CHAPTER VII
THE RESCUER OF DAMES
I
It next happened that Denry began to suffer from the ravages of a maladywhich is almost worse than failure--namely, a surfeit of success. Thesuccess was that of his Universal Thrift Club. This device, by whichmembers after subscribing one pound in weekly instalments could at onceget two pounds' worth of goods at nearly any large shop in the district,appealed with enormous force to the democracy of the Five Towns. Therewas no need whatever for Denry to spend money on advertising. The firstmembers of the club did all the advertising and made no charge for doingit. A stream of people anxious to deposit money with Denry in exchangefor a card never ceased to flow Into his little office in St Luke'sSquare. The stream, indeed, constantly thickened. It was a wonderfulinvention, the Universal Thrift Club. And Denry ought to have beenhappy, especially as his beard was growing strongly and evenly, andgiving him the desired air of a man of wisdom and stability. But he wasnot happy. And the reason was that the popularity of the Thrift Clubnecessitated much book-keeping, which he hated.
He was an adventurer, in the old honest sense, and no clerk. And hefound himself obliged not merely to buy large books of account, but tofill them with figures; and to do addition sums from page to page; andto fill up hundreds of cards; and to write out lists of shops, and tohave long interviews with printers whose proofs made him dream oflunatic asylums; and to reckon innumerable piles of small coins; and toassist his small office-boy in the great task of licking envelopes andstamps. Moreover, he was worried by shopkeepers; every shopkeeper in thedistrict now wanted to allow him twopence in the shilling on thepurchases of club members. And he had to collect all the subscriptions,in addition to his rents; and also to make personal preliminaryinquiries as to the reputation of intending members. If he could haverisen every day at 4 A.M. and stayed up working every night till 4 A.M.he might have got through most of the labour. He did, as a fact, comevery near to this ideal. So near that one morning his mother said tohim, at her driest:
"I suppose I may as well sell your bedstead. Denry?"
And there was no hope of improvement; instead of decreasing, the workmultiplied.
What saved him was the fortunate death of Lawyer Lawton. The agedsolicitor's death put the town into mourning and hung the church withblack. But Denry as a citizen bravely bore the blow because he was ableto secure the services of Penkethman, Lawyer Lawton's eldest clerk, who,after keeping the Lawton books and writing the Lawton letters forthirty-five years, was dismissed by young Lawton for being over fiftyand behind the times. The desiccated bachelor was grateful to Denry. Hecalled Denry "Sir," or rather he called Denry's suit of clothes "Sir,"for he had a vast respect for a well-cut suit. On the other hand, hemaltreated the little office-boy, for he had always been accustomed tomaltreating little office-boys, not seriously, but just enough to givethem an interest in life. Penkethman enjoyed desks, ledgers, pens, ink,rulers, and blotting-paper. He could run from bottom to top of a columnof figures more quickly than the fire-engine could run up OldcastleStreet; and his totals were never wrong. His gesture with a piece ofblotting-paper as he blotted off a total was magnificent. He liked longhours; he was thoroughly used to overtime, and his boredom in hislodgings was such that he would often arrive at the office before theappointed hour. He asked thirty shillings a week, and Denry in a mood ofgenerosity gave him thirty-one. He gave Denry his whole life, and put ameticulous order into the establishment. Denry secretly thought him amiracle, but up at the club at Porthill he was content to call him "thehuman machine." "I wind him up every Saturday night with a sovereign,half a sovereign, and a shilling," said Denry, "and he goes for a week.Compensated balance adjusted for all temperatures. No escapement.Jewelled in every hole. Ticks in any position. Made in England."
This jocularity of Denry's was a symptom that Denry's spirits wererising. The bearded youth was seen oftener in the streets behind hismule and his dog. The adventurer had, indeed, taken to the road again.After an emaciating period he began once more to stouten. He was theimage of success. He was the picturesque card, whom everybody knew andeverybody had pleasure in greeting.
In some sort he was rather like the flag on the Town Hall.
