by Ian Hay
CHAPTER XXIII
THE REAL MR. WELWYN
"_There is an evenin' paper--_"
quavered Mr. Stillbottle blithely, with his feet upon the kitchen hob,--
--"_which is published in the mornin'!_ _Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little Star!_"
He unfolded the early edition of the organ in question and devotedhimself to a laboured perusal of the list of probable starters for theLincolnshire Handicap, now looming in the immediate future; for he wasanxious to ascertain whether his premonitions as to the identity of thewinner coincided with those of the prophet retained by the management.Apparently they did; for presently the paper was laid aside with acontented sigh, and the student of form resumed the hoary lay whichanxiety connected with the investment of his newly acquired capital hadcaused him momentarily to abandon.
"_Twinkle, Star!_ _Tiddley Wink!_ _Twinkle on till you dunno where you are!_ _Oh, we 'll make things warm for 'Arcourt,_ If 'e ever comes down our court!* _Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little St--_"
Conscious of a draught upon the back of his neck, the vocalist turneduneasily in the direction of the door. It had opened some six inches,revealing to view a pair of cherubic heads, set one above the other.Each head was furnished with a pair of quite circular blue eyes, whichsurveyed Mr. Stillbottle, with unwinking and unnerving ecstasy.
"The Funny Man!" proclaimed The Cure joyously.
"Yesh," agreed The Caution. "Lesh box him."
The pair entered the room hand in hand, and advanced grimly to theattack.
Mr. Stillbottle hastily removed his feet from the hob.
"You two," he announced, "can get on out of this. I ain't never doneyou no 'arm, 'ave I?" he added appealingly; "so why---"
At this point The Caution dealt him a playful but disabling blow in thewaistcoat. The Cure, with a shriek of rapture, seized Mr. Stillbottle'sfrayed coat by the tails and whirled its owner round three times uponhis axis.
"Now catch me!" she shrieked.
"If I _do_--" gasped Mr. Stillbottle, clutching dizzily at themantelpiece. Further words failed him, and entrenching himself behind atable, he waited like a hunted animal for the further assaults of hisenemies.
He was not kept long in suspense. Having armed themselves with thefire-irons, the two affectionate but boisterous infants were upon thepoint of inaugurating a game of what they called "beat-the-carpet"--itis hardly necessary to specify the role assigned to Mr.Stillbottle--when the door opened, revealing the welcome figure of DickyMainwaring.
Straightway weapons were thrown down, and the newcomer found himself thecentre of a cloud of embraces. Dicky was a prime favourite withchildren and dogs--no bad test of character, either.
Presently, having shaken himself free from the unmaidenly caresses ofthe youngest Miss Welwyn, Dicky became aware of the pathetic presence ofMr. Stillbottle.
"Good-morning, Mr. Russell," he said. "You are just the man I want tosee."
"You can see me as often and as long as you like, sir," replied theafflicted Russell fervently, "if only you'll put those two imps on theother side of that door."
"Certainly," said Dicky. "Now you two, skedaddle!"
To the amazement and admiration of their late victim the two freebootersdeparted immediately, merely pausing to receive a valedictory salutefrom their evictor. Dicky closed the door upon them, and motioning thebroker's man to a chair, enquired:--
"Where is everybody this morning, Mr. Russell?"
"My name, in mufti, to my friends," replied the grateful Russell, "isStillbottle. But you was asking about 'everybody.' Meanin' theBarcelona Troupe of Performing Nuts?"
Dicky nodded.
"Upstairs, most of 'em," said Stillbottle. "All but your little bit.She 'as gone out."
Dicky looked up sharply.
"For long?" he asked.
"I could n't say," replied the broker's man. "Perce has gone to theCity. Mother and the little 'un are a-makin' of the beds. ThePrincipal Filbert is still between the sheets. I'm the only member ofthe cast visible at present. But as you say it's me you came to see,perhaps you'll kindly state your business."
Dicky did so.
A quarter of an hour later he ascended to the drawing-room, restored toits usual aspect of dingy propriety after yesterday's junketings. Henoticed that his carnations had disappeared.
Mr. Welwyn was just entering from his bedroom. At the sight of Dicky hestarted, but recovering himself with his usual readiness, shook hands.
"Good-morning, Mr. Mainwaring," he said. "Be seated."
Dicky complied. "You seem surprised to see me, sir," he said.
