by John Trevena
CHAPTER XVIII
SOWING THE SEED
Next morning George invited the dreary Dyer to step into the parlourwith a view to continuing the diplomatic conversation commenced theprevious day. The baker responded with a certain amount of trepidation,as he thought it possible Mr. Drake might desire to buy a share in thebusiness, and he did not at all relish the idea of confessing that theprofits were considerable. His relief, therefore, was only equalled byhis amazement when George inquired:
"Did you ever buy a penny weekly journal, Mr. Dyer?"
"Never in my life, sir," replied the baker.
"Then you know nothing about picture puzzles?"
"Never heard of 'em avore, sir."
"A penny weekly journal exists upon its picture puzzles," Georgecontinued. "The last time I went away I bought one of these papers. Thecompetition interested me, as the pictures represented the names ofcertain railway stations, and that's a subject I know as much about asany man in England."
"I don't know as I quite get your meaning," said the baker.
"I'll explain. Suppose the picture is intended to represent Marylebone.You may be shown a drawing of a little girl eating a mutton chop. Ofcourse, you are expected to have some brains."
"I wouldn't use mine vor such a purpose," said the baker somewhatsharply.
"It's quite simple when you've got the trick. You have to assume thelittle girl's name is Mary, and _le_ is French for the, and there's morebone than anything else in a mutton chop. Well, I went in for thiscompetition, and I've won second prize. I don't know why I didn't getthe first, but perhaps that was suppressed for economic reasons."
"I suppose it would be the same sort of thing as a flower show,"suggested Dyer. "I got second prize for carrots once. It should ha' beenhalf a crown, but they ran short o' money, so I got only eighteen pence,and I never showed again."
"My prize was worth winning," said George, who had really received asolatium of ten shillings. "It was fifty pounds."
Dyer repeated the amount, firstly as a shout of admiration, secondly asa whisper of covetousness; then he released all kinds of exclamationsfor some moments; and presently observed with emotion:
"Education does it, sir! If I could ha' gone to a big school, and tothe University, I might ha' gone in vor them pictures too. Little galeating a mutton chop--well done, sir! They'm nought but bone as you ses.You found out her name wur Mary, and you talked French, and you learnedall about the railways. Ah, that's wonderful! But I fancy, sir, you mustha' used a map."
"I did it by skill entirely, but of course I had an advantage over mycompetitors owing to my connection with the railways. Now you arewondering why I'm telling you this?"
"We all knows you does business in railways," said Dyer absently.
"I find myself with a large sum of money, and I mean to make a good useof it. I propose spending the whole amount in giving happiness toothers; but I want to do it unobtrusively. I intend to give a meat teato the old folk of this parish, but I shall hand the money to the vicarand request him to keep my name out of it."
"Perhaps, sir, you'm a-paying vor the cakes ordered yesterday," criedDyer.
"Don't mention the matter," said George.
"You can trust me, sir."
"Another thing I am anxious to do is to give the Mudges a real goodholiday. That's what I wanted to see you about, Mr. Dyer. I know youwish to keep your promise--about the wedding present, you know--but, ofcourse, you can't afford it. My idea is to send them away for a week tothe seaside. Bessie served my uncle and aunt faithfully for a number ofyears, while Robert was always ready to make himself useful in thehouse; but I've done nothing for either of them. We could give them thebest week of their lives for five pounds."
"Did you say anything about me, sir?" asked the baker.
"Yes, because I felt sure you would insist upon contributing something,though I should like them to think the whole amount comes from you.Suppose I give three pounds. You can make up the other two."
"Can't be done, sir. Can't possibly be done. Besides, sir, business islooking up, owing to your generosity, and I can't spare Robert."
"It will give you a splendid reputation for liberality. Everybody in theparish will know you have given the Mudges five pounds and a week'sleave of absence."
"I works vor my reputation, sir. Two pounds would ruin me. I can't tellye how bad things be; I'd be ashamed to speak the truth, sir; I don'thardly like to think on it. Often, when missus fancies I'm asleep, shehas a gude cry. She knows we can't pay five shillings in the pound ifmiller wur to call vor what us owes 'en."
"I'll subscribe four pounds, if you will give the other," said George.
"Where would I get a pound from?" asked Dyer, more drearily than ever."I'd have to borrow, or sell the bed I tries to sleep on, but can't vorall the trouble. A sovereign, sir, is more to me than to any one else inthis parish."
"I've heard that before, and I believe it."
"And it's the truth. Twenty shillings might make the difference betweenpulling down the blinds today, or keeping 'em up till next week."
"Will you give ten shillings?" George inquired desperately.
The baker shook his head like one in pain, muttering something aboutlast straws and poor relief.
