But at four o'clock several gentlemen with rosettes in theirbutton-holes and _Signal_ posters in their hands arrived important andpanting at the fair-ground at Oldcastle and announced that the programmehad been altered at the last moment in order to defeat certain fearedmachinations of the unscrupulous _Daily_. The cavalcade was to be splitinto three groups, one of which, the chief, was to enter Hanbridge by a"back road" and the other two were to go to Bursley and Longshawrespectively. In this manner the forces of advertisement would bedistributed and the chief parts of the district equally honoured.
The special linen banners, pennons, and ribbons--bearing the words"Signal: Thirty-fifth Anniversary," etc.--had already been hung, andplanted, and draped about the gilded summits of the chariots. And aftersome delay the processions were started separating at the bottom of theCattle-market. The head of the Hanbridge part of the processionconsisted of an enormous car of Jupiter, with six wheels and thirty-sixparegorical figures (as the clown used to say), and drawn by sixpie-bald steeds guided by white reins. This coach had a windowedinterior (at the greater fairs it sometimes served as a box-office), andin the interior one of the delegates of the _Signal_ had fixed himself;from it he directed the paths of the procession.
It would be futile longer to conceal that the delegate of the _Signal_in the bowels of the car of Jupiter was not honestly a delegate of the_Signal_ at all. He was, indeed, Denry Machin, and none other. Fromthis single fact it will be seen to what extent the representatives ofgreat organs had forgotten what was due to their dignity and to publicdecency. Ensconced in his lair, Denry directed the main portion of the_Signal's_ advertising procession by all manner of discreet lanes roundthe skirts of Hanbridge and so into the town from the hilly side. Andultimately the ten vehicles halted in Crapper Street, to the joy of thesimple inhabitants.
Denry emerged and wandered innocently towards the offices of his paper,which were close by. It was getting late. The first yelling of theimprisoned _Daily_ boys was just beginning to rise on the autumn air.
Suddenly Denry was accosted by a young man.
"Hello, Machin!" cried the young man. "What have you shaved your beardoff for? I scarcely knew you."
"I just thought I would, Swetnam," said Denry, who was obviouslydiscomposed.
It was the youngest of the Swetnam boys; he and Denry had taken a sortof curt fancy to one another.
"I say," said Swetnam confidentially, as if obeying a swift impulse, "Idid hear that the _Signal_ people meant to collar all your chaps thisafternoon, and I believe they have done. Hear that now?" (Swetnam'sfather was exceedingly intimate with the _Signal_ people.)
"I know," Denry replied.
"But I mean--papers and all."
"I know," said Denry.
"Oh!" murmured Swetnam.
"But I 'll tell you a secret," Denry added. "They are n't to-day'spapers. They 're yesterday's, and last week's, and last month's. We've been collecting them specially and keeping them nice andnew-looking."
"Well, you're a caution!" murmured Swetnam.
"I am," Denry agreed.
A number of men rushed at that instant with bundles of the genuinefootball edition from the offices of the _Daily_.
"Come on!" Denry cried to them. "Come on! This way! By-by, Swetnam."
And the whole file vanished round a corner. The yelling of imprisonedcheese-fed boys grew louder.
V
In the meantime at the _Signal_ office (which was not three hundredyards away, but on the other side of Crown Square) apprehension haddeepened into anxiety as the minutes passed and the Snape Circusprocession persisted in not appearing on the horizon of the OldcastleRoad. The _Signal_ would have telephoned to Snape's but for the factthat a circus is never on the telephone. It then telephoned to itsOldcastle agent, who, after a long delay, was able to reply that thecavalcade had left Oldcastle at the appointed hour with every sign ofhealth and energy. Then the _Signal_ sent forth scouts all down theOldcastle Road to put spurs into the procession, and the scouts returnedhaving seen nothing. Pessimists glanced at the possibility of the wholeprocession having fallen into the canal at Cauldon Bridge. The paperwas printed, the train parcels for Knype, Longshaw, Bursley, andTurnhill were despatched; the boys were waiting; the fingers of theclock in the publishing department were simply flying. It had beenarranged that the bulk of the Hanbridge edition, and in particular thefirst copies of it, should be sold by boys from the gilt chariotsthemselves. The publisher hesitated for an awful moment, and thendecided that he could wait no more and that the boys must sell thepapers in the usual way from the pavements and gutters. There was noknowing what the _Daily_ might not be doing.
