CHAPTER VI
UNCLE CHRIS BANGS THE TABLE
I
A taxi-cab stopped at the door of Number Twenty-two, Ovingdon Square.Freddie Rooke emerged, followed by Jill. While Freddie paid thedriver, Jill sniffed the afternoon air happily. It had turned into adelightful day. A westerly breeze, springing up in the morning, hadsent the thermometer up with a run and broken the cold spell which hadbeen gripping London. It was one of those afternoons which intrude onthe bleakness of winter with a false but none the less agreeableintimation that Spring is on its way. The sidewalks were wetunderfoot, and the gutters ran with thawed snow. The sun shoneexhilaratingly from a sky the colour of a hedge-sparrow's egg.
"Doesn't everything smell lovely, Freddie," said Jill, "after ourprison-life!"
"Topping!"
"Fancy getting out so quickly! Whenever I'm arrested, I must alwaysmake a point of having a rich man with me. I shall never tease youabout that fifty-pound note again."
"Fifty-pound note?"
"It certainly came in handy to-day!"
She was opening the door with her latch-key, and missed the suddensagging of Freddie's jaw, the sudden clutch at his breast-pocket, andthe look of horror and anguish that started into his eyes. Freddie wasappalled. Finding himself at the police-station penniless with theexception of a little loose change, he had sent that message to Derek,imploring assistance, as the only alternative to spending the night ina cell, with Jill in another. He had realized that there was a risk ofDerek taking the matter hardly, and he had not wanted to get Jill intotrouble, but there seemed nothing else to do. If they remained wherethey were overnight, the thing would get into the papers, and thatwould be a thousand times worse. And if he applied for aid to RonnyDevereux or Algy Martyn or anybody like that all London would knowabout it next day. So Freddie, with misgivings, had sent the messageto Derek, and now Jill's words had reminded him that there was no needto have done so. Years ago he had read somewhere or heard somewhereabout some chappie who always buzzed around with a sizable banknotestitched into his clothes, and the scheme had seemed to him ripe to adegree. You never knew when you might find yourself short of cash andfaced by an immediate call for the ready. He had followed thechappie's example. And now, when the crisis had arrived, he hadforgotten--absolutely forgotten!--that he had the dashed thing on hisperson at all.
He followed Jill into the house, groaning in spirit, but thankfulthat she had taken it for granted that he had secured their release inthe manner indicated. He did not propose to disillusion her. It wouldbe time enough to take the blame when the blame came along. Probablyold Derek would simply be amused and laugh at the whole bally affairlike a sportsman. Freddie cheered up considerably at the thought.
Jill was talking to the parlourmaid whose head had popped up over thebanisters flanking the stairs that led to the kitchen.
"Major Selby hasn't arrived yet, miss."
"That's odd. I suppose he must have taken a later train."
"There's a lady in the drawing-room, miss, waiting to see him. Shedidn't give any name. She said she would wait till the major came.She's been waiting a goodish while."
"All right, Jane. Thanks. Will you bring up tea?"
They walked down the hall. The drawing-room was on the ground floor, along, dim room that would have looked like a converted studio but forthe absence of bright light. A girl was sitting at the far end by thefireplace. She rose as they entered.
"How do you do?" said Jill. "I'm afraid my uncle has not come backyet...."
"Say!" cried the visitor. "You _did_ get out quick!"
Jill was surprised. She had no recollection of ever having seen theother before. Her visitor was a rather pretty girl, with a sort ofjaunty way of carrying herself which made a piquant contrast to hertired eyes and wistful face. Jill took an immediate liking to her. Shelooked so forlorn and pathetic.
"My name's Nelly Bryant," said the girl. "That parrot belongs to me."
"Oh, I see."
"I heard you say to the cop that you lived here, so I came along totell your folks what had happened, so that they could do something.The maid said that your uncle was expected any minute, so I waited."
"That was awfully good of you."
"Dashed good," said Freddie.
"Oh, no! Honest, I don't know how to thank you for what you did. Youdon't know what a pal Bill is to me. It would have broken me all up ifthat plug-ugly had killed him."
"But what a shame you had to wait so long."
"I liked it."
Nelly Bryant looked about the room wistfully. This was the sort ofroom she sometimes dreamed about. She loved its subdued light and thepulpy cushions on the sofa.
"You'll have some tea before you go, won't you?" said Jill, switchingon the lights.
"It's very kind of you."
"Why, hullo!" said Freddie. "By Jove! I say! We've met before, what?"
"Why, so we have!"
"That lunch at Oddy's that young Threepwood gave, what?"
"I wonder you remember."
"Oh, I remember. Quite a time ago, eh? Miss Bryant was in that show.'Follow the Girl,' Jill, at the Regal."
"Oh, yes. I remember you took me to see it."
"Dashed odd meeting again like this!" said Freddie. "Really rummy!"
Jane, the parlourmaid, entering with tea, interrupted his comments.
"You're American, then?" said Jill interested. "The whole company camefrom New York, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"I'm half American myself, you know. I used to live in New York when Iwas very small, but I've almost forgotten what it was like. I remembera sort of overhead railway that made an awful noise...."
"The Elevated!" murmured Nelly devoutly. A wave of home-sicknessseemed to choke her for a moment.
"And the air. Like champagne. And a very blue sky."
"Yes," said Nelly in a small voice.
"I shouldn't half mind popping over New York for a bit," said Freddie,unconscious of the agony he was inflicting. "I've met some very soundsportsmen who came from there. You don't know a fellow namedWilliamson, do you?"
