CHAPTER VIII
THE DRY-SALTERS WING DEREK
I
Doctors, laying down the law in their usual confident way, tell usthat the vitality of the human body is at its lowest at two o'clock inthe morning: and that it is then, as a consequence, that the mind isleast able to contemplate the present with equanimity, the future withfortitude, and the past without regret. Every thinking man, however,knows that this is not so. The true zero hour, desolate, gloom-ridden,and spectre-haunted, occurs immediately before dinner while we arewaiting for that cocktail. It is then that, stripped for a briefmoment of our armour of complacency and self-esteem, we see ourselvesas we are--frightful chumps in a world where nothing goes right; agrey world in which, hoping to click, we merely get the raspberry;where, animated by the best intentions, we nevertheless succeed inperpetrating the scaliest bloomers and landing our loved onesneck-deep in the gumbo.
So reflected Freddie Rooke, that priceless old bean, sittingdisconsolately in an arm-chair at the Drones Club about two weeksafter Jill's departure from England, waiting for his friend AlgyMartyn to trickle in and give him dinner.
Surveying Freddie, as he droops on his spine in the yielding leather,one is conscious of one's limitations as a writer. Gloom like hiscalls for the pen of a master. Zola could have tackled it nicely.Gorky might have made a stab at it. Dostoevsky would have handled itwith relish. But for oneself the thing is too vast. One cannot wangleit. It intimidates. It would have been bad enough in any case, forAlgy Martyn was late as usual and it always gave Freddie the pip tohave to wait for dinner: but what made it worse was the fact that theDrones was not one of Freddie's clubs and so, until the blighter Algyarrived, it was impossible for him to get his cocktail. There he sat,surrounded by happy, laughing young men, each grasping a glass of thegood old mixture-as-before, absolutely unable to connect. Some ofthem, casual acquaintances, had nodded to him, waved, and gone onlowering the juice,--a spectacle which made Freddie feel much as thewounded soldier would have felt if Sir Philip Sidney, instead ofoffering him the cup of water, had placed it to his own lips anddrained it with a careless "Cheerio!" No wonder Freddie experiencedthe sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoi'sRussian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work stranglinghis father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the cityreservoir, he turns to the cupboard, only to find the vodka-bottleempty.
Freddie gave himself up to despondency: and, as always in these dayswhen he was mournful, he thought of Jill. Jill's sad case was acontinual source of mental anguish to him. From the first he hadblamed himself for the breaking-off of her engagement with Derek. Ifhe had not sent the message to Derek from the police-station, thelatter would never have known about their arrest, and all would havebeen well. And now, a few days ago, had come the news of her financialdisaster, with its attendant complications.
It had descended on Freddie like a thunderbolt through the medium ofRonny Devereux.
"I say," Ronny had said, "have you heard the latest? Your pal,Underhill, has broken off his engagement with Jill Mariner."
"I know; rather rotten, what!"
"Rotten? I should say so! It isn't done. I mean to say, chap can'tchuck a girl just because she's lost her money. Simply isn't on theboard, old man!"
"Lost her money? What do you mean?"
Ronny was surprised. Hadn't Freddie heard? Yes, absolute fact. He hadit from the best authority. Didn't know how it had happened and allthat, but Jill Mariner had gone completely bust; Underhill had givenher the miss-in-baulk; and the poor girl had legged it, no one knewwhere. Oh, Freddie had met her and she had told him she was going toAmerica? Well, then, legged it to America. But the point was that theswine Underhill had handed her the mitten just because she was broke,and that was what Ronny thought so bally rotten. Broker a girl is,Ronny meant to say, more a fellow should stick to her.
"But--" Freddie rushed to his hero's defence. "But it wasn't that atall. Something quite different. I mean, Derek didn't even know Jillhad lost her money. He broke the engagement because...." Freddiestopped short. He didn't want everybody to know of that rotten arrestbusiness, as they infallibly would if he confided in Ronny Devereux.Sort of thing he would never hear the last of. "He broke it offbecause of something quite different."
"Oh, yes!" said Ronny sceptically.
"But he did, really!"
Ronny shook his head.
