Barrie, J M - When A Man's Single

by When A Man's Single

  "THE SCORN OF SCORNS." 61

  business. Mrs. Meredith, who was a terribly active woman, was glad to leave the entertainment of her visitors to Nell, and that young lady began severely by asking " how you boys mean to amuse yourselves?"

  "Do you keep rabbits?" she said to the captain, sweetly.

  " I say, Nell !" cried Will warningly.

  "I have not kept rabbits," Greybrooke replied, with simple dignity, "since I was a boy."

  "I told you," said Will, "that Greybrooke was old why, he's nearly as old as yourself. She's older than she looks, you know, Greybrooke."

  The captain was gazing at Nell with intense ad- miration. As she raised her head indignantly he thought she was looking to him for protection. That was a way Nell had.

  " Abinger," said the captain sternly, "shut up."

  "Don't mind him, Miss Meredith," he continued; "he doesn't understand girls."

  To think he understands girls is the last affront a youth pays them. When he ceases trying to reduce them to fixed principles he has come of age. Nell, knowing this, felt sorry for Greybrooke, for she fore- saw what he would have to go through. Her man- ner to him underwent such a change that he began to have a high opinion of himself. This is often called falling in love. Will was satisfied that his friend impressed Nell, and he admired Greybrooke's politeness to a chit of a girl, but he became restless.

  62 WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE.

  His eyes wandered to the piano, and he had a lurk- ing fear that Nell would play something. He signed to the captain to get up.

  "We'll have to be going now," he said at last; "good-by."

  Greybrooke glared at Will, forgetting that they had arranged beforehand to stay as short a time as possible.

  " Perhaps you have other calls to make?" said Nell, who had no desire to keep them there longer than they cared to stay.

  "Oh, yes, "said Will.

  "No," said the captain, "we only came into Sil- chester with Miss Abinger's message for you."

  " Why, Will !" exclaimed Nell, " you never gave me any message?"

  "I forgot what it was," Will explained, cheerily; "something about a ribbon, I think."

  "I did not hear the message given," the captain said, in answer to Nell's look, "but Miss Abinger had a headache, and I think Will said it had to do with that."

  " Oh, wait a bit," said Will, " I remember some- thing about it now. Mary saw something in a Sil- chester paper, the Mirror, I think, that made her cry, and she thinks that if you saw it you would cry too. So she wants you to look at it."

  "The idea of Mary's crying!" said Nell indig- nantly. " But did she not give you a note?"

  "THE SCORN OF SCORNS. 1 ' 63

  "She was too much upset," said Will, signing to the captain not to let on that they had refused to wait for the note.

  " I wonder what it can be," murmured Nell.

  She hurried from the room to her father's den, and found him there surrounded by newspapers.

  " Is there anything in the Mirror, father?" she asked.

  "Nothing," said Mr. Meredith, who had made the same answer to this question many hundreds of times, " nothing except depression in the boot trade."

  " It can't be that," said Nell.

  " Can't be what?"

  "Oh, give me the paper," cried the ex-mayor's daughter impatiently.

  She looked hastily up and down it, with an invol- untary glance at the births, deaths, and marriages, turned it inside out and outside in, and then ex- claimed, " Oh !" Mr. Meredith, who was too much accustomed to his daughter's impulses to think that there was much wrong, listened patiently while she ejaculated, "Horrid!" "What a shame!" "Oh, I wish I was a man !" and, " Well, I can't understand it." When she tossed the paper to the floor, her face was red and her body trembled with excite- ment.

  "What is it, Nelly?" asked her father.

  Whether Miss Abinger cried over the Mirror that day is not to be known, but there were indignant tears

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  in Nell's eyes as she ran upstairs to her bedroom. Mr. Meredith took up the paper and examined it carefully at the place where his daughter had torn it in her anger. What troubled her seemed to be some- thing in the book notices, and he concluded that it must be a cruel " slating " of a novel in one volume called " The Scorn of Scorns." Mr. Meredith remem- bered that Nell had compelled him to read that book and to say that he liked it.