"I don't believe I do."
"Or Oakes?"
"No."
"That's rummy! Oakes has lived in New York for years."
"So have about seven million other people," interposed Jill. "Don't besilly, Freddie. How would you like somebody to ask of you if you knewa man named Jenkins in London?"
"I _do_ know a man named Jenkins in London," replied Freddietriumphantly.
Jill poured out a cup of tea for her visitor, and looked at the clock.
"I wonder where Uncle Chris has got to," she said. "He ought to behere by now. I hope he hasn't got into any mischief among the wildstockbrokers down at Brighton."
Freddie laid down his cup on the table and uttered a loud snort.
"Oh, Freddie, darling!" said Jill remorsefully. "I forgot!Stockbrokers are a painful subject, aren't they!" She turned to Nelly."There's been an awful slump on the Stock Exchange to-day, and hegot--what was the word, Freddie?"
"Nipped!" said Freddie with gloom.
"Nipped!"
"Nipped like the dickens!"
"Nipped like the dickens!" Jill smiled at Nelly. "He had forgotten allabout it in the excitement of being a jailbird, and I went andreminded him."
Freddie sought sympathy from Nelly.
"A silly ass at the club named Jimmy Monroe told me to take a flutterin some rotten thing called Amalgamated Dyes. You know how it is, whenyou're feeling devilish fit and cheery and all that after dinner, andsomebody sidles up to you and slips his little hand in yours and tellsyou to do some fool thing. You're so dashed happy you simply say'Right-ho, old bird! Make it so!' That's the way I got had!"
Jill laughed unfeelingly.
"It will do you good, Freddie. It'll stir you up and prevent you beingso silly again. Besides, you know you'll hardly notice it. You've muchtoo much money as it is."
"It's not the money. It's the principle of the thing. I hat
e looking afrightful chump."
"Well, you needn't tell anybody. We'll keep it a secret. In fact,we'll start at once, for I hear Uncle Chris outside. Let us dissemble.We are observed!... Hullo, Uncle Chris!"
She ran down the room, as the door opened, and kissed the tall,soldierly man who entered.
"Well, Jill, my dear."
"How late you are. I was expecting you hours ago."
"I had to call on my broker."
"Hush! Hush!"
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing.... We've got visitors. You know Freddie Rooke, ofcourse?"
"How are you, Freddie, my boy?"
"Cheerio!" said Freddie. "Pretty fit?"
"And Miss Bryant," said Jill.
"How do you do?" said Uncle Chris in the bluff, genial way which, inhis younger days, had charmed many a five-pound note out of thepockets of his fellow-men and many a soft glance out of the eyes oftheir sisters, their cousins, and their aunts.
"Come and have some tea," said Jill. "You're just in time."
"Tea? Capital!"
Nelly had subsided shyly into the depths of her big arm-chair. Somehowshe felt a better and a more important girl since Uncle Chris hadaddressed her. Most people felt like that after encountering Jill'sUncle Christopher. Uncle Chris had a manner. It was not preciselycondescending, and yet it was not the manner of an equal. He treatedyou as an equal, true, but all the time you were conscious of the factthat it was extraordinarily good of him to do so. Uncle Chris affectedthe rank and file of his fellow-men much as a genial knight of theMiddle Ages would have affected a scurvy knave or varlet if he hadcast aside social distinctions for a while and hobnobbed with thelatter in a tavern. He never patronized, but the mere fact that heabstained from patronizing seemed somehow impressive.
To this impressiveness his appearance contributed largely. He was afine, upstanding man, who looked less than his forty-nine years inspite of an ominous thinning of the hair which he tended and brushedso carefully. He had a firm chin, a mouth that smiled often andpleasantly beneath the closely-clipped moustache, and very bright blueeyes which met yours in a clear, frank, honest gaze. Though he hadserved in his youth in India, he had none of the Anglo-Indian'ssun-scorched sallowness. His complexion was fresh and sanguine. Helooked as if he had just stepped out of a cold tub--a misleadingimpression, for Uncle Chris detested cold water and always took hismorning bath as hot as he could get it.
It was his clothes, however, which, even more than his appearance,fascinated the populace. There is only one tailor in London, asdistinguished from the ambitious mechanics who make coats andtrousers, and Uncle Chris was his best customer. Similarly, London isfull of young fellows trying to get along by the manufacture offoot-wear, but there is only one boot-maker in the true meaning of theword--the one who supplied Uncle Chris. And, as for hats, while it isno doubt a fact that you can get at plenty of London shops some sortof covering for your head which will keep it warm, the onlyhatter--using the term in its deeper sense--is the man who enjoyed thepatronage of Major Christopher Selby. From foot to head, in short,from furthest South to extremest North, Uncle Chris was perfect. Hewas an ornament to his surroundings. The Metropolis looked better forhim. One seems to picture London as a mother with a horde of untidychildren, children with made-up ties, children with wrinkled coats andbaggy trouser-legs, sighing to herself as she beheld them, thencheering up and murmuring with a touch of restored complacency, "Ah,well, I still have Uncle Chris!"
"Miss Bryant is American, Uncle Chris," said Jill.
Uncle Chris spread his shapely legs before the fire, and glanced downkindly at Nelly.
"Indeed?" He took a cup of tea and stirred it. "I was in America as ayoung man."
"Whereabouts?" asked Nelly eagerly.
"Oh, here and there and everywhere. I travelled considerably."