"Will you give anything?"
"Well, sir, to show my heart's in the right place I'll sacrifice ashilling. I'll grab it from the till when missus ain't looking."
"Here is the money," said George, counting out five sovereigns. "You hadbetter see Robert at once: tell him to get away tomorrow. This isSeptember, and fine weather may break any day."
Such a rush of philanthropy numbed the baker's faculties; but even inthat semi-paralysed condition he remained a man of business. His fingersclosed upon the coins, his feet carried him to the door; then he turnedback to face this benefactor, who was shedding sovereigns in thereckless fashion of a tree casting its autumnal leaves. The old folkwere to be provided with a meat tea; the Mudges were to be given a weekat the seaside; the donor was to remain anonymous. Dyer in all hisdreariness could not understand why Mr. Drake should desire to benefithis fellow creatures at all; but, more than that, he was actuallyproposing to do good stealthily. Where then was the advertisement?
"It's a lot of money, sir. You could buy a bit of land vor this," hesaid at last.
"I do not require any land," George answered.
"You don't get any profit so far as I can see," the baker proceeded.
"I am helping you to give Robert and Bessie the first real holiday theyhave ever known; I am enabling you to keep your promise; and I amenjoying the satisfaction of performing an unselfish action."
"'Tis there I'm beat. Why don't ye give the money to Robert, and tell'en 'tis a present from me and you?"
"I will, if you like, and tell him your share is one shilling."
Dyer again moved towards the door; but still he hesitated.
"They could do it on less than five pounds, sir."
"Give them four, then, and keep the other sovereign for yourself,"George replied, breaking out into bribery.
"What about the shilling?" asked Dyer eagerly.
"I'll let you off that."
The baker became a reformed character at once. He did not profess tounderstand Mr. Drake's extraordinary conduct, but he was quite willingto benefit by the eccentricities of any man. His meanness had become aby-word in the parish. Now Mr. Drake was offering to purchase him areputation for generosity, which was almost as good as an annuity, andwas giving him a sovereign for himself. Dyer was not the man to shrinkfrom duty that was profitable.
"You're the son of your uncle, sir," he said with feeling.
"I have always set his example before me," replied George.
"I'll spare Robert a week from tomorrow. Don't ye think, sir, fourpounds are a bit too much?"
"I couldn't let them do it on less," said George firmly.
"And you don't want me to tell 'em part of the money comes from you?"
"I want t
hem to think you are keeping your promise."
The baker retired, muttering, "He wants to get 'em out of HighfieldHouse vor certain. But that don't matter to me so long as I get myprofit."
George went for a long walk to refresh himself, not bothering about hispopularity any longer, as he was contemplating an act which would makefuture residence in Highfield impossible; but he met the Wallower inWealth, who demanded his musical box; and the Dumpy Philosopher, who putsearching questions concerning the railway and the amount ofcompensation for wounded feelings he was likely to receive; and theYellow Leaf, who had just lost his wife and was going courting.Returning, during the late afternoon, he stopped at his own house,knocked, but received no answer from that side of the street. Bessielooked out from the cottage window opposite and invited him to step inthat direction.
"Have ye heard the news, Mr. George?" she whispered excitedly. "Masterha' given Robert three pounds and a week."
"Three pounds!" cried George fiercely.
"Us can't make any one believe it. Three solid sovereigns, sir! Robertha' got teethache through biting 'em."
"I am not surprised," said George. "Dyer has been left a lot ofmoney--he told me yesterday. An uncle, who went to New Zealand yearsago, has just died and left him thousands. He can buy up the wholevillage if he wants to."
"Master never told Robert he'd been left money. He gave 'en thesovereigns and said 'twas a reward vor the way Robert had worked.Couldn't spare 'em, he said, but his conscience worried him. They do saythe Dyers ha' never given away anything avore 'cept the water what theyboiled their cabbage in."
"When are you off?"
"First thing tomorrow. We'm going to my home, so it won't cost nothing'cept the railway. I'm getting our things together now."
"Where's Robert?"
"Going round wi' the bread--that's him a-whistling. He'm fair mazed, Mr.George."
"Who is to take care of the house?"
"I'll lock it up and take the keys away wi' me. Why shouldn't us go? Noone won't go near the house, wi' you and policeman about."
"I think you ought to wait until Miss Yard comes back," said George, whoknew enough about women to be aware how the spirit of opposition actsupon them.
"And lose our holiday! The only real holiday we've had, and the chanceto see my folks again. Not likely, Mr. George! If we don't go tomorrow,master will ask vor them three sovereigns back again. How did youmanage to find out he'd been left all this money?"
