Chapter IV—Three Worms that turned
George Early came down to breakfast next morning half an hour after his usual time, blithely humming a tune. Mrs. Haskins had it on the tip of her tongue to say something caustic, but refrained.
"Quarter past eight," said George, looking at the watchmaker's over the way.
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Haskins. "I've done all I could to get you up in time. I'm only flesh and blood; I can't keep the time back."
"Tea hot?" said George, cheerfully ignoring this outburst.
"It was half an hour ago. It's been standing on the 'ob—boiled and stewed and the Lord knows what else. Just what I always do say——"
"Well, don't say it again," said George; "make some more. What's this—a kipper? Don't care for kippers this morning. Let's have some ham and eggs, and send Carrie out for the Morning Post."
"That's all, Mrs. Haskins," as the landlady hesitated. "Oh, stop a minute! I'll have a rabbit for dinner at seven sharp."
Mrs. Haskins stood by the door with the tea cosy in her hand and amazement on her face.
"Shall I write it down?" said George. "Ham and eggs, Morning Post, rabbit."
He sat down in the armchair and put one foot on the mantelpiece, while Mrs. Haskins groped her way out of the room and slipped down the first flight of stairs.
"Parrott good, Gray good, Busby good. Yes," said George to himself with a smile of satisfaction; "it's the luckiest thing I've struck for many a day. This is going to be a picnic. They hadn't a word to say—not a word. Of course not. What could they say?" he asked a china dog on the mantelshelf. "Nothing."
He got up and looked out of the window. The jeweller's shop opposite looked a paltry, second-rate establishment. Hansoms crawling by the end of the street were merely things that you held up a finger to. What was a fur overcoat like that man had on over the way? "Fifteen hundred pounds a year!" said George in delicious contemplation. "Fifteen hundred golden sovereigns, and a dip in the lucky bag for yours truly. All prizes and no blanks!"
The Morning Post arrived.
"Hallo!" said George, "already? I suppose the breakfast'll come up in course of time."
Carrie sniffed.
"You needn't put on airs," she said loftily. "I suppose you think you're everybody because you're going to have rabbit for dinner."
"Look here," said George, with affected hauteur; "you mustn't speak to me like that: I never take impudence from maid-servants. If you're not careful I shall speak to your mistress, and then you won't get a character when you leave. Take your feet off the carpet."
Carrie giggled.
"What is it?" she asked; "five shillings rise, or some money left you? I'm particular to know, because I always like to treat people according to their position."
It was just a quarter past nine when George reached the office. Business was in full swing, and an air of concern appeared on the faces of several junior clerks as George Early hung up his hat. To be a quarter of an hour late was a crime many were guilty of, but to saunter in at nine-fifteen was tempting Fate.
"Missed your train?" asked Matthews, a sympathetic youth with freckles.
"Train?" said George; "don't be silly. My coachman overslept himself. Is she here?"
"Rather; got a new hat. Looks spiffing."
"I didn't ask about her hat," said George. "Where's Polly?"
"Upstairs in her office."
"Go and tell him I'm here, and ask if there's any telegrams for me."
Matthews was tickled at this display of humour, and told George that he'd got a nerve. He informed him that Busby and Gray had both arrived late; that Busby was in a beastly temper, but that Gray was in the best of spirits.
George smiled at the news concerning Busby. "It's that studying at the library," he said to himself facetiously. "No man can expect to keep his spirits up if he goes slogging away studying books, after putting in a full day at business. He wants recreation, a game of billiards, for instance. But that's the worst of these conscientious Johnnies; they get fifty pounds a year left them for study, and study they will, even if it means an early tomb."
Somebody went by, humming—
"Hallo!" said George. "Who's going to be 'Queen o' the May' to-day?"
"That's Gray," whispered Matthews; "see him skip up the step?"
George turned in time to catch the graceful back-kick of a tweed leg as somebody disappeared through the door.
"Seems to have an elastic step this morning."
"It's the Leytonstone air," said Matthews; "you get it like that off Wanstead Flats."
"P'raps so," said George; "I don't think he got that off Wanstead Flats. I think I know where he got it."
"Where?"
"You get on with your work, and don't be inquisitive."
Gray's exuberance had calmed down towards the middle of the day, and when he started out in search of lunch his face wore a more thoughtful expression. The elasticity of his step was not at all noticeable, if it existed. It is doubtful if one in twenty of the people he met would have guessed that he had recently come into five hundred pounds a year, or even fivepence.
In Queen Victoria Street he stopped on the kerbstone, and looked about him. Hungry clerks and typists flitted by in quest of milk and buns. Gray chinked his money and crossed the road. Before turning up a narrow side street he stopped again, and looked round. Then he carefully walked on.
On his left, three doors up, was a tea-shop. Gray looked in, and passed on. A couple of warehouses and a restaurant came next, and a narrow alley beyond. Gray turned into this alley, and followed its tortuous length for some distance until it emptied itself and Gray into a sort of paved square, where the noise of traffic was reduced to a steady hum. There was one noticeable house in the square, a dull-looking building with a projecting lamp. People passed in and out. It was a public-house.