"That's how it is with me," said Nelly, overcoming her diffidence asshe warmed to the favourite topic. "I guess I know most every town inevery State, from New York to the last one-night stand. It's a greatold country, isn't it?"
"It is!" said Uncle Chris. "I shall be returning there very shortly."He paused meditatively. "Very shortly indeed."
Nelly bit her lip. It seemed to be her fate to-day to meet people whowere going to America.
"When did you decide to do that?" asked Jill.
She had been looking at him, puzzled. Years of association with UncleChris had enabled her to read his moods quickly, and she was sure thatthere was something on his mind. It was not likely that the others hadnoticed it, for his manner was as genial and urbane as ever. Butsomething about him, a look in his eyes that came and went, anoccasional quick twitching of his mouth, told her that all was notwell. She was a little troubled, but not greatly. Uncle Chris was notthe sort of man to whom grave tragedies happened. It was probably somemere trifle which she could smooth out for him in five minutes, oncethey were alone together. She reached out and patted his sleeveaffectionately. She was fonder of Uncle Chris than of anyone in theworld except Derek.
"The thought," said Uncle Chris, "came to me this morning, as I readmy morning paper while breakfasting. It has grown and developed duringthe day. At this moment you might almost call it an obsession. I amvery fond of America. I spent several happy years there. On thatoccasion I set sail for the land of promise, I admit, somewhatreluctantly. Of my own free will I might never have made theexpedition. But the general sentiment seemed so strongly in favour ofmy doing so that I yielded to what I might call a public demand. Thewilling hands for my nearest and dearest were behind me, pushing, andI did not resist them. I have never regretted it. America is a part ofevery young man's education. You ought to go there, Freddie."
"Rummily enough," said Freddie, "I was saying just before you came inthat I had half a mind to pop over. Only it's rather a bally fag,starting. Getting your luggage packed and all that sort of thing."
Nelly, whose luggage consisted of one small trunk, heaved a silentsigh. Mingling with the idle rich carried its penalties.
"America," said Uncle Chris, "taught me poker, for which I can neverbe sufficiently grateful. Also an exotic pastime styled Craps--or,alternatively, 'rolling the bones'--which in those days was a verypresent help in time of trouble. At Craps, I fear, my hand in lateyears has lost much of its cunning. I have had little opportunity ofpractising. But as a young man I was no mean exponent of the art. Letme see," said Uncle Chris meditatively. "What was the precise ritual?Ah! I have it, 'Come, little seven!'"
"'Come, eleven!'" exclaimed Nelly excitedly.
"'Baby....' I feel convinced that in some manner the word baby enteredinto it."
"'Baby needs new shoes!'"
"'Baby needs new shoes!' Precisely!"
"It sounds to me," said Freddie, "dashed silly."
"Oh, no!" cried Nelly reproachfully.
"Well, what I mean is, there's no sense in it, don't you know."
"It is a noble pursuit," said Uncle Chris firmly. "Worthy of the greatnation that has produced it. No doubt, when I return to America, Ishall have opportunities of recovering my lost skill."
"You aren't returning to America," said Jill. "You're going to staysafe at home like a good little uncle. I'm not going to have yourunning wild all over the world at your age."
"Age?" declaimed Uncle Chris. "What is my age? At the present moment Ifeel in the neighbourhood of twenty-one, and Ambition is tapping me onthe shoulder and whispering 'Young man, go West!' The years areslipping away from me, my dear Jill--slipping so quickly that in a fewminutes you will be wondering why my nurse does not come to fetch me.The wanderlust is upon me. I gaze around me at all this prosperity inwhich I am lapped," said Uncle Chris, eyeing the arm-chair severely,"all this comfort and luxury which swaddles me, and I feel staggered.I want activity. I want to be braced!"
"You would hate it," said Jill composedly. "You know you're thelaziest old darling in the world."
"Exactly what I am endeavouring to point out. I _am_ lazy. Or, I wastill this morning
."
"Something very extraordinary must have happened this morning. I cansee that."
"I wallowed in gross comfort. I was what Shakespeare calls a 'fat andgreasy citizen'!"
"Please, Uncle Chris!" protested Jill. "Not while I'm eating butteredtoast!"
"But now I am myself again."
"That's splendid."
"I have heard the beat of the off-shore wind," chanted Uncle Chris,"and the thresh of the deep-sea rain. I have heard the song--How long!how long! Pull out on the trail again!"
"He can also recite 'Gunga Din,'" said Jill to Nelly. "I really mustapologize for all this. He's usually as good as gold."
"I believe I know how he feels," said Nelly softly.
"Of course you do. You and I, Miss Bryant, are of the gipsies of theworld. We are not vegetables like young Rooke here."
"Eh, what?" said the vegetable, waking from a reverie. He had beenwatching Nelly's face. Its wistfulness attracted him.
"We are only happy," proceeded Uncle Chris, "when we are wandering."
"You should see Uncle Chris wander to his club in the morning," saidJill. "He trudges off in a taxi, singing wild gipsy songs, absolutelydefying fatigue."
"That," said Uncle Chris, "is a perfectly justified slur. I shudder atthe depths to which prosperity has caused me to sink." He expanded hischest. "I shall be a different man in America. America would make adifferent man of _you_, Freddie."
"I'm all right, thanks!" said that easily satisfied young man.
Uncle Chris turned to Nelly, pointing dramatically.
"Young woman, go West! Return to your bracing home, and leave thisenervating London! You...."