And then _Signal_ boys in dozens rushed forth paper-laden, but they weredisappointed boys; they had thought to ride in gilt chariots, not topaddle in mud. And almost the first thing they saw in Crown Square wasthe car of Jupiter in its glory, flying all the _Signal_ colours; andother cars behind. They did not rush now; they sprang, as from acatapult; and alighted like flies on the vehicles. Men insisted ontaking their papers from them and paying for them on the spot. The boyswere startled; they were entirely puzzled; but they had not the habit ofrefusing money. And off went the procession to the music of its ownband down the road to Knype, and perhaps a hundred boys on board,cheering. The men in charge then performed a curious act; they toredown all the _Signal_ flagging, and replaced it with the emblem of the_Daily_.
So that all the great and enlightened public, wandering home in crowdsfrom the football match at Knype, had the spectacle of a _Daily_procession instead of a _Signal_ procession, and could scarce believetheir eyes. And _Dailys_ were sold in quantities from the cars. AtKnype Station the procession curved and returned to Hanbridge, andfinally, after a multitudinous triumph, came to a stand with all its_Daily_ bunting in front of the _Signal_ offices; and Denry appearedfrom his lair. Denry's men fled with bundles.
"They 're an hour and a half late," said Denry calmly to one of theproprietors of the _Signal_, who was on the pavement. "But I 'vemanaged to get them here. I thought I 'd just look in to thank you forgiving such a good feed to our lads."
The telephones hummed with news of similar _Daily_ processions inLongshaw and Bursley. And there was not a high-class private bar in thedistrict that did not tinkle with delighted astonishment at the brazen,the inconceivable effrontery of that card, Denry Machin. Many peopleforesaw lawsuits, but it was agreed that the _Signal_ had begun the gameof impudence, in trapping the _Daily_ lads so as to secure a holy calmfor its much-trumpeted procession.
And Denry had not finished with the _Signal_.
In the special football edition of the _Daily_ was an announcement, thefirst, of special Martinmas fetes organised by the Five Towns _Daily_.And on the same morning every member of the Universal Thrift Club hadreceived an invitation to the said fetes. They were three--held onpublic ground at Hanbridge, Bursley, and Longshaw. They were in thestyle of the usual Five Towns "wakes"; that is to say, roundabouts,shows, gingerbread stalls, swings, cocoa-nut shies. But at each fete anew and very simple form of "shy" had been erected. It consisted of arow of small railway signals.
"March up! March up!" cried the shy-men. "Knock down the signal! Knockdown the signal! And a packet of Turkish delight is yours. Knock downthe signal!"
And when you had knocked down the signal the men cried:
"We wrap it up for you in the special Anniversary Number of the_Signal_."
And they disdainfully tore into suitable fragments copies of the_Signal_ which had cost Denry and Co. a halfpenny each, and enfolded theTurkish delight therein and handed it to you with a smack.
And all the fair-grounds were carpeted with draggled and muddy_Signals_. People were up to the ankles in _Signals_.
The affair was the talk of Sunday. Few matters in the Five Towns hadraised more gossip than did that enormous escapade which Denry inventedand conducted. The moral damage to the _Signal_ was held to appro
achthe disastrous. And now not the possibility but the probability oflawsuits was incessantly discussed.
On the Monday both papers were bought with anxiety. Everybody wasfrothing to know what the respective editors would say.