Instead of hurrying by with averted gaze, Gray stopped and glanced sideways at the bill of fare in a brass frame. He really hadn't the least curiosity to know what joints were on, and what entrées off, he was just asking himself a question which he couldn't answer. Another man had stopped to read the bill on the other door-post, and as he did so, Gray looked up. It was George Early.
For reasons best known to himself, Gray was angry.
"What the devil do you want?" he asked, addressing George.
"Want?" said George, surprised; "I'm looking at the bill."
"What do you want?" shouted Gray, fiercely, moving a step nearer.
"I want to be measured for a suit of clothes," said George, innocently. "This is a tailor's, isn't it?"
"This is a public-house," said Gray, in a low, murderous tone, "and you—you're following me."
A whisky bill stared George full in the face, and his pleasant expression gave way to a look of concern.
"A public-house?" he said, stepping back. "Why, so it is. What's this, Gray? You don't mean to tell me you——"
"I tell you this," said Gray in a fierce whisper, thrusting his face close to George's; "if I catch you following me about——"
"Stop!" said the other, in commanding tones; "this is no laughing matter. You have said enough, Gray, and I have seen you with my own eyes." He pulled out a note-book.
Gray laughed ironically.
"Damn your note-books," he said. "I don't know what you're after, but I know that it'll take more than a silly cuckoo like you to upset me."
"Be careful," said George; "you know what lawyers are when they like to be nasty."
Gray thrust himself forward offensively. "I suppose you think you know something," he said, looking at the other man's eyebrows from a distance of two inches.
George Early's face expanded in a smile, "I do," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yes. But," said George, "I'm the only one in the firm who knows. Exclusive information, as they say."
"I see," said Gray, who had been deliberating. "Well, look here"—he tapped George Early on the chest with one forefinger to emphasize each word—"I know something also, so that's two of us. You're a clever bantam, you are, but you'll have to get up a bit earlier to get over me. You just keep your eyes open, and see which of us gets tired first."
With that he marched off. George followed.
A tea-shop loomed up in the distance, and Gray entered and seated himself at a table. George went in and took a seat opposite.
For the rest of the day Gray made himself offensive, frequently requesting George to keep an eye on him, and to have his note-book handy. He went out of his way to offer some points in detective work, particularly on the subject of tracking, and advised the purchase of a little book entitled "Nightingale Nick, the Boy Detective." This was not the worst. George observed Gray in close consultation with Busby, and afterwards with Parrott, both of whom adopted an attitude most aggressive.
"They're in league against me," thought the blackmailer.
This proved to be somewhere near the truth, for on endeavouring to negotiate a loan of five shillings from the head clerk that worthy smilingly replied that he would have been pleased to lend it if he had happened to have it, but the sum of tenpence was all he possessed. He wouldn't think of refusing it, he would only ask George to wait till he got it out of the savings bank. He offered eightpence, keeping twopence for his fare home.
"That's the game, is it?" thought George.
Busby wouldn't speak at all. He replied to all questions by nods and other facial expressions. He shrugged his shoulders in a most expressive way when asked about the new books in the Free Library, and merely laughed when the subject of billiards was mentioned.
"After all, a man can't lie in a laugh," said George. "He can't lie if he doesn't speak. He's done me, and that's straight. Wait a minute"—brightening up—"I'd forgotten the missis. I've got him there safe enough."
"Old man," he said to Busby later in the day, "I'd forgotten to mention it, but the missis asked me to run over to supper again to-night. You can tell her to expect me at nine."
Busby found his tongue. "Well, fancy that!" he said, smiling and apologetic. "I'm sorry, old chap, she must have forgotten it."
"Why?" asked George.
"She went off to her mother's this morning for a month. What a nuisance! I'm awfully sorry! But, I say, Early, you can come down just the same, old chap. We'll have supper together, and run over to the Free Library for an hour afterwards."
"Thanks," said George. "I will."
"That's right," said Busby, "do."
George didn't go, he went home to his rabbit dinner and abused his landlady in a most outrageous manner.
"In all my days," said Mrs. Haskins to her gouty aunt, "I've never been talked to like that. Bless my soul! if you ask me about it, I say let 'im get the Morning Post and take a flat in Kensington, and them as laughs last laughs most!"
George Early got to the office next morning at his proper time, surprising the staff as much as by his lateness the day before. His conduct throughout the day was most exemplary, and he bore the sneers of Busby and the taunts of Gray with meekness and resignation. Parrott found fault with his work, and went to the verge of bullying him. George obeyed his instructions, and knuckled under in a most abject manner, going so far as to call the head clerk "sir," and ask for a day off to bury his uncle.
"A day off!" said Gray, chuckling to himself; "I think he needs it. I like a man to come playing the old soldier with me, and think he's going to get off best."
