by Ian Hay
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST TURNING TO THE RIGHT
Next day I lunched with The Freak in Hall in the Inner Temple, where Iwas introduced by my host to the surrounding company as a "distinguishedengineer, who had dammed the Nile several times and was now prepared tospeak disrespectfully of the Equator."
After luncheon Dicky suggested that I should walk round with him to hischambers in Bolton Street. It was a murky December afternoon. Christmasshopping had set in with its usual severity, and visitors from thecountry, armed with sharp-cornered parcels, surged tumultuously alongthe wrong side of every pavement, while the ordinary citizens of Londontrudged resignedly in the gutter.
Dicky, quite undisturbed by the press, continued the conversation.
"Yes, the family are all very fit," he said. "You must come and staywith us. I shall give myself a week's holiday at Christmas and take youand Connie down to Shotley Beauchamp, and we will have a pop atEthelbert, our pheasant, and discuss the days that are no more."
"Talking of the days that are no more," I began, stepping aside to avoida stout lady carrying an inverted baby under one arm and an imperfectlydraped rocking-horse under the other, "what has become--"
"Hilda Beverley--eh?" replied Dicky cheerfully. "I'll tell you all abouther. (Don't apologise, sir, really! After all, I still have an eyeleft, and you very nearly lost your umbrella.) She is engaged, if notmarried, to an Oxford Don. I believe they are very happy. They go outand sing an ode to Apollo every morning before breakfast, or somethingof that kind."
A wedge of excursionists clove its way between us, and it was with avoice unconsciously raised that I remarked from the gutter:--
"You had an escape that time, my lad."
"Not at all!" yelled Dicky loyally from the other side of the pavement.("Mind that kiddie's balloon, old son!) No," he continued, as weconverged once more, "I had a very profitable six months. Hilda tookimmense pains with me, and it was n't her fault that I turned out afailure."
Presently I asked a question which always rose to my lips when I metDicky after any considerable interval.
"Have your family any fresh matrimonial irons in the fire for you atpresent?" I enquired.
"No," replied my friend, "I rejoice to say they have not. The market isutterly flat. The Hilda Beverley slump knocked the bottom out ofeverything, and for the last half-year I have been living a life ofperfect peace. I am settling down to a contented spinsterhood," headded, to the obvious surprise and consternation of a grim-lookingfemale in a blue mackintosh who had become wedged between us. "In a fewyears I shall get a tabby cat and a sampler, and retire to end my daysin the close of some quiet cathedral city."
The female in the mackintosh, by dint of using her elbows as levers andour waistcoats as fulcrums, heaved herself convulsively out of ourcompany and disappeared in the crowd, probably in search of policeprotection. Dicky and I came together again.
"Occasionally," he continued fraternally, "I shall come and stay withyou and Connie, and give you advice as to--Bill! Tiny! My son William!Look at that girl's face! Did you catch her profile? Did you ever seeanything so lovely in all your life?"
We had reached that spot in the narrowest part of Piccadilly where allthe omnibuses in the world seem to stop to take up passengers. Dicky'sfingers had closed round my left biceps muscle with a grip like iron. Iturned and surveyed him. His cheery good-tempered face was transfigured:his eyes blazed.
"Look!" he said again, pointing. He was trembling like a nervousschoolgirl.
But I was just too late. All I saw was a trim lithe youngfigure--rather like Connie's, I thought--stepping on to an omnibus.(When I told the story at home I was at once asked how she was dressed,but naturally could not say.) I caught sight of a pair of slim squareshoulders, a good deal of pretty brown hair, and finally a pair of neatblack shoes, as their owner deftly mounted to the top of the swayingvehicle.
"I just missed her face, old man," I replied. "Was she pretty?"
Here I stopped. To address empty air in Piccadilly for any length oftime causes one to incur the unworthy suspicions of the bystanders. Italso causes a crowd to collect, which is an indictable offence.
For I was alone. Afar off, pursuing a motor-omnibus just getting intoits top speed, I beheld the flying figure of my friend. Presently heovertook the unwieldy object of his pursuit, hopped on board, andproceeded to climb to the top.
At this moment the omnibus reached Bond Street--the first turning to theright--swung round the corner, and disappeared.
BOOK THREE
THE RIGHT ROAD
NOTE
The main idea of Book Three was suggested by a very minor episode in theclosing chapters of 'A Man's Man.' The usual acknowledgments aretherefore made to the author of that work.