And then a graver misfortune threatened.
It arose out of the fact that, though Denry was a financial genius, hewas in no sense qualified to be a Fellow of the Institute of CharteredAccountants. The notion that an excess of prosperity may bring ruin hadnever presented itself to him, until one day he discovered that out ofover two thousand pounds there remained less than six hundred to hiscredit at the bank. This was at the stage of the Thrift Club when thefounder of the Thrift Club was bound under the rules to give credit.When the original lady member had paid in her two pounds or so, she wasentitled to spend four pounds or so at shops. She did spend four poundsor so at shops. And Denry had to pay the shops. He was thus temporarilynearly two pounds out of pocket, and he had to collect that sum bytrifling instalments. Multiply this case by five hundred, and you willunderstand the drain on Denry's capital. Multiply it by a thousand, andyou will understand the very serious peril which overhung Denry.Multiply it by fifteen hundred and you will understand that Denry hadbeen culpably silly to inaugurate a mighty scheme like the UniversalThrift Club on a paltry capital of two thousand pounds. He had. In hissimplicity he had regarded two thousand pounds as boundless wealth.
Although new subscriptions poured in, the drain grew more distressing.Yet he could not persuade himself to refuse new members. He stiffenedhis rules, and compelled members to pay at his office instead of ontheir own doorsteps; he instituted fines for irregularity. But nothingcould stop the progress of the Universal Thrift Club. And disasterapproached. Denry felt as though he were being pushed nearer and nearerto the edge of a precipice by a tremendous multitude of people. Atlength, very much against his inclination, he put up a card in hiswindow that no new members could be accepted until further notice,pending the acquisition of larger offices and other arrangements. Forthe shrewd, it was a confession of failure, and he knew it.
Then the rumour began to form, and to thicken, and to spread, thatDenry's famous Universal Thrift Club was unsound at the core, and thatthe teeth of those who had bitten the apple would be set on edge.
And Denry saw that something great, something decisive, must be done anddone with rapidity.
II
His thoughts turned to the Countess of Chell. The original attempt toengage her moral support in aid of the Thrift Club had ended in adangerous fiasco. Denry had been beaten by circumstances. And though hehad emerged from the defeat with credit, he had no taste for defeat. Hedisliked defeat even when it was served with jam. And his indomitablethoughts turned to the Countess again. He put it to himself in this way,scratching his head:
"I've got to get hold of that woman, and that's all about it!"
The Countess at this period was busying herself with the policemen ofthe Five Towns. In her exhaustless passion for philanthropy, bazaars,and platforms, she had already dealt with orphans, the aged, the blind,potter's asthma, creches, churches, chapels, schools, economic cookery,the smoke-nuisance, country holidays, Christmas puddings and blankets,healthy musical entertainments, and barmaids. The excellent andbeautiful creature was suffering from a dearth of subjects when thepolicemen occurred to her. She made the benevolent discovery thatpolicemen were over-worked, underpaid, courteous and trustworthy publicservants, and that our lives depended on them. And from this discoveryit naturally followed that policemen deserved her energetic assistance.Which assistance resulted in the erection of a Policemen's Institute atHanbridge, the chief of the Five Towns. At the Institute policemen wouldbe able to play at draughts, read the papers, and drink everythingnon-alcoholic at prices that defied competition. And the Institute alsoconferred other benefits on those whom all the five Mayors of the FiveTowns fell into the way of describing as "the stalwart guardians of thelaw." The Institute, having been built, had to be opened with duesplendour and ceremony. And nat
urally the Countess of Chell was theperson to open it, since without her it would never have existed.
The solemn day was a day in March, and the hour was fixed for threeo'clock, and the place was the large hall of the Institute itself,behind Crown Square, which is the Trafalgar Square of Hanbridge. TheCountess was to drive over from Sneyd. Had the epoch been ten yearslater she would have motored over. But probably that would not have madeany difference to what happened.