"Frankly," replied Mr. Welwyn, "I am. After our treatment of youyesterday I hardly expected you to return. I can only extenuate ourperformance by assuring you that what looked like a carefully graduatedseries of insults was nothing more than the logical, if unforeseen,development of a somewhat childish attempt upon our part to delude yourfamily into the impression that our circumstances were not so straitenedas, in point of fact, they are. We meant well, but--"
Mr. Welwyn concluded this explanation with a rather helpless gesture.It was an awkward and difficult moment. With all his faults he was aman of feeling, with a gentleman's inherent distaste for anythingsavouring of sharp practice; and he knew that the boy before him feltthe situation as acutely as himself. There are few sadder sights thanthat of an old man eating humble pie to a young man.
But Dicky, The Freak, was equal to the occasion. He answered gravely:--
"The point of view which I prefer to take, Mr. Welwyn, is this--that youwere all trying to do a good turn to Tilly."
"Thank you, Dick," said Mr. Welwyn simply. "Still, there was a secondreason which I thought might perhaps keep you away."
"What was that?"
"Well--the presence in one's abode of a sheriff's officer is apt toexercise a dispersive influence upon one's calling acquaintance."
"On this occasion, however," replied Dicky serenely, "you will find thata calling acquaintance has dispersed the sheriff's officer."
Mr. Welwyn, who had been perambulating the room, stopped dead.
"You don't mean to tell me," he exclaimed, "that the fellow is gone?"
Dicky nodded. "Five minutes ago," he said.
"But--I don't understand," muttered the elder man. "Did you _kick_ himout? If so, the fat is in the fire with a--"
"He left this behind him," interposed Dicky awkwardly. "Under thecircumstances--I took the liberty."
Mr. Welwyn gazed long and silently at the stamped document which laybeneath his eyes. Then he looked up at Dicky and made a movement as ifto shake hands; then drew back and bowed, not without dignity.
"Mr. Mainwaring," he said, "I thank you. I will leave it at that. If Ipossessed a less intimate knowledge of my own character, I should hastento give utterance to the sentiment which at this moment dominates mymind--namely, a sincere determination never to rest until I have repaidyou this sum. But I have not arrived at my present estate withoutlearning that any such impulse on my part would be entirely transitory.From the age of five I can never recollect having formed a singleresolution that I was able to keep. I therefore accept your verygenerous aid without protest or false pride. My wife, of course, wouldnot approve. She comes of a class whose sole criterion ofrespectability is a laborious solvency during life and an expensivefuneral after death. Do not imagine that I am belittling her. She isthe one sound investment I ever made. I need not trouble you with thefacts of our courtship and marriage; but I will tell you this, my boy,that if a man had real cause to be grateful for and proud of his wife,that man is Lucius Welwyn. And the extraordinary part of it all is thatshe is proud of me--_me_! Instead of acting like a sensible woman anddeploring me as a commercial and domestic liability, she persists inexalting me into a social asset of the first water. I do not attempt todispel these illusions of hers. In a woman's hands an illusion,
aftershe has fashioned it to the shape that pleases her, hardens into asolid, enduring, and comforting fact. Perhaps, then, things are best asthey are. But I cherish no illusions about myself. I know my limits.I am a considerate husband and an affectionate father. My temper,except at times of the severest domestic stringency, is irreproachable;and I find myself generally regarded as good company by my friends. ButI am not a worldly success. I take life too easily, perhaps. I allowothers to step over my head. I am too ready to stand by and watch thepassing show, rather than plunge in and take my part."
The speaker paused, and for a moment his glance rested upon the honest,rather puzzled, but deeply interested eyes of the young man upon thesofa. Suddenly an exposition of candour came upon Mr. Welwyn.
"There was a time," he said in a less buoyant tone, "when thesepropensities of mine used to distress me. The day I was deprived of myFellowship, for instance--"
His voice shook suddenly.
"Don't tell me about it, sir, if you would rather not," said Dickyquietly.
"For drunkenness, Mr. Mainwaring--for drunkenness!" burst out Mr.Welwyn. "Not for chronic, sordid soaking--that has never been a foibleof mine--but for characteristic inability to do things in their rightorder. Take warning by me, Dick, and never put the cart before thehorse. I had been invited to lecture to a very learned body upon a veryspecial occasion. A successful appearance would have gained me myF.R.S. The natural and proper course for me to pursue was to deliverthe lecture first and treat myself to a magnum of champagne afterwards.What I actually did was to treat myself to the magnum of champagne andthen deliver the lecture. I may say with all modesty that that lecturecaused a profound sensation. It is still quoted--but not in textbooks;and it ended my University career. My life since has been a series ofsimilar incidents--disaster arising from my inherent inability todistinguish between the time to be merry and the time to sing psalms.Still, I keep on smiling. Fortune has not touched me for many years now.Fortune likes fresh blood: once you get used to her she leaves youalone. You see the manner of man I now am--a seasoned philosopher--aman who takes life as it comes--a man who never meets trouble halfway--aman unburdened by the sentimental craving, so prevalent in thishysterical age, to confer unsolicited benefits upon his fellows--a manunhampered at the same time by narrow scruples about accepting, in thespirit in which it is offered, the occasional assistance of his friends.In short, a sane, dispassionate, evenly balanced man of the world,insured against sudden upheaval by a sense of proportion, and againstdepression of spirits by a sense of humour."