Busby was highly gratified at the turn affairs had taken. He had had to pay his wife's fare to her mother's, certainly, and give her a ten-pound note; but, taking into consideration Early's previous victory, things looked very promising.
Parrott said nothing, but as he saw George go meekly out of the office he smiled, which meant a very great deal, for Parrott only smiled on the most rare occasions.
Chapter V—A New Lodger in Leytonstone
On the next day, as Gray left the office for Liverpool Street Station en route for Leytonstone, he ran into a man carrying a black bag.
"Hang you!" said the man. "Look where you're going."
"Your fault," retorted Gray, "stupid!"
"Who's that?" The man stopped. "Is that Jimmy Gray?"
"Why, it's Lambert," said Gray. "How are you, old man?"
They shook hands cordially, and slapped each other in the familiar old pal style.
"Why, what are you doing down this way?" said Gray.
"Jimmy," said the other eagerly, "you're the very chap I've been looking for. I wouldn't have missed you for anything."
"Funds low?" asked Gray.
"It isn't that," said Lambert.
He opened the black bag and drew forth a notebook that bulged with cards and bits of paper. One of the cards he placed in the hands of Gray.
"Society of Old Friends," read Gray. "A new social club for business men; secretary, Charles Lambert, Esq."
"Guinea a year," said Lambert, "and the membership complete all but one. Exceptional chance, Jimmy. Spacious club-rooms, billiards, and all the rest. Open as soon as members' list complete. My boy, it's a chance you ought not to miss."
"I know," said Gray; "they always are."
"Don't take my word," said Lambert. "Come and look for yourself. I'm off there now. Just by the G.P.O.—come along."
An hour later Gray resumed his walk to Liverpool Street, a member of the Society of Old Friends.
"That settles one thing," he said, as he got into the Leytonstone train. "Emily is sure to swallow this, and it'll give me a bit more time off."
Gray, like Busby, had not been quite honest with his wife on the subject of the Fairbrother legacy. As a matter of fact, at this moment she knew nothing whatever about it, and had not the faintest idea that her husband was one penny richer by the death of the head of the firm. Gray had intended that she should benefit, but, like many another cautious husband, he feared that sudden wealth might turn her brain. He would break it to her gently, at the rate of a pound a week at first. Having got thus far, he looked about for the best way of presenting the legacy. No opening had presented itself until to-night, but he believed that he had at last solved the problem.
Mrs. Gray was on the doorstep when her husband arrived at the Leytonstone villa.
"How late you are, James!"
James replied by kissing her affectionately, much to her surprise.
"Couldn't help it, Em. One of the men away from the office, and Jimmy had to stay.
he sang.
He was in a most amiable mood, a fact that would not have passed the notice of his wife if she hadn't happened to be in an amiable mood also. They sat down to a meat tea, and Gray attacked a steak vigorously.
"Jim," said Mrs. Gray, dimpling, and sipping a cup of tea, "what do you think?"
Gray arrested the progress of a piece of steak to his mouth, and said, "What?" keeping his mouth open, apparently to take in the answer with the meat.
"Guess," said Mrs. Gray, stirring the tea-leaves in the bottom of her cup.
"Can't," said Gray. "Anything the matter?"
"No, you old stupid," said his wife, placing her cup firmly down in the saucer; "only that I have some good news, Jim."
"For me, dear?"
"Good news for both of us, Jim," said Mrs. Gray.
Gray smiled. "So have I, Emily. I've some good news for both of us also."
Mrs. Gray opened her eyes wide, and then pouted.
"Oh, you know all about it. You are a nasty thing."
"I don't know," said Gray. "I only know what I have to tell you, and that isn't what you have to tell me."
Sunshine again on Mrs. Gray's face. "Tell me your news, Jim," she said eagerly.
"Tell me yours first," said the sly Jim.
"No, Jim; do tell me yours."
"Well," said Gray, "I've had a glorious piece of luck. It hasn't come just at once; but I've been saving it up till I was sure that there was no mistake. There's a new club starting, dear, and I've got the secretaryship—worth about sixty pounds a year. Think of that—another pound a week income! Isn't it grand?"
"Splendid, Jim!" breathed Mrs. Gray.
"Of course," said Gray, hurriedly, "there'll be a lot of work, and I shall often have to stay there late in the evening. But I don't mind that, so long as—so long as you have a little more money for yourself."
"Thank you, Jim dear; but I do hope you won't overwork yourself. But, I say, Jim, wait till I tell you my news; perhaps you won't need to work so hard, then. I've let the front room at last, Jim, and splendid terms—a pound a week, breakfast and meat tea, full board Sundays. Isn't that good?"
"Bravo!" cried Gray. "Why, I'm dashed if you haven't done as well as I have!"
"It's all settled," cried Mrs. Gray. "I only let it this morning, and the boxes came in this afternoon. Look!" She displayed two half-crowns in a plump little hand. "Deposit."
"You're a champion," said her husband. "We shall be so rich we sha'n't know what to do with the money. When does the old lady come in? Is she a widow?"
"Don't be stupid, Jim!"
