually observed that a cab, loaded with luggage, had driven up at the gate, her brow became furrowed incredulously, as if she failed to believe what she saw. It could not be Matt her boy her own son and yet, miraculously, it was he, home to her at last, stepping out of the cab nonchalantly, as though he had not traversed three thousand miles of sea and land to come to her. With an incoherent cry she
raised herself, stumbled to her feet, ran precipitately out of the house
and had enveloped him in her arms almost before he was out of the cab.
"Matt!" she panted, overcome by the excess of her feelings. "Oh! Matt!"
He started back a little, protesting,
"Half a chance, Mamma. Take it easy. You'll smother me if you go on like that."
"Oh! Matt! My dear boy!" she whispered. "You're back to me at last."
"Whoa up, Mamma!" he cried. "Don't weep all over me. I'm used to a dry climate. There now! Don't make a hankerchief of my new tie."
At his protests she at last relinquished her embrace, but would not altogether let him go, and clutching his sleeve fondly, as though fearful that she might again lose him, exclaimed fervently:
"I can hardly believe I've got you back again, son. It's a sight for my tired eyes to see you, for I was thinking about you the minute you drove up. I've missed you wearily, wearily!"
"Well, we're certainly here again, old girl," he quizzed her; "back to the same old Levenford, same old ancestral home, and same old Mamma!"
Mrs. Brodie looked at him dotingly. Everything here might be the same, but he had altered, was profoundly different from the raw youth who had left her only two years ago.
"My! Matt!" she cried. "You've got a real smart look about you. There's an air about you that fair takes my breath away. You're a man now, my son!"
"That's right," he agreed, surveying his surroundings rather than her. "I've learned a thing or two since I saw you last. I'll show them some style in this old Borough before very long. Gad ! But everything here seems poky compared with what I've been used to." Then, turning commandingly to the cabby he shouted:
"Bring in my luggage, you! Jilde!"
She observed proudly that he who had departed with one small, brass-bound chest now returned with a galaxy of bags and trunks; and could he, on that memorable day when she had let him go fluttering from under her wings, have addressed a cabman in terms of such autocratic disdain? She could not forbear from expressing her fond admiration at the change as she followed his swaggering figure into the hall.
"Oh! That's nothing," he exclaimed carelessly; "I've been used to a retinue of servants out there blacks, you know and a man gets so accustomed to ordering them about, 'tis no trouble to make this old gharry wallah jump to it. Pay him, though, will you, Mamma! I happen to have run out of change at the moment." His look conveyed a sense of superiority to the task of paying a mere cabman and, with a final condescending survey, he moved off and entered the house.
Mamma ran for her purse and at once settled with the man and as she returned, closing the front door securely lest her son might suddenly be taken from her again, the pile of boxes in the hall gladdened her; her heart sang joyously the words: "He's back! Matt's back for good!"
She rejoined him in the kitchen where he was reclining in the armchair, his legs extended, his arms drooping over the sides of the chair, his whole pose indicative of fashionable ennui.
"Rather fatiguing journey!" he murmured, without moving his head. "I find the trains in this country very noisy. Give a man a confounded headache."
"Rest ye rest ye then, my boy," she exclaimed. "You're home now, that's the main thing." She paused, having so many things to say that she did not know where to begin, yet realising that before she could permit herself to indulge her selfish curiosity, she must restore his strength with some honest food prepared by her own loving hands. "I'm dying to hear all about it, Matt," she said; "but let me get you a bite of something first."
He waved the suggestion of food aside.
"Yes, dear a little cold ham or a cup of lentil soup. You could surely take that. You mind that nice nourishing soup I used to make for you. You were always fond of it."
Matt shook his head definitely, saying, "I don't want to eat just now. I'm used to a late dinner at night now besides, I had a snack in Glasgow."
She was slightly disheartened, but still insisted. "You'll be thirsty after your journey, son. Have a cup of tea. There's nobody can make it like me."
"All right, then," he assented. "Go ahead, if that's the best you can do!"
She did not quite grasp his meaning, but rushed in a passion of love to get him the tea, and when she brought him the large steaming cup she seated herself upon a low stool before him, watching with hungry eyes his every gesture. He was not discomposed by her eager stare but, as he sipped his tea, he casually drew a bright leather case from his pocket and, extracting a thick cheroot, withdrew the straw from it and lit up, demonstrating more plainly than words could tell that he was master of himself, a finished man of the world.
Whilst she studied his easy gestures and admired the fashionable negligence of his suit of smooth, light cloth, she became aware with some concern that his face had altered, grown older
than she had expected. His eyes, particularly, had aged and seemed darker than before, with a fine network of wrinkles besetting the corners of the lids; his features had sharpened, his complexion turned to a more sallow, even yellowish tinge, whilst his cheeks seemed to be tightly stretched upon the framework of his jaws. She felt convinced now that some harsh and bitter experience had marred his separation from her and, deeming him to have recovered somewhat, her tone was gentle as she said:
"Tell me, Matt, all about it."
He regarded her from beneath his half-closed eyes, and replied abruptly, "About what?"
"Oh! Just everything, son! Ye can't deceive your mother's eyes. Somebody's been hard on you unjust too. But I know so little. Tell me how you left India and what what happened on the way back!"
His eyes opened more fully and, waving his cigar, he immediately grew voluble.
"Oh! That!" he said. "That's soon explained. There's nothing to tell there. I simply threw up my job because it got on my nerves! To be quite honest, Mamma, I couldn't stand the damned dock wallah who ran the office. Everything was a fault with him. If a man were a bit late in the morning, after an evening at the club, or if there happened to be a day taken off work just for a little social engagement you know he was simply unbearable." He contemplated her with an injured air as he drew at his cigar, and added indignantly, "You know how I could never abide being put upon. I was never the one to endure being bossed about by any one. It's not my nature. So I told him in plain language what I thought and walked out on him."
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