In relating what did happen, I confine myself to facts, eschewingimputations. It is a truism that life is full of coincidences, butwhether these events comprised a coincidence, or not, each reader mustdecide for himself, according to his cynicism or his faith in humannature.
The facts are: First, that Denry called one day at the house of Mrs Kempa little lower down Brougham Street, Mrs Kemp being friendly with MrsMachin, and the mother of Jock, the Countess's carriage-footman, whomDenry had known from boyhood. Second, that a few days later, when Jockcame over to see his mother, Denry was present, and that subsequentlyDenry and Jock went for a stroll together in the cemetery, the principalresort of strollers in Bursley. Third, that on the afternoon of theopening ceremony the Countess's carriage broke down in Sneyd Vale, twomiles from Sneyd and three miles from Hanbridge. Fourth, that fiveminutes later Denry, all in his best clothes, drove up behind his mule.Fifth, that Denry drove right past the breakdown, apparently notnoticing it. Sixth, that Jock, touching his hat to Denry as if to astranger (for, of course, while on duty a footman must be dead to allhumanities), said:
"Excuse me, sir," and so caused Denry to stop.
These are the simple facts.
Denry looked round with that careless half-turn of the upper part of thebody which drivers of elegant equipages affect when their attention iscalled to something trifling behind them. The mule also looked round--itwas a habit of the mule's--and if the dog had been there the dog wouldhave shown an even livelier inquisitiveness; but Denry had left thefaithful animal at home.
"Good-afternoon, Countess," he said, raising his hat, and trying toexpress surprise, pleasure, and imperturbability all at once.
The Countess of Chell, who was standing in the road, raised her lorgnon,which was attached to the end of a tortoiseshell pole about a foot long,and regarded Denry. This lorgnon was a new device of hers, and it wasalready having the happy effect of increasing the sale of long-handledlorgnons throughout the Five Towns.
"Oh! it's you, is it?" said the Countess. "I see you've grown a beard."
It was just this easy familiarity that endeared her to the district. Asobservant people put it, you never knew what she would say next, and yetshe never compromised her dignity.
"Yes," said Denry. "Have you had an accident?"
"No," said the Countess, bitterly: "I'm doing this for idle amusement."
The horses had been taken out, and were grazing by the roadside likecommon horses. The coachman was dipping his skirts in the mud as he bentdown in front of the carriage and twisted the pole to and fro and roundabout and round about. The footman, Jock, was industriously watchinghim.
"It's the pole-pin, sir," said Jock.
Denry descended from his own hammercloth. The Countess was not smiling.It was the first time that Denry had ever seen her without an efficientsmile on her face.
"Have you got to be anywhere particular?" he asked. Many ladies wouldnot have understood what he meant. But the Countess was used to the FiveTowns.
"Yes," said she. "I have got to be somewhere particular. I've got to beat the Police Institute at three o'clock particular, Mr Machin. And Ishan't be. I'm late now. We've been here ten minutes."
The Countess was rather too often late for public ceremonies. Nobodyinformed her of the fact. Everybody, on the contrary, assiduouslypretended that she had arrived to the very second. But she was wellaware that she had a reputation for unpunctuality. Ordinarily, being toohurried to invent a really clever excuse, she would assert lightly thatsomething had happened to her carriage. And now something in truth hadhappened to her carriage--but who would believe it at the PoliceInstitute?
"If you'll come with me I'll guarantee to get you there by threeo'clock," said Denry.
The road thereabouts was lonely. A canal ran parallel with it at adistance of fifty yards, and on the canal a boat was moving in thedirection of Hanbridge at the rate of a mile an hour. Such was the onlyother vehicle in sight. The outskirts of Knype, the nearest town, didnot begin until at least a mile further on; and the Countess, dressedfor the undoing of mayors and other unimpressionable functionaries,could not possibly have walked even half a mile in that rich dark mud.She thanked him, and without a word to her servants took the seat besidehim.