Jim smiled. "Well, you know, dear, I thought——"
Mrs. Gray suddenly placed a hand over his mouth.
"That'll do, you wicked deceiver. Do you think you can play such games with me? As if I didn't know that you'd had a hand in it. You don't want me to thank you, you bad old Jimmy, but I shall."
"But, my dear——"
"Now, do be quiet," said Mrs. Gray. "I know all about it, so there! You were thinking how much I wanted a little extra money, and what a silly I was not to be able to let the room myself, and that's why you did it, now isn't it?"
Gray smiled, and tried to look as cunning as a monkey.
"I'm so glad," went on Mrs. Gray. "It will be such a help; especially as he's a nice man. I should hate to have a grumpy lodger."
"I hope he hasn't got a beard," said Gray. "I know you like beards, but I might get jealous."
"Don't be horrid, Jim; you know he hasn't got a beard."
"Perhaps his hair's red," continued the relentless Jim. "Now I come to think of it, you are rather partial to red hair."
"You know it isn't," said Mrs. Gray, with a pout. "You are a tease, Jim."
"How do I know," said Jim, innocently, "when I've never seen the man? He may be a Chinaman for all I know."
Mrs. Gray ignored this remark, and began to clear the tea.
"I like his name," she said presently.
"Glad of that," said her husband. "What is it—Piper or Snooks?"
"If your name wasn't Jim, Jim, I think I should like it to be George. George is the next best name to Jim."
"Oh, his name's George?"
"You know it is. And, Jim, supposing you two men——"
Mrs. Gray suddenly stopped talking, for her husband had risen from his chair with a terrible frown on his face. Before she could speak he caught her in a grip of iron.
"Why, Jim, whatever——"
"His name," he said, in a terrible whisper—"tell me his other name."
"Don't, Jim; you are silly——"
"Quick!" said Gray. "Name! name!"
Mrs. Gray gasped. "I don't—Jim——"
"Is it Early," said Jim; "George Early?"
"Of course. You must be crazy, going on like that!"
Gray released his hold and stared blankly at the carpet. Then he gave vent to his feelings in an outburst of invectives, which, being unintelligible to his wife, put that lady into a high state of indignation. What might have been a scene was dispelled by the rattle of a key in the front lock. Mrs. Gray swept out of the room, and a minute later her husband and George Early had the sitting-room to themselves.
"Good evening," said George, sweetly.
"Good evening," said Gray.
There was silence for a while, during which time Gray rammed a pipe with Old Judge. George selected a comfortable armchair, and lit a cigarette.
"So you've been burying your uncle," said Gray, with a sneer. "I hope you buried him deep."
"Pretty deep, thanks," said George.
Gray planted his back to the fireplace, and looked sideways at his enemy.
"I hope it's a big grave," he said, "in case there's another death in the family."
"There won't be another death," said George; "we're pretty hardy."
"You're a clever devil," said Gray, in a tone that belied his words. "If all the family are as clever as you, they'll be in Parliament soon—or jail. I suppose you think you've got the best of me; but you'll find that two can play at this game."
"That's what I thought," said George. "It was because I couldn't get along without you that I came down here."
Gray accepted the situation for the time being with sullen resignation, and Mrs. Gray, entering the room timidly and finding the new lodger in good spirits, brightened up and forgot her husband's outburst. In half an hour George knew all the local news and scandal, and was on the best terms with Mrs. Gray, if not with her husband.
"Do you know," said Mrs. Gray, "at first I had a horrid thought that you and Jim were not friends. Wasn't it silly of me?"
"Absurd," said George. "We're like brothers."
"Ah," said Mrs. Gray, "but there's one thing you don't know. Jim only heard it for certain to-day."
"That's nothing," said Gray, suddenly; "he knows all about that."
"Oh, you mean——" said George, looking at his landlord.
"Where are my slippers?" bawled Gray, irritably, suddenly groping about the fireplace. "They're never here when——"
"I'll get them, Jimmy!" Mrs. Gray skipped away to the kitchen.
"Not a word, mind," said Gray, in a fierce whisper to George. "I won't have that business discussed here. I'm secretary to the 'Old Friends' Society,' at sixty pounds a year. That's good enough for you."
"It's good enough for you, I suppose you mean," said George.
"Well, remember—not a word."
"I'm not sure that I should be doing right——"
"You fool, do you want to ruin me? I haven't told her yet, and I can't let her hear it from you."
"Why not?" asked George.
"You ass!" said Gray, excitedly. "I can't explain here. I don't want her to know."
"Quick!" said George, as Mrs. Gray's footsteps sounded in the passage; "shake hands, and I'll keep your secret."
The pair grasped hands dramatically.
"Yes," said Mrs. Gray; "it's a splendid thing for Jim, isn't it?"
"Splendid thing for the club," said George. "They know what they're about; you can take my word for it. Where could they find a man, I should like to know, with the ability, the splendid gifts, and the remarkable knowledge of your husband? He's a man," said George, fixing a keen eye on the paper Gray was reading, "he's a man in a thousand. An orator, a politician, a scientist, a man of the world. His intellect——"
"That'll do," snapped Gray.