Nelly got up abruptly. She could endure no more.
"I believe I'll have to be going now," she said. "Bill misses me ifI'm away long. Good-bye. Thank you ever so much for what you did."
"It was awfully kind of you to come round," said Jill.
"Good-bye, Major Selby."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Mr. Rooke."
Freddie awoke from another reverie.
"Eh? Oh, I say, half a jiffy. I think I may as well be toddling alongmyself. About time I was getting back to dress for dinner and allthat. See you home, may I, and then I'll get a taxi at Victoria.Toodle-oo, everybody."
* * * * *
Freddie escorted Nelly through the hall and opened the front door forher. The night was cool and cloudy and there was still in the air thatodd, rejuvenating suggestion of Spring. A wet fragrance came from thedripping trees.
"Topping evening!" said Freddie conversationally.
"Yes."
They walked through the square in silence. Freddie shot anappreciative glance at his companion. Freddie, as he would haveadmitted frankly, was not much of a lad for the modern girl. Themodern girl, he considered, was too dashed rowdy and exuberant for achappie of peaceful tastes. Now, this girl, on the other hand, had allthe earmarks of being something of a topper. She had a soft voice.Rummy accent and all that, but nevertheless a soft and pleasing voice.She was mild and unaggressive, and these were qualities which Freddieesteemed. Freddie, though this was a thing he would not have admitted,was afraid of girls, the sort of girls he had to take down to dinnerand dance with and so forth. They were too dashed clever, and alwaysseemed to be waiting for a chance to score off a fellow. This one wasnot like that. Not a bit. She was gentle and quiet and what not.
It was at this point that it came home to him how remarkably quiet shewas. She had not said a word for the last five minutes. He was justabout to break the silence, when, as they passed under a street lamp,he perceived that she was crying--crying very softly to herself, likea child in the dark.
"Good God!" said Freddie appalled. There were two things in life withwhich he felt totally unable to cope--crying girls and dog-fights. Theglimpse he had caught of Nelly's face froze him into a speechlessnesswhich lasted until they reached Daubeny Street and stopped at herdoor.
"Good-bye," said Nelly.
"Good-bye-ee!" said Freddie mechanically. "That's to say, I mean tosay, half a second!" he added quickly. He faced her nervously, withone hand on the grimy railings. This wanted looking into. When it cameto girls trickling to and fro in the public streets, weeping, well, itwas pretty rotten and something had to be done about it. "What's up?"he demanded.
"It's nothing. Good-bye."
"But, my dear old soul," said Freddie, clutching the railing for moralsupport, "it is something. It must be! You might not think it, to lookat me, but I'm really rather a dashed shrewd chap, and I can _see_there's something up. Why not give me the jolly old scenario and seeif we can't do something?"
Nelly moved as if to turn to the door, then stopped. She wasthoroughly ashamed of herself.
"I'm a fool!"
"No, no!"
"Yes, I am. I don't often act this way, but, oh, gee! hearing you alltalking like that about going to America, just as if it was theeasiest thing in the world, only you couldn't be bothered to do it,kind of got me going. And to think I could be there right now if Iwasn't a bonehead!"
"A bonehead?"
"A simp. I'm all right as far up as the string of near-pearls, butabove that I'm reinforced concrete."
Freddie groped for her meaning.
"Do you mean you've made a bloomer of some kind?"
"I pulled the worst kind of bone. I stopped on in London when the restof the company went back home, and now I've got to stick."
"Rush of jolly old professional engagements, what?"
Nelly laughed bitterly.
"You're a bad guesser. No, they haven't started to fight over me yet.I'm at liberty, as they say in the _Era_."
"But, my dear old thing," said Freddie earnestly, "if you've nothingto keep you in England, why not pop back to America? I mean to say,home-sickness is the most dashed blighted thing in the world. There'snothing gives one the pip to such an extent. Why, dash it, I rememberstaying with an old aunt of mine up in Scotland the year before lastand not being able to get away for three weeks or so, and Iraved--absolutely gibbered--for the sight of the merry old metrop.Sometimes I'd wake up in the night, thinking I was back at the Albany,and, by Jove, when I found I wasn't I howled like a dog! You take mytip, old soul, and pop back on the next boat."
"Which line?"
"How do you mean, which line? Oh, I see, you mean which line? Well ...well ... I've never been on any of them, so it's rather hard to say.But I hear the Cunard well spoken of, and then again some chappiesswear by the White Star. But I should imagine you can't go far wrong,whichever you pick. They're all pretty ripe, I fancy."
"Which of them is giving free trips? That's the point."
"Eh? Oh!" Her meaning dawned upon Freddie. He regarded her with deepconsternation. Life had treated him so kindly that he had almostforgotten that there existed a class which had not as much money ashimself. Sympathy welled up beneath his perfectly fitting waistcoat.It was a purely disinterested sympathy. The fact that Nelly was a girland in many respects a dashed pretty girl did not affect him. Whatmattered was that she was hard up. The thought hurt Freddie like ablow. He hated the idea of anyone being hard up.
"I say!" he said. "Are you broke?"
Nelly laughed.
"Am I? If dollars were doughnuts, I wouldn't even have the hole in themiddle."
Freddie was stirred to his depths. Except for the beggars in thestreets, to whom he gave shillings, he had not met anyone for yearswho had not plenty of money. He had friends at his clubs whofrequently claimed to be unable to lay their hands on a bally penny,but the bally penny they wanted to lay their hands on generally turnedout to be a couple of thousand pounds for a new car.