III
Immediately the mule began to trot the Countess began to smile again.Relief and content were painted upon her handsome features. Denry soonlearnt that she knew all about mules--or almost all. She told him howshe had ridden hundreds of miles on mules in the Apennines, where therewere no roads, and only mules, goats and flies could keep their feet onthe steep, stony paths. She said that a good mule was worth forty poundsin the Apennines, more than a horse of similar quality. In fact, she wasvery sympathetic about mules. Denry saw that he must drive with as muchstyle as possible, and he tried to remember all that he had picked upfrom a book concerning the proper manner of holding the reins. For ineverything that appertained to riding and driving the Countess was anexpert. In the season she hunted once or twice a week with the NorthStaffordshire Hounds, and the _Signal_ had stated that she was afearless horsewoman. It made this statement one day when she had beenthrown and carried to Sneyd senseless.
The mule, too, seemingly conscious of its responsibilities and its highdestiny, put its best foot foremost and behaved in general like a mulethat knew the name of its great-grandfather. It went through Knype inadmirable style, not swerving at the steam-cars nor exciting itselfabout the railway bridge. A photographer who stood at his doormanoeuvring a large camera startled it momentarily, until it rememberedthat it had seen a camera before. The Countess, who wondered why onearth a photographer should be capering round a tripod in a doorway,turned to inspect the man with her lorgnon.
They were now coursing up the Cauldon Bank towards Hanbridge. They werealready within the boundaries of Hanbridge, and a pedestrian here andthere recognised the Countess. You can hide nothing from the quidnunc ofHanbridge. Moreover, when a quidnunc in the streets of Hanbridge seessomebody famous or striking, or notorious, he does not pretend that hehas seen nobody. He points unmistakably to what he has observed, if hehas a companion, and if he has no companion he stands still and stareswith such honest intensity that the entire street stands and stares too.Occasionally you may see an entire street standing and staring withoutany idea of what it is staring at. As the equipage dashingly approachedthe busy centre of Hanbridge, the region of fine shops, public-houses,hotels, halls, and theatres, more and more of the inhabitants knew thatIris (as they affectionately called her) was driving with a young man ina tumble-down little victoria behind a mule whose ears flapped like anelephant's. Denry being far less renowned in Hanbridge than in hisnative Bursley, few persons recognised him. After the victoria had goneby people who had heard the news too late rushed from shops and gazed atthe Countess's back as at a fading dream until the insistent clang of acar-bell made them jump again to the footpath.
At length Denry and the Countess could see the clock of the Old TownHall in Crown Square and it was a minute to three. They were less than aminute off the Institute.
"There you are!" said Denry, proudly. "Three miles if it's a yard, inseventeen minutes. For a mule it's none so dusty."
And such was the Countess's knowledge of the language of the Five Townsthat she instantly divined the meaning of even that phrase, "none sodusty."
They swept into Crown Square grandly.
And then, with no warning, the mule suddenly applied all the automaticbrakes which a mule has, and stopped.
"Oh Lor!" sighed Denry. He knew the cause of
that arresting.
A large squad of policemen, a perfect regiment of policemen, was movingacross the north side of the square in the direction of the Institute.Nothing could have seemed more reassuring, less harmful, than that bandof policemen, off duty for the afternoon and collected together for thepurpose of giving a hearty and policemanly welcome to their benefactressthe Countess. But the mule had his own views about policemen. In theearly days of Denry's ownership of him he had nearly always shied at thespectacle of a policemen. He would tolerate steam-rollers, and evenfalling kites, but a policeman had ever been antipathetic to him. Denry,by patience and punishment, had gradually brought him round almost tothe Countess's views of policemen--namely, that they were a courteousand trustworthy body of public servants, not to be treated as scarecrowsor the dregs of society. At any rate, the mule had of late monthspractically ceased to set his face against the policing of the FiveTowns. And when he was on his best behaviour he would ignore a policemancompletely.
But there were several hundreds of policemen in that squad, the majorityof all the policemen in the Five Towns. And clearly the mule consideredthat Denry, in confronting him with several hundred policemensimultaneously, had been presuming upon his good-nature.