  "That's all," he said to himself, much relieved.

  He fancied that Nell, being a girl, was distressed to see a book she liked called " the sentimental outpour- ings of some silly girl who ought to confine her writ- ing to copy-books. " In a woman so much excitement over nothing seemed quite a natural thing to Mr. Meredith. The sex had ceased to surprise him. Having retired from business, Mr. Meredith now did things slowly as a good way of passing the time. He had risen to wealth from penury, and counted time by his dining-room chairs, having passed through a cane, a horsehair, and a leather period before arriv- ing at morocco. Mrs. Meredith counted time by the death of her only son.

  It may be presumed that Nell would not have locked herself into her bed-room and cried and stamped her feet on an imaginary critic had " The Scorn of Scorns" not interested her more than her fa- ther thought. She sat down to write a note to Mary. Then she tore it up, and wrote a letter to Mary's

  "THE SCORN OF SCORNS.'' 65

  elder brother, beginning with the envelope. She tore this up also, as another idea came into her head. She nodded several times to herself over this idea, as a sign that the more she thought of it the more she liked it. Then, after very nearly forgetting to touch her eyes with something that made them look less red, she returned to the drawing-room.

  " Will, " she said, " have you seen the new ponies papa gave me on my birthday?"

  Will leaped to his feet.

  "Come o n, Greybrooke," he cried, making for the door.

  The captain hesitated.

  " Perhaps, " said Nell, with a glance at him, " Mr. Greybrooke does not have much interest in horses?"

  "Doesn't he, just," said Will; " why-

  " No, "said Greybrooke; "but I'll wait here for you, Abinger."

  Will was staggered. For a moment the horrible thought passed through his mind that these girls had got hold of the captain. Then he remembered.

  " Come on," he said, " Nell won't mind."

  But Greybrooke had a delicious notion that the young lady wanted to see him by himself, and Will had to go to the stables alone.

  "I won't be long," he said to Greybrooke, apol- ogizing for leaving him alone with a girl. " Don't bother him too much," he whispered to Nell at the

  door.

  5

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  As soon as Will had disappeared Nell turned to Greybrooke.

  "Mr. Greyorooke," she said, speaking rapidly, in a voice so low that it was a compliment to him in itself, " there is something I should like you to do for me."

  The captain flushed with pleasure.

  " There is nothing I wouldn't do for you," he stam- mered.

  "I want you," continued Miss Meredith, with a most vindictive look on her face, " to find out for me who wrote a book review in to-day's Mirror, and to to oh, to thrash him."

  "All right," said the captain, rising and looking for his hat.

  "Wait a minute," said Nell, glancing at him ad- miringly. " The book is called ' The Scorn of Scorns, ' and it is written by by a friend of mine. In to-day's Mirror it is called the most horrid names, sickly sen- timental, not even grammatical, and all that."

  " The cads !" cried Greybrooke.

  " But the horribly mean, wicked thing about it," continued Nell, becoming more and more indignant as she told her story, " is that not two months ago there was a review of the book in the same paper, which said it was the most pathetic and thoughtful and clever tale that had ever been published by an anonymous author !"

  " It's the lowest thing I ever heard of," said Grey-

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SCORN OF SCORNS." 67

  brooke, "but these newspaper men are all the same."

  "No, they're not," said Nell (Richard Abinger, Esq.'s, only visible means of sustenance was the press) , " but they are dreadfully mean, contemptible creatures on the Mirror just reporters, you know."

  Greybrooke nodded, though he knew nothing about it.

  "The first review," Nell continued, "appeared on the third of October, and I want you to show them both to the editor, and insist upon knowing the name of the writer. After that find the wretch out, and "

  " And lick him, "said the captain.

  His face frightened Nell.

  " You won't hit him very hard?" she asked, ap- prehensively adding as an afterthought, "Perhaps he is stronger than you."