"Good God!" he said.
There was a pause. Then, with a sudden impulse, he began to fumble inhis breast-pocket. Rummy how things worked out for the best, howeverscaly they might seem at the moment. Only an hour or so ago he hadbeen kicking himself for not having remembered that fifty-pound note,tacked on to the lining
of his coat, when it would have come in handyat the police-station. He now saw that Providence had had the matterwell in hand. If he had remembered it and coughed it up to theconstabulary then, he wouldn't have had it now. And he needed it now.A mood of quixotic generosity had surged upon him. With swift fingershe jerked the note free from its moorings and displayed it like aconjurer exhibiting a rabbit.
"My dear old thing," he said, "I can't stand it! I absolutely cannotstick it at any price! I really must insist on your trousering this.Positively!"
Nelly Bryant gazed at the note with wide eyes. She was stunned. Shetook it limply, and looked at it under the dim light of the gas-lampover the door.
"I couldn't!" she cried.
"Oh, but really! You must!"
"But this is a fifty-pound!"
"Absolutely! It will take you back to New York, what? you asked whichline was giving free trips. The Freddie Rooke Line, by Jove, sailingsevery Wednesday and Saturday! I mean, what?"
"But I can't take two hundred and fifty dollars from you!"
"Oh, rather. Of course you can."
There was another pause.
"You'll think--" Nelly's pale face flushed. "You'll think I told youall about myself just--just because I wanted to...."
"To make a touch? Absolutely not! Rid yourself of the jolly oldsupposition entirely. You see before you, old thing, a chappie whoknows more about borrowing money than any man in London. I mean tosay, I've had my ear bitten more often than anyone, I should think.There are sixty-four ways of making a touch--I've had them all workedon me by divers blighters here and there--and I can tell any of themwith my eyes shut. I know you weren't dreaming of any such thing."
The note crackled musically in Nelly's hand.
"I don't know what to say!"
"That's all right."
"I don't see why.... Gee! I wish I could tell you what I think ofyou!"
Freddie laughed amusedly.
"Do you know," he said, "that's exactly what the beaks--the masters,you know--used to say to me at school."
"Are you sure you can spare it?"
"Oh, rather."
Nelly's eyes shone in the light of the lamp.
"I've never met anyone like you before. I don't know how...."
Freddie shuffled nervously. Being thanked always made him feel prettyrotten.
"Well, I think I'll be popping," he said. "Got to get back and dressand all that. Awfully glad to have seen you, and all that sort ofrot."
Nelly unlocked the door with her latch-key, and stood on the step.
"I'll buy a fur-wrap," she said, half to herself.
"Great wheeze! I should!"
"And some nuts for Bill!"
"Bill?"
"The parrot."
"Oh, the jolly old parrot! Rather! Well, cheerio!"
"Good-bye.... You've been awfully good to me."
"Oh, no," said Freddie uncomfortably. "Any time you're passing...."
"Awfully good.... Well, good-bye."
"Toodle-oo!"
"Maybe we'll meet again some day."
"I hope so. Absolutely!"
There was a little scurry of feet. Something warm and soft pressed foran instant against Freddie's cheek, and, as he stumbled back, NellyBryant skipped up the steps and vanished through the door.
"Good God!"
Freddie felt his cheek. He was aware of an odd mixture ofembarrassment and exhilaration.
From the area below a slight cough sounded. Freddie turned sharply. Amaid in a soiled cap, worn coquettishly over one ear, was gazingintently up through the railings. Their eyes met. Freddie turned awarm pink. It seemed to him that the maid had the air of one about togiggle.
"Damn!" said Freddie softly, and hurried off down the street. Hewondered whether he had made a frightful ass of himself, sprayingbank-notes all over the place like that to comparative strangers. Thena vision came to him of Nelly's eyes as they had looked at him in thelamp-light, and he decided--no, absolutely not. Rummy as the gadgetmight appear, it had been the right thing to do. It was a binge ofwhich he thoroughly approved. A good egg!
II
Jill, when Freddie and Nelly left the room, had seated herself on alow stool, and sat looking thoughtfully into the fire. She waswondering if she had been mistaken in supposing that Uncle Chris wasworried about something. This restlessness of his, this desire formovement, was strange in him. Hitherto he had been like a dear oldcosy cat, revelling in the comfort which he had just denounced soeloquently. She watched him as he took up his favourite stand infront of the fire.
"Nice girl," said Uncle Chris. "Who was she?"
"Somebody Freddie met," said Jill diplomatically. There was no need toworry Uncle Chris with details of the afternoon's happenings.
"Very nice girl." Uncle Chris took out his cigar-case. "No need to askif I may, thank goodness." He lit a cigar. "Do you remember, Jill,years ago, when you were quite small, how I used to blow smoke in yourface?"
Jill smiled.
"Of course I do. You said that you were training me for marriage. Yousaid that there were no happy marriages except where the wife didn'tmind the smell of tobacco. Well, it's lucky, as a matter of fact, forDerek smokes all the time."
Uncle Chris took up his favourite stand against the fireplace.
"You're very fond of Derek, aren't you, Jill?"
"Of course I am. You are, too, aren't you?"
"Fine chap. Very fine chap. Plenty of money, too. It's a greatrelief," said Uncle Chris, puffing vigorously. "A thundering relief."He looked over Jill's head down the room. "It's fine to think of youhappily married, dear, with everything in the world that you want."