The mule's ears were saying agitatedly:
"A line must be drawn somewhere, and I have drawn it where my forefeetnow are."
The mule's ears soon drew together a little crowd.
It occurred to Denry that if mules were so wonderful in the Apenninesthe reason must be that there are no policemen in the Apennines. It alsooccurred to him that something must be done to this mule.
"Well?" said the Countess, inquiringly.
It was a challenge to him to prove that he and not the mule was incharge of the expedition.
He briefly explained the mule's idiosyncrasy, as it were apologising forits bad taste in objecting to public servants whom the Countesscherished.
"They'll be out of sight in a moment," said the Countess. And both sheand Denry tried to look as if the victoria had stopped in that specialspot for a special reason, and that the mule was a pattern of obedience.Nevertheless, the little crowd was growing a little larger.
"Now," said the Countess, encouragingly. The tail of the regiment ofpolicemen had vanished towards the Institute.
"Tchk! Tchk!" Denry persuaded the mule.
No response from those forefeet!
"Perhaps I'd better get out and walk," the Countess suggested. The crowdwas becoming inconvenient, and had even begun to offer unsolicited hintsas to the proper management of mules. The crowd was also saying toitself: "It's her! It's her! It's her!" Meaning that it was theCountess.
"Oh no," said Denry, "it's all right."
And he caught the mule "one" over the head with his whip.
The mule, stung into action, dashed away, and the crowd scattered as ifblown to pieces by the explosion of a bomb. Instead of pursuing a rightline the mule turned within a radius of its own length, swinging thevictoria round after it as though the victoria had been a kettleattached to it with string. And Countess, Denry, and victoria were raptwith miraculous swiftness away--not at all towards the Policemen'sInstitute, but down Longshaw Road, which is tolerably steep. They werepursued, but ineffectually. For the mule had bolted and was winged. Theyfortunately came into contact with nothing except a large barrow ofcarrots, turnips, and cabbages which an old woman was wheeling upLongshaw Road. The concussion upset the barrow, half filled the victoriawith vegetables, and for a second stayed the mule; but no real harmseemed to have been done, and the mule proceeded with vigour. Then theCountess noticed that Denry was not using his right arm, which swungabout rather uselessly.
"I must have knocked my elbow against the barrow," he muttered. His facewas pale.
"Give me the reins," said the Countess.
"I think I can turn the brute up here," he said.
And he did in fact neatly divert the mule up Birches Street, which issteeper even than Longshaw Road. The mule for a few instants pretendedthat all gradients, up or down, were equal before its angry might. ButBirches Street has the slope of a house-roof. Presently the mule walked,and then it stood still. And half Birches Street emerged to gaze, forthe Countess's attire was really very splendid.
"I'll leave this here, and we'll walk back," said Denry. "You won't belate--that is, nothing to speak of. The Institute is just round the tophere."
"You don't mean to say you're going to let that mule beat you?"exclaimed the Countess.
"I was only thinking of your being late."
"Oh, bother!" said she. "Your mule may be ruined." The horse-trainer inher was aroused.
"And then my arm?" said Denry.
"Shall I drive back?" the Countess suggested.
"Oh, do," said Denry. "Keep on up the street, and then to the left."
They changed places, and two minutes later she brought the mule to anobedient rest in front of the Police Institute, which was all newly redwith terra-cotta. The main body of policemen had passed into thebuilding, but two remained at the door, and the mule haughtily toleratedthem. The Countess despatched one to Longshaw Road to settle with theold woman whose vegetables they had brought away with them. The otherpoliceman, who, owing to the Countess's philanthropic energy, hadreceived a course of instruction in first aid, arranged a sling forDenry's arm. And then the Countess said that Denry ought certainly to gowith her to the inauguration ceremony. The policeman whistled a boy tohold the mule. Denry picked a carrot out of the complex folds of theCountess's rich costume. And the Countess and her saviour entered theportico and were therein met by an imposing group of important malepersonages, several of whom wore mayoral chains. Strange tales of whathad happened to the Countess had already flown up to the Institute, andthe chief expression on the faces of the group seemed to be one ofastonishment that she still lived.