  Greybrooke felt himself in.an unfortunate position. He could not boast before Nell, but he wished very keenly that Will was there to boast for him. Most of us have experienced the sensation.

  Nell having undertaken to keep Will employed un- til the captain's return, Greybrooke set off for the Mirror office with a look of determination on his face. He went into two shops, the one a news-shop, where he bought a copy of the paper. In the other he asked for a thick stick, having remembered that the elegant cane he carried was better fitted for swing-

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  ing in the air than for breaking a newspaper man's head. He tried the stick on a paling. Greybrooke felt certain that Miss Meredith was the novelist. That was why he selected so thick a weapon.

  He marched into the advertising office, and de- manded to see the editor of the Mirror.

  " 'Stairs," said a clerk, with his head in a ledger. He meant upstairs, and the squire of dames took his advice. After wandering for some time in a laby- rinth of dark passages, he opened the door of the day composing-room, in which half a dozen silent figures were bending over their cases.

  "I want the editor," said Greybrooke, somewhat startled by the sound his voice made in the great room.

  " 'Stairs," said one of the figures, meaning down- stairs.

  Greybrooke, remembering who had sent him here, did not lose heart. He knocked at several doors, and then pushed them open. All the rooms were empty. Then he heard a voice saying :

  " Who are you? What do you want?"

  Mr. Licquorish was the speaker, and he had been peering at the intruder for some time through a grat- ing in his door. He would not have spoken at all, but he wanted to go into the composing-room, and Greybrooke was in the passage that led to it.

  "I don't see you," said the captain; "I want the editor."

  "THE SCORN OF SCORNS." 69

  "I am the editor," said the voice, "but I can see no one at present except on business."

  "I am here on business," said Greybrooke. "I want to thrash one of your staff."

  " All the members of my literary staff are engaged at present," said Mr. Licquorish, in a pleasant voice; " which one do you want?"

  " I want the low cad who wrote a review of a book called 'The Scorn of Scorns' in to-day's paper."

  " Oh !" said Mr. Licquorish.

  "I demand his name," cried Greybrooke.

  The editor made no answer. He had other things to do than to quarrel with school-boys. As he could not get out he began a leaderette. The visitor, how- ever, had discovered the editorial door now, and was shaking it violently.

  " Why don't you answer me?" he cried.

  Mr. Licquorish thought for a moment of calling down the speaking-tube which communicated with the advertisement office, for a clerk to come and take this youth away, but after all he was good-natured. He finished a sentence, and then opened the door. The captain strode in, but refused a chair.

  "Are you the author of the book?" the editor asked.

  "No," said Greybrooke, "but I am her friend, and I am here to thrash "

  Mr. Licquorish held up his hand to stop the flow of the captain's indignation. He could never under-

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  stand why the public got so excited over these little matters.

  " She is a Silchester lady?" he asked.

  Greybrcoke did not know how to reply to this. He was not sure whether Nell wanted the authorship revealed.

  " That has nothing to do with the matter," he said. " I want the name of the writer who has libelled her. "

  " On the press," said Mr. Licquorish, repeating some phrases which he kept for such an occasion as the present, " we have a duty to the public to perform. When books are sent us for review we never allow prejudice or private considerations to warp our judg- ment. The Mirror has in consequence a reputation for honesty that some papers do not possess. Now I distinctly remember that this book, 'The Vale of Tears' "

  " 'The Scorn of Scorns.' "

  "I mean 'The Scorn of Scorns,' was carefully considered by the expert to whom it was given for review. Being honestly of opinion that the treat-

  " It is a novel."

  "That the novel is worthless, we had to say so. Had it been clever, we should "

  " Mr. Licquorish paused, reading in the other's face that there was something wrong. Greybrooke had concluded that the editor had forgotten about the first review.

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  "Can you show me a copy of the Mirror," the captain asked, "for October third?"

  Mr. Licquorish turned to the file, and Greybrooke looked over his shoulder.