Uncle Chris' gaze wandered down to where Jill sat. A slight mistaffected his eyesight. Jill had provided a solution for the greatproblem of his life. Marriage had always appalled him, but there wasthis to be said for it, that married people had daughters. He hadalways wanted a daughter, a smart girl he could take out and be proudof; and fate had given him Jill at precisely the right age. A childwould have bored Uncle Chris--he was fond of children, but they madethe deuce of a noise and regarded jam as an external ornament--but adelightful little girl of fourteen was different. Jill and he had beenvery close to each other since her mother had died, a year after thedeath of her father, and had left her in his charge. He had watchedher grow up with a joy that had a touch of bewilderment in it--sheseemed to grow so quickly--and had been fonder and prouder of her atevery stage of her tumultuous career.
"You're a dear," said Jill. She stroked the trouser-leg that wasnearest. "How _do_ you manage to get such a wonderful crease? Youreally are a credit to me!"
There was a momentary silence. A shade of embarrassment made itselfnoticeable in Uncle Chris' frank gaze. He gave a little cough, andpulled at his moustache.
"I wish I were, my dear," he said soberly. "I wish I were. I'm afraidI'm a poor sort of a fellow, Jill."
Jill looked up.
"What do you mean?"
"A poor sort of a fellow," repeated Uncle Chris. "Your mother wasfoolish to trust you to me. Your father had more sense. He always saidI was a wrong 'un."
Jill got up quickly. She was certain now that she had been right, andthat there was something on her uncle's mind.
"What's the matter, Uncle Chris? Something's happened. What is it?"
Uncle Chris turned to knock the ash off his cigar. The movement gavehim time to collect himself for what lay before him. He had one ofthose rare volatile natures which can ignore the blows of fate so longas their effects are not brought home by visible evidence of disaster.He lived in the moment, and, though matters had been as bad atbreakfast-time as they were now, it was not till now, when heconfronted Jill, that he had found his cheerfulness affected by them.He was a man who hated ordeals, and one faced him now. Until thismoment he had been able to detach his mind from a state of affairswhich would have weighed unceasingly upon another man. His mind was atelephone which he could cut off at will, when the voice of Troublewished to speak. Th
e time would arrive, he had been aware, when hewould have to pay attention to that voice, but so far he had refusedto listen. Now it could be evaded no longer.
"Jill."
"Yes?"
Uncle Chris paused again, searching for the best means of saying whathad to be said.
"Jill, I don't know if you understand about these things, but therewas what is called a slump on the Stock Exchange this morning. Inother words...."
Jill laughed.
"Of course I know all about that," she said. "Poor Freddie wouldn'ttalk about anything else till I made him. He was terribly blue when hegot here this afternoon. He said he had got 'nipped' in AmalgamatedDyes. He had lost about two hundred pounds, and was furious with afriend of his who had told him to buy margins."
Uncle Chris cleared his throat.
"Jill, I'm afraid I've got bad news for you. I bought AmalgamatedDyes, too." He worried his moustache. "I lost heavily, very heavily."
"How naughty of you! You know you oughtn't to gamble."
"Jill, you must be brave. I--I--well, the fact is--it's no goodbeating about the bush--I lost everything! Everything!"
"Everything?"
"Everything! It's all gone! All fooled away. It's a terrible business.This house will have to go."
"But--but doesn't the house belong to me?"
"I was your trustee, dear." Uncle Chris smoked furiously. "Thankheaven you're going to marry a rich man!"
Jill stood looking at him, perplexed. Money, as money, had neverentered into her life. There were things one wanted which had to bepaid for with money, but Uncle Chris had always looked after that. Shehad taken them for granted.
"I don't understand," she said.
And then suddenly she realized that she did, and a great wave of pityfor Uncle Chris flooded over her. He was such an old dear. It must behorrible for him to have to stand there, telling her all this. Shefelt no sense of injury, only the discomfort of having to witness thehumiliation of her oldest friend. Uncle Chris was bound upinextricably with everything in her life that was pleasant. She couldremember him, looking exactly the same, only with a thicker and waviercrop of hair, playing with her patiently and unwearied for hours inthe hot sun, a cheerful martyr. She could remember sitting up with himwhen she came home from her first grownup dance, drinking cocoa andtalking and talking and talking till the birds outside sang the sunhigh up into the sky and it was breakfast time. She could remembertheatres with him, and jolly little suppers afterwards; expeditionsinto the country, with lunches at queer old inns; days on the river,days at Hurlingham, days at Lords', days at the Academy. He had alwaysbeen the same, always cheerful, always kind. He was Uncle Chris, andhe would always be Uncle Chris, whatever he had done or whatever hemight do. She slipped her arm in his and gave it a squeeze.
"Poor old thing!" she said.
Uncle Chris had been looking straight out before him with those fineblue eyes of his. There had been just a touch of sternness in hisattitude. A stranger, coming into the room at that moment, would havesaid that here was a girl trying to coax her blunt, straightforward,military father into some course of action of which his honest naturedisapproved. He might have been posing for a statue of Rectitude. AsJill spoke, he seemed to cave in.
"Poor old thing?" he repeated limply.
"Of course you are! And stop trying to look dignified and tragic!Because it doesn't suit you. You're much too well dressed."
"But, my dear, you don't understand! You haven't realized!"
"Yes, I do. Yes, I have!"
"I've spent all your money--_your_ money!"
"I know! What does it matter?"
"What does it matter! Jill, don't you hate me?"
"As if anyone could hate an old darling like you!"