IV
Denry observed that the Countess was now a different woman. She hadsuddenly put on a manner to match her costume, which in certain partswas stiff with embroidery. From the informal companion and the tamer ofmules she had miraculously developed into the public celebrity, thepeeress of the realm, and the inaugurator-general of philanthropicschemes and buildings. Not one of the important male personages butwould have looked down on Denry!
And yet, while treating Denry as a jolly equal, the Countess with allher embroidered and stiff politeness somehow looked down on theimportant male personages--and they knew it. And the most curious thingwas that they seemed rather to enjoy it. The one who seemed to enjoy itthe least was Sir Jehoshophat Dain, a white-bearded pillar of terrificimposingness.
Sir Jee--as he was then beginning to be called--had recently beenknighted, by way of reward for his enormous benefactions to thecommunity. In the _role_ of philanthropist he was really much moreeffective than the Countess. But he was not young, he was not pretty, hewas not a woman, and his family had not helped to rule England forgenerations--at any rate, so far as anybody knew. He had made more moneythan had ever before been made by a single brain in the manufacture ofearthenware, and he had given more money to public causes than a singlepocket had ever before given in the Five Towns. He had never soughtmunicipal honours, considering himself to be somewhat above suchtrifles. He was the first purely local man to be knighted in the FiveTowns. Even before the bestowal of the knighthood his sense of humourhad been deficient, and immediately afterwards it had vanished entirely.Indeed, he did not miss it. He divided the population of the kingdominto two classes--the titled and the untitled. With Sir Jee, either youwere titled, or you weren't. He lumped all the untitled together; and tobe just to his logical faculty, he lumped all the titled together. Therewere various titles--Sir Jee admitted that--but a title was a title, andtherefore all titles were practically equal. The Duke of Norfolk was onetitled individual, and Sir Jee was another. The fine difference betweenthem might be perceptible to the titled, and might properly berecognised by the titled when the titled were among themselves, but forthe untitled such a difference
ought not to exist and could not exist.
Thus for Sir Jee there were two titled beings in the group--the Countessand himself. The Countess and himself formed one caste in the group, andthe rest another caste. And although the Countess, in her punctiliousdemeanour towards him, gave due emphasis to his title (he returning morethan due emphasis to hers), he was not precisely pleased by theundertones of suave condescension that characterised her greeting of himas well as her greeting of the others. Moreover, he had known Denry as aclerk of Mr Duncalf's, for Mr Duncalf had done a lot of legal workfor him in the past. He looked upon Denry as an upstart, a caperingmountebank, and he strongly resented Denry's familiarity with theCountess. He further resented Denry's sling, which gave to Denry aninteresting romantic aspect (despite his beard), and he more than allresented that Denry should have rescued the Countess from a carriageaccident by means of his preposterous mule. Whenever the Countess, inthe preliminary chatter, referred to Denry or looked at Denry, inrecounting the history of her adventures, Sir Jee's soul squirmed, andhis body sympathised with his soul. Something in him that was morepowerful than himself compelled him to do his utmost to reduce Denry toa moral pulp, to flatten him, to ignore him, or to exterminate him bythe application of ice. This tactic was no more lost on the Countessthan it was on Denry. And the Countess foiled it at every instant. Intruth, there existed between the Countess and Sir Jee a rather hotrivalry in philanthropy and the cultivation of the higher welfare of thedistrict. He regarded himself, and she regarded herself, as the mostbrightly glittering star of the Five Towns.
When the Countess had finished the recital of her journey, and the facesof the group had gone through all the contortions proper to expressterror, amazement, admiration, and manly sympathy, Sir Jee took thelead, coughed, and said in his elaborate style:
"Before we adjourn to the hall, will not your ladyship take a littlerefreshment?"
"Oh no, thanks," said the Countess. "I'm not a bit upset." Then sheturned to the enslinged Denry and with concern added: "But will_you_ have something?"