But in neither sheet was there a single word as to the affair. Both haddetermined to be discreet; both were afraid. The _Signal_ feared lestit might not, if the pinch came, be able to prove its innocence of thecrime of luring boys into confinement by means of toasted cheese and hotjam. The _Signal_ had also to consider its seriously damaged dignity;for such wounds silence is the best dressing. The _Daily_ wascomprehensively afraid. It had practically driven its gilded chariotsthrough the entire Decalogue. Moreover, it had won easily in the grandaltercation. It was exquisitely conscious of glory.
Denry went away to Blackpool, doubtless to grow his beard.
The proof of the _Daily's_ moral and material victory was that soonafterwards there were four applicants, men of substance, for shares inthe _Daily_ company. And this, by the way, was the end of the tale.For these applicants, who secured options on a majority of the shares,were emissaries of the _Signal_. Armed with the options, the _Signal_made terms with its rival, and then by mutual agreement killed it. Theprice of its death was no trifle, but it was less than a year's profitsof the _Signal_. Denry considered that he had been "done." But in thedepths of his heart he was glad that he had been done. He had had toodisconcerting a glimpse of the rigours and perils of journalism to wishto continue in it. He had scored supremely, and, for him, to score waslife itself. His reputation as a card was far, far higher than ever.Had he so desired, he could have been elected to the House of Commons onthe strength of his procession and fete.
Mr. Myson, somewhat scandalised by the exuberance of his partner,returned to Manchester.
And the _Signal_, subsequently often referred to as "The Old Lady,"resumed its monopolistic sway over the opinions of a quarter of amillion of people, and has never since been attacked.
CHAPTER X. HIS INFAMY
I
When Denry at a single stroke "wherreted" his mother and proved hisadventurous spirit by becoming the possessor of one of the firstmotorcars ever owned in Bursley, his instinct naturally was to run up toCouncillor Cotterill's in it. Not that he loved Councillor Cotterill,and therefore wished to make him a partaker in his joy, for he did notlove Councillor Cotterill. He had never been able to forgive Nellie'sfather for those patronising airs years and years before at Llandudno,airs indeed which had not even yet disappeared from Cotterill's attitudetowards Denry. Though they were councillors on the same town council,though Denry was getting richer and Cotterill was assuredly not gettingricher, the latter's face and tone always seemed to be saying to Denry:"Well, you are not doing so badly for a beginner." So Denry did notcare to lose an opportunity of impressing Councillor Cotterill.Moreover, Denry had other reasons for going up to the Cotterills.
There existed a sympathetic bond between him and Mrs. Cotterill, despiteher prim taciturnity and her exasperating habit of sitting with herhands pressed tight against her body and one over the other.Occasionally he teased her--and she liked being teased. He had glimpsesnow and then of her secret soul; he was perhaps the only person inBursley thus privileged. Then there was Nellie. Denry and Nellie weregreat friends. For the rest of the world she had grown up, but not forDenry, who treated her as the chocolate child, while she, if she calledhim anything, called him respectfully "Mr."
The Cotterills had a fairly large old house with a good garden "upBycars Lane," above the new park and above all those red streets whichMr. Cotterill had helped to bring into being. Mr. Cotterill built newhouses with terra-cotta facings for others, but preferred an old one instucco for himself. His abode had been saved from the parcelling out ofseveral Georgian estates. It was dignified. It had a double entrancegate, and from this portal the drive started off for the house door, butdeliberately avoided reaching the house door until it had wandered incurves over the entire garden. That was the Georgian touch! The moderntouch was shown in Councillor Cotterill's bay windows, bathroom, andgarden squirter. There was stabling, in which were kept a Victoriandog-cart and a Georgian horse, used by the councillor in his business.As sure as ever his wife or daughter wanted the dog-cart, it was eitherout, or just going out, or the Georgian horse was fatigued and neededrepose. The man who groomed the Georgian also ploughed the flowerbeds,broke the windows in cleaning them, and put blacking on brown boots.Two indoor servants had differing views as to the frontier between thekingdom of his duties and the kingdom of theirs. In fact, it was theusual spacious household of successful trade in a provincial town.