Mr. Welwyn paused again, and there was another silence, punctuated bythe rattle of traffic outside. Presently he continued, in yet anothermood:--
"Sometimes my point of view changes. I look at myself, and what do Isee? An elderly, shabby-genteel inhabitant of Bloomsbury, with not asingle memory of the past to fall back on, save that of a youth utterlywasted--a youth hung about with golden opportunities, each and allsuccessively disregarded from a fatuous, childish belief that the supplywas inexhaustible--and with nothing to look forward to but a furtherperiod of dependence upon a wife who is as much my moral superior as sheis my social inferior. An earner of casual guineas--a picker-up ofstray newspapers--the recipient of refreshment respectfully proffered byunintellectual but infinitely more worthy associates in bar parlours. Aloafer--a waster--a _failure_! That, Mr. Mainwaring, is the father ofthe girl whom you desire to marry.... I am not what you would callreligious, but sometimes the impulse comes upon me--and I obey itforthwith--to go down upon my knees and thank God from the bottom of myheart that my children take after their mother."
The broken scholar dropped wearily into his chair.
"Youth! Youth! Youth! Youth!" he murmured. "Rejoice, O young man, inthy youth!"
His head slipped down between his hands.
Dicky, curiously stirred, attempted to say some word, but nothing came.
Suddenly Mr. Welwyn sprang to his feet. The cloud had lifted, or elsepride had come to the rescue. It is often difficult to tell which.
"Dick," he said, "I perceive from your attitude that you are about to besympathetic. Don't! Sympathy is wasted on me. In five minutes from nowthis mood will have passed. In half an hour I shall be as happy as anostrich with its head in the sand. That has been my lifelong posture,and a very comfortable posture, too, once you get used to it! It isonly when one comes up to breathe that things hurt a bit. Now, if youwill excuse me, I must go out. I have had a letter this morningoffering me some exceedingly welcome and possibly permanent work. I donot know where Tilly is, but she should be in presently. I do not askwhat your business with her may be. I have no right--and no need."
The two men shook hands.
"Good-bye, dear Dick," said Mr. Welwyn, "and thank you for the veryunobtrusive manner in which you have helped a lame dog over a stile."
Next moment the door closed, and he was gone.
"We are queer mixtures," mused philosophic Dicky.... "I wonder whereTilly is!"
----
Five minutes later the drawing-room door opened again, this time toadmit little 'Melia. She paused and drew back, at the spectacle of herlate ally sprawling at ease before the scanty fire.
"Hallo, 'Melia!" said Dicky cheerfully.
"Hallo!" replied Amelia cautiously. "Have you come to--see mother?"
"Not to-day, thank you," said Dicky. He regarded the little girlcuriously. "I say, 'Melia, have I offended you in any way?"
"You? Me? No!" replied Amelia, in wide-eyed surprise. "Why?"
Dicky smiled coyly.
"There used to be a pleasant little form of greeting," he intimated.
"You still want to?" cried 'Melia in a flutter.
"Please."
Next moment Miss Amelia Welwyn, feeling that the bottom had not droppedout of the universe after all, was giving Mr. Richard Mainwaring a kiss.
"Where is Tilly this morning?" asked Dicky carelessly.
"Gone out," said Amelia--"to look for a job. She gave up the other onewhen she got--engaged."
"I see," said Dicky, nodding his head.
"I suppose you have come to break it off," continued the experiencedAmelia. "They all said last night you were bound to do it, after whathad happened."
"That sort of thing," explained Dicky, "is done for one by one'sparents, I believe. I am rather young, you see," he addedapologetically.
He rose, gently displacing his small admirer from his knee.
"Now I must be off," he said. "Give this to Tilly for me, will you?"
Amelia was still twisting and turning the letter in her hands when thebang of the front door signalled Dicky's departure.
"If his parents are going to break it off for him," said Amelia toherself in a puzzled whisper, "what does he want to go writing to herfor?"