"No," said George, "I won't stop. Why should I? The position is a big one; but you are as good as the position."
"That's what I say," said Mrs. Gray, who approved of all George said.
"They're getting a man," went on George, "who will fill an honourable position with honour. The right man, too. For secretary you must have a man who is punctual, a teetotaler, and——"
"Oh, but Jim isn't——"
"Don't interrupt, Emily," said Gray, irritably; "you know what he means."
"But he said——"
"Oh, don't argue! What's the time? I want to run out for half an hour. I suppose you'll come as far as the corner—er—George?"
"Jimmy, old friend," said George, with an affectionate glance, "you know I will."
The next morning George and his landlord travelled to town together. Gray didn't take at all kindly to the new arrangement, but gave vent to his feelings in sudden outbursts of profanity.
"I suppose I'm going to have you hanging to me like a leech as long as I've got a penny in my pocket," he said bitterly.
George looked hurt. "It's your company I want, Jimmy," he said meekly. "A bachelor wants a cheerful pal. You ought to know that, you've been a bachelor yourself."
"You'll have to clear out," said Gray, darkly. "I won't have you in my house, I tell you straight."
There was an absence of sprightliness in Gray's manner at the office that day. He sat in gloomy solitude at his desk, nursing his wrath. All efforts on the part of Busby to draw him into conversation were useless. George, on the contrary, was in good spirits, so cheerful, in fact, that Parrott and Busby began to feel a little uncomfortable.
"He's up to some mischief," thought the head clerk. "I shall have to keep my eye on him." His fears were confirmed a little later on in the afternoon. The freckled Matthews entered his office and asked permission for one of the carmen to speak with him.
"Who is it?" asked Parrott.
"Old Josh. Wants to see you particularly."
Old Josh was ushered in—a little tubby, weather-beaten old man with a squeaky voice. He entered at once into a recital of family woes, in which his son-in-law, who was out of work, figured prominently. Before his daughter married the family had been comfortably off—always had a good dinner on Sundays, never knew what it was to want a shilling; week in and week out there was the money; and there were they all happy and comfortable. His son-in-law had had bad luck, and that bad luck meant help from the old people, and the worry of it had made the missis ill; and, what with one thing and another, the family funds had fallen low, there was rent in arrears, and things had come to a crisis.
"Well," said Parrott, "I'll see what I can do, but of course, you know, you're getting the highest limit of wages the firm allows. Perhaps I may be able to make it another shilling. I'll see what I can do, Benson."
Benson murmured his thanks, and proceeded to launch forth into a fresh budget of troubles.
"Very well," said Parrott, nervously. "I'll let you know as soon as I've seen Miss Fairbrother."
Old Josh twirled his cap for a moment and then said—
"The fact of it is, sir, you see, it ain't so much the shilling a week, which is welcome, though small. It's the present needs, as you may say, that knocks us over."
"I see," said Parrott, plunging into the perusal of a pile of papers. "Well, I'll be sure to let you know."
Old Josh then made an effort and blurted out: "A party told me, sir, as how the present needs might be put right by a certain sum o' money down, which I may say would be a fi' pun note. I make bold, sir, to ask you for the loan of that sum, which will be a God-send and a generous action."
Parrott turned pale and stared. "What's that you say?"
"A matter of five pounds, sir," said old Josh. "If my son-in-law had done as I told him, it wouldn't have been for me, sir——"
"Never mind your son-in-law, I'm very busy just now," said Parrott.
"Then I suppose it's no good my——"
Parrott waved his hand. "You'd better come—come and see me later. I can't talk now."
Old Josh went off highly gratified, with many apologies for the disturbance. The next person to enter was George Early, summoned by special messenger.
"Early," said the head clerk, "your work has been very unsatisfactory lately, and although you've been warned several times it doesn't seem to improve. You set a bad example to the others, and I feel it my duty to bring this matter to a close. You are a smart young fellow, but you don't quite suit the firm. I dare say you will be valuable to somebody else, so I set you at liberty a week from now."
"Thanks," said George; "then it's no good asking for a rise in salary?"
"You are dismissed," said Parrott.
"How did Old Josh get on?" asked George, complacently.
"I have nothing further to say," said the head clerk, firmly. "You may go back to your work."
"Thanks again," said George; "but I have something further to say. I may be valuable to another firm, but I prefer to remain here. That's because I'm a smart fellow, as you say. I don't want to be hard on you, but I can't have any nonsense like this, so I may as well say so at once. The bad example I set to others I have had under consideration, and I find that my abilities are wasted in the ordinary clerking. I've therefore decided to talk over with you the matter of taking a higher position, where I shan't have to sit with ordinary clerks and corrupt 'em. I needn't explain to you that it will be to your advantage to help me up, because a man with your foresight will see that at once. Just you think it over, and we'll have a little confab in a day or two."