  " There it is !" cried the captain indignantly.

  They read the original notice together. It said that, if " The Scorn of Scorns" was written by a new writer, his next story would be looked for with great interest. It "could not refrain from quoting the following exquisitely tender passage." It found the earlier pages "as refreshing as a spring morning," and the closing chapters were a triumph of " the art that conceals art."

  " Well, what have you to say to that?" asked Grey- brooke fiercely.

  "A mistake," said the editor blandly. "Such things do happen occasionally."

  " You shall make reparation for it !"

  "Hum," said Mr. Licquorish.

  "The insult," cried Greybrooke, "must have been intentional."

  " No. I fancy the authoress must be to blame for this. Did she send a copy of the work to us?"

  " I should think it very unlikely," said Greybrooke, fuming.

  "Not at all," said the editor, "especially if she is a Silchester lady."

  " What would make her do that?"

  " It generally comes about in this way. The pub-

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  lishers send a copy of the book to a newspaper, and owing to pressure on the paper's space no notice ap- pears for some time. The author, who looks for it daily, thinks that the publishers have neglected their duty, and sends a copy to the office himself. The editor, forgetful that he has had a notice of the book lying ready for printing for months, gives the second copy to another reviewer. By-and-bye the first review appears, but owing to an oversight the editor does not take note of it, and after a time, unless his attention is called to the matter, the second review appears also. Probably that is the explanation in this case."

  " But such carelessness on a respectable paper is incomprehensible," said the captain.

  The editor was looking up his books to see if they shed any light on the affair, but he answered :

  " On the contrary, it is an experience known to most newspapers. Ah, I have it !"

  Mr. Licquorish read out, "'The Scorn of Scorns,' received September 1st, reviewed October 3d." Sev- eral pages farther on he discovered, "'The Scorn of Scorns, ' received September 24th, reviewed December 19th."

  " You will find," he said, " that this explains it."

  " I don't consider the explanation satisfactory," re- plied the captain, " and I insist, first, upon an apology in the paper, and, second, on getting the name of the writer of the second review."

  "I am busy this morning," said Mr. Licquorish,

  "THE SCORN OF SCORNS." 73

  opening his door,
" and what you ask is absurd. If the authoress can give me her word that she did not send the book and so bring this upon herself, we shall insert a word on the subject, but not otherwise. Good-morning."

  " Give me the writer's name," cried the captain.

  " We make a point of never giving names in that way," said Mr. Licquorish.

  "You have not heard the last of this," Mr. Grey - brooke said from the doorway. " I shall make it my duty to ferret out the coward's name, and "

  " Good-morning, " Mr. Licquorish repeated.

  The captain went thumping down the stairs, and, meeting a printer's devil at the bottom, cuffed him soundly because he was part of the Mirror.

  To his surprise, Miss Meredith's first remark when he returned was :

  " Oh, I hope you didn't see him !"

  She looked at Greybrooke's face, fearing it might be stained with blood, and when he told her the re- sult of his inquiries she seemed pleased rather than otherwise. Nell was soft-hearted after all, and she knew how that second copy of the novel had reached the Mirror office.

  "I shall find the fellow out, though," said Grey- brooke, grasping his cudgel firmly.

  " Why, you are as vindictive as if you had written the book yourself," said Nell.

  Greybrooke murmured, blushing the while, that

  74 WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE.

  an insult to her hurt him more than one offered to himself. Nell opened the eyes of astonishment.

  "You don't think I wrote the book?" she asked; then seeing that it was so from his face, added, " Oh, no, I'm not clever enough. It was written by by a friend of mine."

  Nell deserves credit for not telling Greybrooke who the friend was, for that was a secret. But there was reason to believe that she had already divulged it to twelve persons (all in the strictest confidence) . When the captain returned she was explaining all about it by letter to Richard Abinger, Esq. Possibly that was why Greybrooke thought she was not nearly so nice to him now as she had been an hour before.