Uncle Chris threw away his cigar, and put his arms round Jill. For amoment a dreadful fear came to her that he was going to cry. Sheprayed that he wouldn't cry. It would be too awful. It would be amemory of which she could never rid herself. She felt as though hewere someone extraordinarily young and unable to look after himself,someone she must soothe and protect.
"Jill," said Uncle Chris, choking, "you're--you're--you're a littlewarrior!"
Jill kissed him and moved away. She busied herself with some flowers,her back turned. The tension had been relieved, and she wanted to givehim time to recover his poise. She knew him well enough to be surethat, sooner or later, the resiliency of his nature would assertitself. He could never remain long in the depths.
The silence had the effect of making her think more clearly than inthe first rush of pity she had been able to do. She was able now toreview the matter as it affected herself. It had not been easy tograsp, the blunt fact that she was penniless, that all this comfortwhich surrounded her was no longer her own. For an instant a kind ofpanic seized her. There was a bleakness about the situation which madeone gasp. It was like icy water dashed in the face. Realization hadalmost the physical pain of life returning to a numbed limb. Her handsshook as she arranged the flowers, and she had to bite her lip to keepherself from crying out.
She fought panic eye to eye, and beat it down. Uncle Chris, swiftlyrecovering by the fireplace, never knew that the fight had takenplace. He was feeling quite jovial again now that the unpleasantbusiness of breaking the news was over, and was looking on the worldwith the eye of a debonair gentleman-adventurer. As far as he wasconcerned, he told himself, this was the best thing that could havehappened. He had been growing old and sluggish in prosperity. Heneeded a fillip. The wits by which he had once lived so merrily hadbeen getting blunt in their easy retirement. He welcomed theopportunity of matching them once more against the world. He wasremorseful as regarded Jill, but the optimist in him, never crushedfor long, told him that Jill would be all right. She would step fromthe sinking ship to the safe refuge of Derek Underhill's wealth andposition, while he went out to seek a new life. Uncle Chris' blue eyesgleamed with a new fire as he pictured himself in this new life. Hefelt like a hunter setting out on a hunting expedition. There werealways adventures and the spoils of war for the man with brains tofind them and gather them in. But it was a mercy that Jill hadDerek....
Jill was thinking of Derek, too. Panic had fled, and a curiousexhilaration had seized upon her. If Derek wanted her now, it would bebecause his love was the strongest thing in the world. She would cometo him like the beggar-maid to Cophetua.
Uncle Chris broke the silence with a cough. At the sound of it, Jillsmiled again. She knew it for what it was, a sign that he was himselfagain.
"Tell me, Uncle Chris," she said, "just how bad is it? When you saideverything was gone, did you really mean everything, or were you beingmelodramatic? Exactly how do we stand?"
"It's dashed hard to say, my dear. I expect we shall find there are afew hundreds left. Enough to see you through till you get married.After that it won't matter." Uncle Chris flicked a particle of dustoff his coat-sleeve. Jill could not help feeling that the action wassymbolical of his attitude towards life. He nicked away life'sproblems with just the same airy carelessness. "You mustn't worryabout me, my dear. I shall be all right. I have made my way in theworld before, and I can do it again. I shall go to America and try myluck there. Amazing how many opportunities there are in America.Really, as far as I am concerned, this is the best thing that couldhave happened. I have been getting abominably lazy. If I had gone onliving my present life for another year or two, why, dash it, Ihonestly believe I should have succumbed to some sort of senile decay.Positively I should have got fatty degeneration of the brain! Thiswill be the making of me."
Jill sat down on the lounge and laughed till there were tears in hereyes. Uncle Chris might be responsible for this disaster, but he wascertainly making it endurable. However greatly he might be deservingof censure, from the standpoint of the sterner morality, he madeamends. If he brought the whole world crashing in chaos about one'sears, at least he helped one to smile among the ruins.
"Did you ever read 'Candide,' Uncle Chris?"
"'Candid
e'?" Uncle Chris shook his head. He was not a great reader,except of the sporting press.
"It's a book by Voltaire. There's a character in it called DoctorPangloss, who thought that everything was for the best in this best ofall possible worlds."
Uncle Chris felt a touch of embarrassment. It occurred to him that hehad been betrayed by his mercurial temperament into an attitude which,considering the circumstances, was perhaps a trifle too jubilant. Hegave his moustache a pull, and reverted to the minor key.
"Oh, you mustn't think that I don't appreciate the terrible, the criminalthing I have done! I blame myself," said Uncle Chris cordially, nickinganother speck of dust off his sleeve. "I blame myself bitterly. Yourmother ought never to have made me your trustee, my dear. But she alwaysbelieved in me, in spite of everything, and this is how I have repaidher." He blew his nose to cover a not unmanly emotion. "I wasn't fittedfor the position. Never become a trustee, Jill. It's the devil, is trustmoney. However much you argue with yourself, you can't--dash it, yousimply can't believe that it's not your own, to do as you like with,There it sits, smiling at you, crying 'Spend me! Spend me!' and you findyourself dipping--dipping--till one day there's nothing left to dipfor--only a far-off rustling--the ghosts of dead bank-notes. That's how itwas with me. The process was almost automatic. I hardly knew it was goingon. Here a little--there a little. It was like snow melting on amountain-top. And one morning--all gone!" Uncle Chris drove the point homewith a gesture. "I did what I could. When I found that there were only afew hundreds left, for your sake I took a chance. All heart and no head!There you have Christopher Selby in a nutshell! A man at the club, a foolnamed--I've forgotten his damn name--recommended Amalgamated Dyestuffs asa speculation. Monroe, that was his name, Jimmy Monroe. He talked aboutthe future of British Dyes now that Germany was out of the race, and ...well, the long and short of it was that I took his advice and bought onmargin. Bought like the devil. And this morning Amalgamated Dyestuffs wentall to blazes. There you have the whole story!"