He went out of the office and closed the door softly.
At the week-end George heard that Miss Fairbrother was thinking of taking a secretary, and had cast a favourable eye upon himself, assisted in the operation by the head clerk.
Chapter VI—Lamb Chops and Tomato Sauce
Thomas Parrott was treating himself to half an hour's serious meditation, selecting for his purpose the big armchair in Mrs. Carey's sitting-room. It was only on Wednesdays that the sitting-room was deserted, because then the two other lodgers were detained at business, and Parrott was free to have his dinner in solitude. With Mrs. Carey's permission, he took his dinner on Wednesdays in the company of Miss Lucy Perkins, the future Mrs. Parrott.
It was nearly seven now, and Miss Perkins was due in half an hour. The head clerk had intended to take advantage of the comfortable legacy left him by setting up an establishment of his own. It had been his intention to fix the wedding day the week before, and thus bring to a close his forty years of bachelorhood; but he had put it off; under the circumstances he was uncertain how to act.
The cause of the disquiet was the pecuniary demands of George Early, who had developed a habit of borrowing that had become alarming. The first half-crown had lengthened into five shillings, which in turn became ten; the previous day had seen a rise to a sovereign. Parrott had remonstrated, but remonstrance was lost upon the imperturbable George, who remarked that it was only out of kindness he had been persuaded to cut the sum so low. He said that he hoped the small loan would not be refused, as it would give him pain to have to report the matter to the lawyers, who evidently wanted rousing up. He then pointed out to Parrott that he was really doing him a service, by helping him to break his beastly habit of meanness.
"I could get him the sack," thought the head clerk. "That would be one way to get rid of him."
He strangled the idea a moment afterwards. George Early out of work would be an even greater danger. He thought out various plans of bribery, intimidation, kidnapping, and even garrotting, but none of these suggested a possible solution. In the midst of his meditations the front-door bell rang.
"That's Lucy," said the head clerk, rising and smoothing down his hair before the glass. "I mustn't say anything to-night. It'll have to be postponed till I can be sure the money is my own."
He brushed a speck off his well-preserved dress-suit and flicked over his shoes. Then he stirred the fire and went to meet his fiancée.
As he opened the door a well-known voice caught his ear. It was not Lucy's; it was a man's voice. He knew it well; it was George Early's voice.
"Damn him!" said Parrott, savagely. "What the deuce does he want now? I'll wring his neck if he tries to borrow more money already!"
George was speaking most affably to Mrs. Carey.
"I'll just tell Mr. Parrott that you're here," said the fussy old lady.
"Thank you," said George; "and I'll come with you. It's most fortunate that he's at home. I know he wouldn't like to have missed me."
The head clerk looked around him frantically. There was no escape; he was caught like a rat in a trap. He felt that he would sooner have brained the relentless George than lend him a single sixpence. He rushed to the window; it was too high to jump from, and already George was on the landing. A sudden idea struck him, and he picked up his patent boots and dived into the great clothes-cupboard that opened into the sitting-room.
Mrs. Carey knocked and entered, followed by George.
"A gentleman to see——"
The landlady stopped and looked round.
"Not here?" said George.
"Well, now," said Mrs. Carey, "bless my soul, I could have bet a penny-piece I heard the poker rattle five minutes ago!"
"I heard a rattling noise," said George.
In the minute or two that Mrs. Carey occupied in ascending a further flight of stairs to the bedroom Parrott debated whether he should spring out and throttle his enemy or await events. At any rate, George must go when he found the man he wanted was not at home. He decided to stay awhile in the cupboard.
Mrs. Carey returned from a fruitless search. She thought her lodger must have run out to post a letter.
"I'll wait a bit," said George.
He placed his silk hat carefully on the side table, and took a seat in the armchair vacated by the head clerk. Parrott fumed as he took note of George Early's dress through a crack of the door. His patent boots were new, and he wore an expensive tie; sprays of flowers worked in silk adorned his waistcoat; his gloves were a fashionable grey, and on the little finger of his left hand a ring glittered.
These articles of dress were not lost upon Mrs. Carey, who took advantage of George's affability to stand a moment and comment on the weather. Their pleasant chat was interrupted by another ring at the front-door bell.
"Hang it!" muttered the wretched Parrott. "That's Lucy, and I can't get out of this beastly hole!"
Instead of Mrs. Carey descending to show up the young lady, she allowed Susan, the maid-of-all-work, to do that service, and explained to Miss Perkins the reason of her presence with the gentleman visitor.
Miss Perkins thought it funny that Mr. Parrott should not be there to meet her, and by the toss of her head George guessed that she was not a little piqued. Mrs. Carey left them together till the return of the absent fiancé.
Miss Perkins was a milliner by trade, but not in trade at present. Fortune had smiled upon her mamma a year previously to the tune of two thousand pounds, and with this comfortable sum Mrs. Perkins lived in a villa at Paddington until such time as Thomas Parrott should rob her of her child. Both mother and daughter considered the match a desirable one, though they would have liked to know with more certainty the extent of the head clerk's fortune.