"Don't you believe it, old son. Don't you believe it. Stands to reasonit must have been because the poor girl was broke. You wouldn't havedone it and I wouldn't have done it, but Underhill did, and that's allthere is to it. I mean, a tick's a tick, and there's nothing more tosay. Well, I know he's been a pal of yours, Freddie, but, next time Imeet him, by Jove, I'll cut him dead. Only I don't know him to speakto, dash it!" concluded Ronny regretfully.
Ronny's news had upset Freddie. Derek had returned to the Albany acouple of days ago, moody and silent. They had lunched together at theBachelors, and Freddie had been pained at the attitude of hisfellow-clubmen. Usually, when he lunched at the Bachelors, his tablebecame a sort of social centre. Cheery birds would roll up to pass thetime of day, and festive old eggs would toddle over to have coffee andso forth, and all that sort of thing. Jolly! On this occasion nobodyhad rolled, and all the eggs present had taken their coffee elsewhere.There was an uncomfortable chill in the atmosphere of which Freddiehad been acutely conscious, though Derek had not appeared to noticeit. The thing had only come home to Derek yesterday at the Albany,when the painful episode of Wally Mason had occurred. It was thisway....
"Hullo, Freddie, old top! Sorry to have kept you waiting."
Freddie looked up from his broken meditations, to find that his hosthad arrived.
"Hullo!"
"A quick bracer," said Algy Martyn, "and then the jolly oldfood-stuffs. It's pretty late, I see. Didn't notice how time wasslipping."
Over the soup, Freddie was still a prey to gloom. For once the healinggin-and-vermouth had failed to do its noble work. He sipped sombrely,so sombrely as to cause comment from his host.
"Pipped?" enquired Algy solicitously.
"Pretty pipped," admitted Freddie.
"Backed a loser?"
"No."
"Something wrong with the old tum?"
"No.... Worried."
"Worried?"
"About Derek."
"Derek? Who's...? Oh, you mean Underhill?"
"Yes."
Algy Martyn chased an elusive piece of carrot about his soup plate,watching it interestedly as it slid coyly from the spoon.
"Oh?" he said, with sudden coolness. "What about him?"
Freddie was too absorbed in his subject to notice the change in hisfriend's tone.
"A dashed unpleasant thing," he said, "happened yesterday morning atmy place. I was just thinking about going out to lunch, when thedoor-bell rang and Barker said a chappie of the name of Mason wouldlike to see me. I didn't remember any Mason, but Barker said thechappie said he knew me when I was a kid. So he loosed him into theroom, and it turned out to be a fellow I used to know years ago downin Worcestershire. I didn't know him from Adam at first, but graduallythe old bean got to work, and I placed him. Wally Mason his name was.Rummily enough, he had spoken to me at the Leicester that night whenthe fire was, but not being able to place him, I had given him themiss somewhat. You know how it is. Cove you've never been introducedto says something to you in a theatre, and you murmur something andsheer off. What?"
"Absolutely," agreed Algy Martyn. He thoroughly approved of Freddie'scode of etiquette. Sheer off. Only thing to do.
"Well, anyhow, now that he had turned up again and told me who he was,I began to remember. We had been kids together, don't you know.(What's this? Salmon? Oh, right ho.) So I buzzed about and did thejovial host, you know; gave him a drink and a toofer, and all thatsort of thing; and talked about the dear old days and what not. And soforth, if you follow me. Then he brought the conversation round toJill. Of course he knew Jill at the same t
ime when he knew me, down inWorcestershire, you see. We were all pretty pally in those days, ifyou see what I mean. Well, this man Mason, it seems, had heardsomewhere about Jill losing her money, and he wanted to know if it wastrue. I said absolutely. Hadn't heard any details, but Ronny had toldme, and Ronny had had it from some one who had stable information andall that sort of thing. 'Dashed shame, isn't it?' I said. 'She's goneto America, you know.' 'I didn't know,' he said. 'I understood she wasgoing to be married quite soon.' Well, of course, I told him that thatwas off. He didn't say anything for a bit, then he said 'Off?' I said'Off.' 'Did she break it off?' asked the chappie. 'Well, no,' I said.'As a matter of fact Derek broke it off.' He said 'Oh!' (What? Oh yes,a bit of pheasant will be fine.) Where was I? Oh, yes. He said 'Oh!'Now, before this, I ought to tell you, this chappie Mason had askedme to come out and have a bit of lunch. I had told him I was lunchingwith Derek, and he said 'Right ho,' or words to that effect, 'Bringhim along.' Derek had been out for a stroll, you see, and we werewaiting for him to come in. Well, just at this point or juncture, ifyou know what I mean, in he came, and I said' Oh, what ho!' andintroduced Wally Mason. 'Oh, do you know Underhill?' I said, orsomething like that. You know the sort of thing. And then...."