"I was talking with him yesterday and--it just slipped out. You willhear more when you come back."
"I'll make Robert ask 'en vor a rise. How long be you staying, Mr.George?"
"I might be here when you return or, on the other hand, I might gotomorrow. Do you want me to take charge of the keys?"
"Somebody ought to go in and open the windows."
"I don't mind doing you a favour. If I'm called away I will leave thekeys with Mrs. Dyer."
"Not wi' she. Leave 'em wi' Mrs. Cann to the post office. You come thisevening, and I'll give ye the keys."
"All right," said George. "But you know I don't approve of your goingafter having been left in charge."
"If I don't go, Robert will, and he ain't going home without me," saidBessie. "I wouldn't like leaving if Kezia wur here, vor I'd dread herselling some of my things; but Robert ha' told the volks the housebelongs to you, so there's no fear of any one breaking in, unless it bethe Brocks. Policeman ha' promised to keep his eye on them."
George went on to punish the baker, who had succeeded with grievouspangs in handing over three sovereigns, but had failed in his endeavourto part with the fourth. Dyer affirmed Robert had lied, by no means forthe first time; but, when George threatened to call the Mudges that theymight give evidence upon oath, Dyer admitted it was just possible themissing coin might have slipped through a hole in his pocket; so hecalled his wife to light a candle and to sweep the floor. The elusivepiece of gold, however, had passed entirely out of vision, althoughneither of the Dyers could feel surprised at that; the lady declaring itwas wonderful how easily things lost themselves; while her husband saidhe had done nothing except drop money all his life.
"Very well, Mrs. Dyer," said George. "When you make up my bill forlodgings and bread puddings, just remember that you owe me a pound."
"You wouldn't think of such a thing. You'm too much of a gentleman,"cried Mrs. Dyer.
"The missus fancies you meant it, sir. She ain't very humorous,"explained the baker.
George had a trick of nodding after supper, and that evening he did notwake until it was nearly time to sleep more seriously. Remembering thatBessie would be sitting up to surrender the keys, he hurried out; butwhen he entered Windward House modestly by the back door--hoping tooverhear some scraps of conversation--the house appeared deserted,until he pushed open the kitchen door, to discover the Wallower inWealth sipping a cup of something hot beside the fire.
"Where are the Mudges?" cried George.
"Where's my musical box?" retorted the man in possession.
George had made a rule never to use bad language; by an exception thenhe proved the rule's existence. Some men are frightened when sworn atbecause they never know what may come next; and the Wallower in Wealthbelonged to that class. He sat silent and sulky, while George repeatedhis question with one more exception.
"Gone vor their holiday," came the answer. "I looked in to wish 'emgude-luck, and Mrs. Mudge asked me to bide till you come. Keys be in thedoors, I was to tell ye."
"Their train doesn't go till seven o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Postman told 'em there's an excursion up to London at eleven, so theyreckoned they'd go part of the way in that, and get there quicker."
"The fools!" cried George. "That train will take them in the veryopposite direction."
"They was a bit mazed. Robert had begun to enjoy his holiday, and Bessiewur trying to catch up wi' 'en. Now they'll ha' to wait all nightoutside the station."
"What are you drinking?" asked George, sniffing at the fumes.
"Mrs. Mudge said 'twur coffee, but it tastes more like hot whisky andwater. I'll give ye thirty shillings vor the musical box."
"I'm not going to talk business at this time of night. It's my bedtimeand yours too," said George, making a motion towards the door.
"There's a drop o' this wonderful nice coffee in the jug."
"Take it with you."
"I won't take it in the jug, lest I forget to bring it back. Your verygood health, Mr. Drake--and I'll give anyone thirty-five shillings forthat musical box."
George hurried into the town next morning, and ascertained from a porterwho had relations in Highfield, that the muddled Mudges had started upontheir journey in the right direction shortly after midnight, byobtaining an introduction to the guard of a goods train andtravelling--contrary to all regulations--in his van. The portermentioned that the guard had possibly been influenced by the fact thatBessie was carrying a basket of delicacies, while the neck of a bottleprotruded from the pocket of Robert's overcoat.
Satisfied on this point, George visited a certain place of business, andinterviewed the manager who promised to send up to Highfield, veryearly on the following morning, two furniture vans, with sufficient mento do the packing in one day. The simplicity of working out a plotcaused George to laugh aloud; also to treat himself to a luncheon fromwhich bread and margarine pudding was rigorously excluded.
On the way home he sighted, in the dip of the road, a pair of strollingyoungsters, boy and girl, who looked back often as if expectingsomebody; the back of the one, and the beauty of the other, seemedfamiliar. Suddenly the girl took to her heels and raced round the bend,while the boy allowed George to draw up to him.