"Do you find it very warm here?" said George, making himself agreeable. "Let me open the window just a little."
"It might be cooler," said Miss Perkins, dabbing her face with a handkerchief.
"That's the worst of these old houses," said the young man, magnificently; "they're so pokey. The rooms are like rabbit hutches."
"Give me Kensington for a decent house," said Miss Perkins, trying to look as though she lived there.
"Or Bayswater," said George.
"I couldn't bear to live in a part like this," said Miss Perkins. "I always did 'ate 'Ammersmith."
From unhealthy houses they drifted into more personal topics, and George told Miss Perkins that he was a member of the firm of Fairbrothers. They discussed the ornaments and the furniture, examined the pictures, and laughed together at the family likenesses. And to all appearances they didn't seem to mind much if Parrott came back or not.
Then, for decency's sake, George said, "He's a long time posting that letter," to which Miss Perkins agreed without appearing to be much disturbed.
And while they were both chattering and laughing Mrs. Carey came up and vowed upon her life that the lamb chops would be ruined. There was tomato sauce too, and a pudding, specially prepared to the order of the head clerk. It was a shame to have it spoilt, Mrs. Carey said, and both Miss Perkins and George Early agreed.
Unfortunately, Thomas Parrott had left lying on the side table an invitation to dinner that he had declined the day before. George pounced upon it and read it out.
"That's where he's gone," said Miss Perkins, viciously.
"It's a shame," cried Mrs. Carey.
"I'm surprised," said George, "that any man should so far forget himself as to leave a lady in this awkward position. If it wasn't that I'm a stranger here I should feel inclined to ask Mrs. Carey to allow me to do the honour of——"
He hesitated and looked at Miss Perkins, who began to toy with a salt-spoon.
"Of course," said Mrs. Carey, accepting the situation graciously, though a little uneasily. "If Mr. Parrott wouldn't mind, I'm sure I—— It does seem a pity to have the dinner wasted."
"It would be a sin," said George.
He looked at his watch and began to brush his hat, and perform those little preparations that preface departure, maintaining in the mean time an indifference likely to settle quickly the doubts of Mrs. Carey.
"I'll bring it up," said the landlady, suddenly opening the door. "Don't go till you've had a bit of dinner, sir. I'll explain it to Mr. Parrott."
Mrs. Carey bustled downstairs, and George and Miss Perkins prepared themselves for a pleasant evening.
The dinner was an immense success. The only thing that saved it from disaster was the horror that Parrott had of bringing ridicule upon himself. But for this the irate prisoner would have burst the door of his prison-house and brought confusion on the diners.
George filled Miss Perkins' glass and his own to the brim. He had discovered a full bottle of claret in the cupboard, and brought it out in honour of the lady. Together they emptied the bottle, and enjoyed it; the lamb chops disappeared, and Mrs. Carey's puddings followed them, and throughout the evening they seasoned each course with a natural good humour.
George was in the best of spirits. He praised the cooking, compared the sparkling wine to Miss Perkins' eyes, and attacked the food with a relish that only comes to a man when he is feasting at another man's expense.
"You may smoke," said Miss Perkins, graciously, settling herself in an armchair.
George did so, borrowing for the time one of the head clerk's cigars, with the permission of that gentleman's fiancée.
The sight of his beloved on one side of the fire and his enemy on the other was too much for Parrott. Already his cramped position had exhausted him, he began to scheme for some means of escape.
George now shifted his position, so as to put his back to the light, at the same time putting his back to the cupboard. If only Lucy would do the same, he might slip out and down the stairs, the cupboard being near the door.
The next moment she did so, and, quick as lightning, Parrott opened the door noiselessly, and put one foot out. Unfortunately for him, George was standing before the looking-glass, and this movement caught his eye. In the excitement of the moment he dropped the china dog he was examining, which so startled Miss Perkins that Parrott was forced to draw back for fear of being observed.
George gathered up the pieces, and began to laugh. The idea of Parrott being in the cupboard while the lamb chops were being eaten was too good to be passed over lightly, it gave a new zest to the entertainment.
"What are you laughing at?" asked Miss Perkins, still suffering from the shock.
George laughed louder. "I was thinking," he said, "how your fiancé will laugh when he comes home and asks for the lamb chops for supper, and finds they're eaten."
This tickled Miss Perkins immensely, and she and George laughed again in unison.
"Serve him right," said Miss Perkins.
"What does it matter?" said George, throwing away his cigar, and taking a fresh one.
"What does what matter?" asked Miss Perkins.
"About the chops, when he's got you."
To this embarrassing question Miss Perkins vouchsafed no reply, merely adopting an air of superiority, and tapping the toes of her shoes together.
"If I were in his position," said George, loud enough for the man in the cupboard to hear, "I'd get married to-morrow."
Miss Perkins blushed, and laughed. "You wouldn't be so silly," she said.
"Anyhow, I'd marry you at once," said George, "just to make sure"—slowly—"that I didn't lose you."