If she could have foreseen the consequences of her question, she mightnever have put it. Still, she might have put it just the same.
Denry paused an instant, and an old habit rose up in him.
"Oh no, thanks," he said, and turning deliberately to Sir Jee, he added:"Will _you_?"
This, of course, was mere crude insolence to the titled philanthropicwhite-beard. But it was by no means the worst of Denry's behaviour. Thegroup--every member of the group--distinctly perceived a movement ofDenry's left hand towards Sir Jee. It was the very slightest movement, awavering, a nothing. It would have had no significance whatever, but forone fact. Denry's left hand still held the carrot.
Everybody exhibited the most marvellous self-control. And everybodyexcept Sir Jee was secretly charmed, for Sir Jee had never inspiredlove. It is remarkable how local philanthropists are unloved, locally.The Countess, without blenching, gave the signal for what Sir Jee calledthe "adjournment" to the hall. Nothing might have happened, yeteverything had happened.
V
Next, Denry found himself seated on the temporary platform which hadbeen erected in the large games hall of the Policemen's Institute.
The Mayor of Hanbridge was in the chair, and he had the Countess on hisright and the Mayoress of Bursley on his left. Other mayoral chainsblazed in the centre of the platform, together with fine hats ofmayoresses and uniforms of police-superintendents and captains offire-brigades. Denry's sling also contributed to the effectiveness; hewas placed behind the Countess. Policemen (looking strange withouthelmets) and their wives, sweethearts, and friends, filled the hall toits fullest; enthusiasm was rife and strident; and there was only onelittle sign that the untoward had occurred. That little sign was anempty chair in the first row near the Countess. Sir Jee, a prey to asudden indisposition, had departed. He had somehow faded away, while thepersonages were climbing the stairs. He had faded away amid theexpressed regrets of those few who by chance saw him in the act offading. But even these bore up manfully. The high humour of thegathering was not eclipsed.
Towards the end of the ceremony came the votes of thanks, and theprincipal of these was the vote of thanks to the Countess, prime causeof the Institute. It was proposed by the Superintendent of the HanbridgePolice. Other personages had wished to propose it, but the strongerright of the Hanbridge Superintendent, as chief officer of the largestforce of constables in the Five Towns, could not be disputed. He made afew facetious references to the episode of the Countess's arrival, andbrought the house down by saying that if he did his duty he would arrestboth the Countess and Denry for driving to the common danger. When hesat down, amid tempestuous applause, there was a hitch. According to theofficial programme Sir Jehoshophat Dain was to have seconded the vote,and Sir Jee was not there. All that remained of Sir Jee was his chair.The Mayor of Hanbridge looked round about, trying swiftly to make up hismind what was to be done, and Denry heard him whisper to another mayorfor advice.
"Shall I do it?" Denry whispered, and by at once rising relieved theMayor from the necessity of coming to a decision.
Impossible to say why Denry should have risen as he did, without anywarning. Ten seconds before, five seconds before, he himself had not thedimmest idea that he was about to address the meeting. All that can besaid is that he was subject to these attacks of the unexpected.
Once on his legs he began to suffer, for he had never before been on hislegs on a platform, or even on a platform at all. He could see nothingwhatever except a cloud that had mysteriously and with frightfulsuddenness filled the room. And through this cloud he could feel thathundreds and hundreds of eyes were piercingly fixed upon him. A voicewas saying inside him--"What a fool you are! What a fool you are! Ialways told you you were a fool!" And his heart was beating as it hadnever beat, and his forehead was damp, his throat distressingly dry, andone foot nervously tap-tapping on the floor. This condition lasted forsomething like ten hours, during which time the eyes continued to piercethe cloud and him with patient, obstinate cruelty.
Denry heard some one talking. It was himself.
The Superintendent had said: "I have very great pleasure in proposingthe vote of thanks to the Countess of Chell."
And so Denry heard himself saying: "I have very great pleasure inseconding the vote of thanks to the Countess of Chell."