"Why does the little girl run so fast?" asked George in a paternalfashion.
"She's full of beans," replied Sidney.
"Taking a holiday?" George continued.
"I fancied a friend might be coming by the three o'clock train; but I'vehad the walk vor nothing."
&nbs
p; "Another young lady, I suppose?"
"That's right," said the laughing profligate.
"Well, I'm confounded! It seems to me you are collecting girls," Georgemuttered.
"There's plenty. I'll leave ye a few to choose from," said Sidney.
"I've done my choosing and I'm going to settle down after this month. Isuppose you know we are all clearing out of Highfield? Miss Blislandhas gone already, and you'll never see her again. You tried to catchNellie," said George, who frequently lost by his silly conversation allhe had gained by his cunning. "But she saw through your nasty littleways, my lad. She didn't fancy your harem. Nellie is one of the mostsensible girls I have ever met, and she's got the makings of a goodwoman in her."
"I reckon," said Sidney, like an oaf.
"It's a bit of a change to me to marry any one, but I don't mindsacrificing myself," George rambled on. "There's no secret about it.We've taken a house at a place called Drivelford, and we're going to letMiss Yard live with us. You won't get the chance to congratulate Nellie,and I shouldn't permit it in any case, as I don't think you are the sortof young fellow she ought to speak to; but I do hope you are feeling abit sorry for yourself. I'm not perfect, but I do think a man ought tobe honest and truthful, and be satisfied with one wife, so long as shedoes what he tells her."
"That's right enough," said Sidney.
"You see what a callous young fellow you are already. You pretended tobe in love with the future Mrs. Drake; but, now that you have lost her,you don't care a hang."
"Not that much," said Sidney, snapping his fingers.
"That's your character," said George bitterly. "Why should you care?There are plenty of Dollies, and Teenies, and painted ladies, cheap forcash as the advertisements say."
"Here, you mind what you're saying. You're going a bit too far!" criedSidney, rounding angrily upon his oppressor.
"I'm not insulting you," George explained. "But I do want to give you alittle good advice before we part. I can quite understand that you don'twant to hear the truth about your young women, and they wouldn't like tohear it either. That little girl ran away just now because she couldn'tface a decent gentleman."
"She ran because she wouldn't be introduced to you."
"That shows she can't be altogether bad," said George approvingly. "NowI must leave you, as I'm going to take the short cut across the fields.I do hope you will remember what I've said. When this new young womanarrives, try to show yourself a lad of courage. Send her home again or,if you don't like to do that, send her to me."
For some inscrutable reason Sidney could not restrain his laughter.
"Ah, you think I should want to make love to her," said George angrily."I know your nasty mind. You and your grandfather had better becareful. You haven't got a friend in the parish."
"Except the vicar," Sidney reminded him.
"And, if he goes on visiting you, he won't have a friend in the parisheither. Do you know what they call you in the village?"
"Do you know what they call you?" Sidney retorted joyously.
"They call you the Mormon."
"And they call you Ananias!"
"Well, that beats everything," gasped George, as he dropped clumsilyover the stile. "I never tell lies except in the way of business. Ialways speak the truth in private life."
Days were shortening, so that by the time George had finished his tea,which included a propitiatory offering of doughnuts, the boom of beetlessounded in the street. As life was dull in the bakery, he decided tospend a tranquil evening in his own house, surrounded by the furniturehe had been brought up with. He went and settled himself in an easychair with one of the copies, still unburnt, of his uncle's monumentalwork, "A History of Highfield Parish." But reading grew tedious, and thedoughnuts he had consumed so recklessly began to trouble, and thebuzzing of flies and wasps became tempestuous.
Yet these sounds recalled pleasant memories of the past; he had not donemuch with his life, still he had managed to win distinction as aninsect killer. He had eased his uncle's labours by crushing the wasp,and averted his aunt's displeasure by obliterating the blowfly. He roseand went into the kitchen to search for a cork.
The lighted candle cast weird shadows as he blundered through the pantryto the larder; discovering at last a cork which smelt of alcohol. Thatat least would give the wasps a pleasant death. But, while hurrying backto the insect-haunted parlour, he heard a new disturbance: no sleepybuzzing, but the fall of active footsteps. Then a handbag was flungrecklessly through the open window; banging upon a chair, rolling to thefloor. The footsteps died away, and the gate of the garden slammed.
With horrible dread of a possible explosion, George crept towards themissile, and touched it gingerly. It was a neat brown bag, ridiculouslysmall to hold a wardrobe, and it bore the initials N.B.
"That's what they put in books, when they want to draw your attention tosomething," he muttered.