Miss Perkins, who was now in an excellent temper, changed the conversation by wondering what time Mr. Parrott would return.
"He'd be back sharp enough if he knew you were here," said George.
"With you," added Miss Perkins, with pretty wit.
This made them both laugh.
"I wonder what he'd think if he'd been hidden away here all the time," said George, audaciously.
Miss Perkins turned pale, and looked round the room.
"It's all right," said George; "it's only my fun."
The little milliner tossed her head. "I shouldn't care," she said defiantly.
"I don't believe you would," said George, with admiring eyes. "But I know what you would say. You'd just say this."
He leaned forward, and whispered.
Miss Perkins shrieked with laughter, and George's loud guffaw shook the ornaments. It was as much as Parrott could do to keep his feelings under control. Even now he had notions of dashing from his hiding-place. Early would go too far one of these times; he was doing this purposely.
"I say," said George, suddenly, "when is the wedding coming off? I suppose you've got the house all ready."
"Not quite," said Miss Perkins, with some reticence.
"Oh," said George, "I thought it would be all right, seeing that his luck at the office had changed."
Miss Perkins pricked up her ears.
"You know all about that, of course," said George, warming up to the subject, and watching the door of the cupboard out of the tail of his eye.
"No," said Miss Perkins astonished, "what was that?"
"Why, you see," said George, "it was this way."
He paused to relight his cigar, and carefully noted the brawny fist that came slowly out of the cupboard and shook in his direction.
"When Old Fairbrother died——" began George.
The cupboard door creaked. Miss Perkins heard it, but was too excited to take any notice.
George began again. "When Old Fairbrother died, he left——"
An audible rustling now came from the cupboard.
"What's that?" said Miss Perkins. "I heard something."
"So did I," said George. "Whatever can it be?"
"Perhaps it's a cat," ventured Miss Perkins.
"Sounded just like a cat to me," said George.
Miss Perkins lifted up a corner of the tablecloth, and knelt on the floor to peer under the table. George lifted up another corner, and knelt beside her. Together they looked underneath, and all that Parrott heard were muffled voices and a little giggle from his fiancée.
When they both rose, very red in the face, Miss Perkins cried "oh!" and it was then seen that George's watch chain had become entangled in the lace of her sleeve. When Miss Perkins tried to undo it her head came very near to George Early's, and Parrott gnashed his teeth. Only the thoughts of absolute disgrace kept him in his narrow cell.
"What a good thing he isn't here to see this!" breathed George.
"It was your fault," said Miss Perkins, stifling a laugh; "your——"
"Listen," said George. "I heard it again."
They listened, but there was no sound.
"Perhaps it's under the table, after all," said the young man artfully. "I only looked in one corner."
The brawny fist again appeared from the cupboard door.
"I think I'll go now," said Miss Perkins, apparently aware at last that a flirtation was in progress, and that the landlady had ears.
"If there is anybody concealed here," said George, lifting up a corner of the tablecloth again, "I pity him when Mr. Parrott comes in. If there's one thing that he can't bear, it's deception of any sort. Goodness knows what he'd do to anybody who deceived him! I believe he'd kill him."
Miss Perkins put on her hat in silence, and with some haste. If her lover came in, matters might be awkward.
"You are going to Paddington, I think," said George; "we'd better have a cab."
"No, thank you," said the little milliner, doubtful how to act; "I'm not quite sure if Thomas would like it."
"Ah," said George, with a catch in his voice, "you don't know him as well as I do. It's the very thing he'd suggest. We're just like brothers, the two of us; we lend each other money, wear each other's clothes, go to each other's houses, and do everything we can for each other. If he wanted my girl, I——"
"What!" said Miss Perkins, sharply.
"If he wanted anything—anything——" said George.
"You said a girl," said Miss Perkins.
"Ah, I only said 'if'!" replied George, "But you may be sure that if he were here now, he'd say, 'George, my old friend, take Lucy home in a cab. You're my comrade, and I'd trust you anywhere.'"
Miss Perkins said no more, but led the way downstairs, and as George followed, he heard the door of the cupboard creak, and knew that the prisoner was at last free.
An hour later he returned, and inquired for the head clerk again.
"I don't think he's in yet," said the landlady; "I haven't heard him."
"I think you'll find he's in," said George.
Mrs. Carey found the head clerk in, much to her astonishment, and ushered George up, after having hastily explained the lamb-chop incident.
"Hallo, old man!" said George, closing the door carefully, and choosing an armchair. "Hard luck for you being shut up there, wasn't it?"
Parrott rose slowly, and deliberately took off his coat.
"Now," he said, facing his junior, "what have you got to say about it?"
George Early lit a cigarette, threw the match away, and then looked up.
"What I have got to say," he said slowly, leaning forward, and looking the head clerk in the eyes, "is that if you don't put on that coat at once and sit down, I'll—I'll borrow ten pounds!"
"What!" said Parrott, in a hoarse whisper.
"I mean it," said George.