"And now," said Jill, "comes the sequel!"
"The sequel?" said Uncle Chris breezily. "Happiness, my dear,happiness! Wedding bells and--and all that sort of thing!" Hestraddled the hearth-rug manfully, and swelled his chest out. He wouldpermit no pessimism on this occasion of rejoicing. "You don't supposethat the fact of your having lost your money--that is to say--er--of_my_ having lost your money--will affect a splendid young fellow likeDerek Underhill? I know him better than to think that! I've alwaysliked him. He's a man you can trust! Besides," he added reflectively,"there's no need to tell him! Till after the wedding, I mean. It won'tbe hard to keep up appearances here for a month or so."
"Of course we must tell him!"
"You think it wise?"
"I don't know about it being wise. It's the only thing to do. I mustsee him to-night. Oh, I forgot. He was going away this afternoon for aday or two."
"Capital! It will give you time to think it over."
"I don't want to think it over. There's nothing to think about."
"Of course, yes, of course. Quite so."
"I shall write him a letter."
"Write, eh?"
"It's easier to put what one wants to say in a letter."
"Letters," began Uncle Chris, and stopped as the door opened. Jane,the parlourmaid, entered, carrying a salver.
"For me?" asked Uncle Chris.
"For Miss Jill, sir."
Jill took the note off the salver.
"It's from Derek."
"There's a messenger-boy waiting, miss," said Jane. "He wasn't told ifthere was an answer."
"If the note is from Derek," said Uncle Chris, "it's not likely towant an answer. You said he left town to-day."
Jill opened the envelope.
"Is there an answer, miss?" asked Jane, after what she considered asuitable interval. She spoke tenderly. She was a great admirer ofDerek, and considered it a pretty action on his part to send noteslike this when he was compelled to leave London.
"Any answer, Jill?"
Jill seemed to rouse herself. She had turned oddly pale.
"No, no answer, Jane."
"Thank you, miss," said Jane, and went off to tell the cook that inher opinion Jill was lacking in heart. "It might have been a billinstead of a love-letter," said Jane to the cook with indignation,"the way she read it. I like people to have a little feeling!"
Jill sat turning the letter over and over in her fingers. Her face wasvery white. There seemed to be a big, heavy, leaden something insideher. A cold hand clutched her throat. Uncle Chris, who at first hadnoticed nothing untoward, now began to find the silence sinister.
"No bad news, I hope, dear?"
Jill turned the letter between her fingers.
"Jill, is it bad news?"
"Derek has broken off the engagement," said Jill in a dull voice. Shelet the note fall to the floor, and sat with her chin in her hands.
"What!" Uncle Chris leaped from the hearth-rug, as though the fire hadsuddenly scorched him. "What did you say?"
"He's broken it off."
"The hound!" cried Uncle Chris. "The blackguard! The--the--I neverliked that man! I never trusted him!" He fumed for a moment."But--but--it isn't possible. How can he have heard about what'shappened? He couldn't know. It's--it's--it isn't possible!"
"He doesn't know. It has nothing to do with that."
"But...." Uncle Chris stooped to where the note lay. "May I...?"
"Yes, you can read it if you like."
Uncle Chris produced a pair of reading-glasses, and glared throughthem at the sheet of paper as though it were some loathsome insect.
"The hound! The cad! If I were a younger man," shouted Uncle Chris,smiting the letter violently, "if I were.... Jill! My dear littleJill!"
He plunged down on his knees beside her, as she buried her face in herhands and began to sob.
"My little girl! Damn that man! My dear little girl! The cad! Thedevil! My own darling little girl! I'll thrash him within an inch ofhis life!"
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the minutes. Jill got up. Herface was wet and quivering, but her mouth had set in a brave line.
"Jill, dear!"
She let his hand close over hers.
"Everything's happening all at once this afternoon, Uncle Chris, isn'tit!" She smiled a twisted smile. "You look so funny! Your hair's allrumpled, and your glasses are over on one side!"
Uncle Chris breathed heavily through his nose.
"When I meet that man...." he began portentously.
"Oh, what's the good of bothering! It's not worth it! Nothing's worthit!" Jill stopped and faced him, her hands clenched. "Let's get away!Let's get right away! I want to get right away, Uncle Chris! Take meaway! Anywhere! Take me to America with you! I must get away!"
Uncle Chris raised his right hand, and shook it. His reading-glasses,hanging from his left ear, bobbed drunkenly.
"We'll sail by the next boat! The very next boat, dammit! I'll takecare of you, dear. I've been a blackguard to you, my little girl. I'verobbed you, and swindled you. But I'll make up for it, by George! I'llmake up for it! I'll give you a new home, as good as this, if I diefor it. There's nothing I won't do! Nothing! By Jove!" shouted UncleChris, raising his voice in a red-hot frenzy of emotion, "I'll work!Yes, by Gad, if it comes right down to it, I'll work!"
He brought his fist down with a crash on the table where Derek'sflowers stood in their bowl. The bowl leaped in the air and tumbledover, scattering the flowers on the floor.
Jill the Reckless Page 6