He could not think of anything else to say. And there was a pause, areal pause, not a pause merely in Denry's sick imagination.
Then the cloud was dissipated. And Denry himself said to the audience ofpolicemen, with his own natural tone, smile and gesture, colloquially,informally, comically:
"Now then! Move along there, please! I'm not going to say any more!"
And for a signal he put his hands in the position for applauding. Andsat down.
He had tickled the stout ribs of every bobby in the place. The applausesurpassed all previous applause. The most staid ornaments of theplatform had to laugh. People nudged each other and explained that itwas "that chap Machin from Bursley," as if to imply that that chapMachin from Bursley never let a day pass without doing somethingstriking and humorous. The Mayor was still smiling when he put the voteto the meeting, and the Countess was still smiling when she responded.
Afterwards in the portico, when everything was over, Denry exercised hisright to remain in charge of the Countess. They escaped from thepersonages by going out to look for her carriage and neglecting toreturn. There was no sign of the Countess's carriage, but Denry's muleand victoria were waiting in a quiet corner.
"May I drive you home?" he suggested.
But she would not. She said that she had a call to pay before dinner,and that her brougham would surely arrive the very next minute.
"Will you come and have tea at the Sub Rosa?" Denry next asked.
"The Sub Rosa?" questioned the Countess.
"Well," said Denry, "that's what we call the new tea-room that's justbeen opened round here." He indicated a direction. "It's quite a novel
tyin the Five Towns."
The Countess had a passion for tea.
"They have splendid China tea," said Denry.
"Well," said the Countess, "I suppose I may as well go through with it."
At the moment her brougham drove up. She instructed her coachman to waitnext to the mule and victoria. Her demeanour had cast off all itssimilarity to her dress: it appeared to imply that, as she had begunwith a mad escapade, she ought to finish with another one.
Thus the Countess and Denry went to the tea-shop, and Denry ordered teaand paid for it. There was scarcely a customer in the place, and the fewwho were fortunate enough to be present had not the wit to recognise theCountess. The proprietress did not recognise the Countess. (Later, whenit became known that the Countess had actually patronised the Sub Rosa,half the ladies of Hanbridge were almost ill from sheer disgust thatthey had not heard of it in time. It would have been so easy for them tobe there, taking tea at the next table to the Countess, and observingher choice of cakes, and her manner of holding a spoon, and whether sheremoved her gloves or retained them in the case of a meringue. It was anopportunity lost that would in all human probability never occur again.)
And in the discreet corner which she had selected the Countess fired asudden shot at Denry.
"How did you get all those details about the state rooms at Sneyd?" sheasked.
Upon which opening the conversation became lively.
The same evening Denry called at the _Signal_ office and gave anorder for a half-page advertisement of the Five Towns Universal ThriftClub--"Patroness, the Countess of Chell." The advertisement informedthe public that the club had now made arrangements to accept newmembers. Besides the order for a half-page advertisement, Denry alsogave many interesting and authentic details about the historic drivefrom Sneyd Vale to Hanbridge. The next day the _Signal_ was simplyfull of Denry and the Countess. It had a large photograph, taken by aphotographer on Cauldon Bank, which showed Denry actually driving theCountess, and the Countess's face was full in the picture. It presented,too, an excellently appreciative account of Denry's speech, and itcongratulated Denry on his first appearance in the public life of theFive Towns. (In parenthesis it sympathised with Sir Jee in hisindisposition.) In short, Denry's triumph obliterated the memory of hisprevious triumphs. It obliterated, too, all rumours adverse to theThrift Club. In a few days he had a thousand new members. Of course,this addition only increased his liabilities; but now he could obtaincapital on fair terms, and he did obtain it. A company was formed. TheCountess had a few shares in this company. So (strangely) had Jock andhis companion the coachman. Not the least of the mysteries was that whenDenry reached his mother's cottage on the night of the tea with theCountess, his arm was not in a sling, and showed no symptom of havingbeen damaged.
The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns Page 7