Denry got to Bycars Lane without a breakdown. This was in the days,quite thirteen years ago, when automobilists made their wills and tookfood supplies when setting forth. Hence Denry was pleased. The smallbut useful fund of prudence in him, however, forbade him to run the caralong the unending sinuous drive. The May night was fine, and he leftthe loved vehicle with his new furs in the shadow of a monkey-tree nearthe gate.
As he was crunching towards the door, he had a beautiful idea: "I'lltake 'em all out for a spin. There 'll just be room!" he said.
Now even to-day, when the very cabman drives his automobile, a man whobuys a motor cannot say to a friend: "I 've bought a motor. Come for aspin," in the same self-unconscious accents as he would say: "I 'vebought a boat. Come for a sail," or "I 've bought a house. Come andlook at it." Even to-day in the centre of London there is stillsomething about a motor,--well, something.... Everybody who has boughta motor, and everybody who has dreamed of buying a motor, willcomprehend me. Useless to feign that a motor is the most banal thingimaginable. It is not. It remains the supreme symbol of swagger. Ifsuch is the effect of a motor in these days and in Berkeley Square, whatmust it have been in that dim past, and in that dim town three hours bythe fastest express from Euston? The imagination must be forced to thetask of answering this question. Then will it be understood that Denrywas simply tingling with pride.
"Master in?" he demanded of the servant, who was correctly starched, butunkempt in detail.
"No, sir. He ain't been in for tea."
("I shall take the women out then," said Denry to himself.)
"Come in! Come in!" cried a voice from the other side of the open doorof the drawing-room. Nellie's voice! The manners and state of a familythat has industrially risen combine the spectacular grandeur of thecaste to which it has climbed with the ease and freedom of the castewhich it has quitted.
"Such a surprise!" said the voice. Nellie appeared, rosy.
Denry threw his new motoring cap hastily on to the hall-stand. No! Hedid not hope that Nellie would see it. He hoped that she would not seeit. Now that the moment was really come to declare himself the owner ofa motor-car he grew timid and nervous. He would have liked to hide hishat. But then Denry was quite different from our common humanity. Hewas capable even of feeling awkward in a new suit of clothes. Asingular person.
"Hello!" she greeted him.
"Hello!" he greeted her.
Then hands touched.
"Father has n't come yet," she added. He fancied she was not quite atease.
"Well," he said, "what's this surprise?"
She motioned him into the drawing-room.
The surprise was a wonderful woman, brilliant in black--not black silk,but a softer, delicate stuff. She reclined in an easy-chair withsurpassing grace and self-possession. A black Egyptian shawl, spangledwith silver, was slipping off her shoulders. Her hair was dressed--thatis to say, it was _dressed_; it was obviously and thrillingly a work ofelaborate art. He could see her two feet, and one of her ankles. Theboots, the open-work stocking--such boots, such an open-work stocking,had never been seen in Bursley, not even at a ball! She was inmourning, and wore scarcely any jewelry, but there was a gleaming tintof gold here and there among the black which resulted in a marvellouseffect of ri
chness. The least experienced would have said, and saidrightly: "This must be a woman of wealth and fashion." It was thedetail that finished the demonstration. The detail was incredible.There might have been ten million stitches in the dress. Tensempstresses might have worked on the dress for ten years. Anexamination of it under a microscope could but have deepened one'samazement at it.
She was something new in the Five Towns, something quite new.
Denry was not equal to the situation. He seldom was equal to a smallsituation. And although he had latterly acquired a considerable amountof social _savoir_, he was constantly mislaying it, so that he could notput his hand on it at the moment when he most required it, as now.
"Well, Denry!" said the wondrous creature in black, softly.
And he collected himself as though for a plunge and said:
"Well, Ruth!"
This was the woman whom he had once loved, kissed, and engaged himselfto marry. He was relieved that she had begun with Christian names,because he could not recall her surname. He could not even rememberwhether he had ever heard it. All he knew was that, after leavingBursley to join her father in Birmingham, she had married somebody witha double name, somebody well off, somebody older than herself; somebodyapparently of high social standing; and that this somebody had died.
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