Freddie broke off and drained his glass. The recollection of thatpainful moment had made him feverish. Social difficulties always did.
"Then what?" enquired Algy Martyn.
"Well, it was pretty rotten. Derek held out his hand, as a chappienaturally would, being introduced to a strange chappie, and WallyMason, giving it an absolute miss, went on talking to me just as if wewere alone, you know. Look here. Here was I, where this knife is.Derek over here--this fork--with his hand out. Mason here--this bit ofbread. Mason looks at his watch, and says 'I'm sorry, Freddie, but Ifind I've an engagement for lunch. So long!' and biffed out, withoutapparently knowing that Derek was on the earth. I mean...." Freddiereached for his glass. "What I mean is, it was dashed embarrassing. Imean, cutting a fellow dead in my rooms. I don't know when I've feltso rotten!"
Algy Martyn delivered judgment with great firmness.
"Chappie was perfectly right!"
"No, but I mean...."
"Absolutely correct-o," insisted Algy sternly. "Underhill can't dashabout all over the place giving the girl he's engaged to the mittenbecause she's broke, and expect no notice to be taken of it. If youwant to know what I think, old man, your pal Underhill--I can'timagine what the deuce you see in him, but, school together and soforth, makes a difference, I suppose--I say, if you want to know whatI think, Freddie, the blighter Underhill would be well advised eitherto leg it after Jill and get her to marry him or else lie low for agoodish while till people have forgotten the thing. I mean to say,fellows like Ronny and I and Dick Wimpole and Archie Studd and therest of our lot--well, we all knew Jill and thought she was a topperand had danced with her here and there and seen her about and allthat, and naturally we feel pretty strongly about the whole dashedbusiness. Underhill isn't in our particular set, but we all know mostof the people he knows, and we talk about this business, and the thinggets about, and there you are! My sister, who was a great pal ofJill's, swears that all the girls she knows mean to cut Underhill. Itell you, Freddie, London's going to get pretty hot for him if hedoesn't do something dashed quick and with great rapidity!"
"But you haven't got the story right, old thing!"
"How not?"
"Well, I mean you think and Ronny thinks and all the rest of you thinkthat Derek broke off the engagement because of the money. It wasn'tthat at all."
"What was it, then?"
"Well.... Well, look here, it makes me seem a fearful ass and allthat, but I'd better tell you. Jill and I were going down one of thosestreets near Victoria and a blighter was trying to slay a parrot...."
"Parrot-shooting's pretty good in those parts, they tell me,"interjected Algy satirically.
"Don't interrupt, old man. This parrot had got out of one of thehouses, and a fellow was jabbing at it with a stick, and Jill--youknow what she's like; impulsive, I mean, and all that--Jill got holdof the stick and biffed him with some vim, and a policeman rolled upand the fellow made a fuss and the policeman took Jill and me off tochokey. Well, like an ass, I sent round to Derek to bail us out, andthat's how he heard of the thing. Apparently he didn't think a lot ofit, and the result was that he broke off the engagement."
Algy Martyn had listened to this recital with growing amazement.
"He broke it off because of that?"
"Yes."
"What absolute rot!" said Algy Martyn. "I don't believe a word of it!"
"I say, old man!"
"I don't believe a word of it," repeated Algy firmly.
"And nobody else will either. It's dashed good of you, Freddie, tocook up a yarn like that to try and make things look better for theblighter, but it won't work. Such a damn silly story, too!" said Algywith some indignation.
"But it's true!"
"What's the use, Freddie, between old pals?" said Algy protestingly."You know perfectly well that Underhill's a worm of the mostpronounced order, and that, when he found out that Jill hadn't anymoney, he chucked her."
"But why should Derek care whether Jill was well off or not? He's gotenough money of his own."
"Nobody," said Algy judicially, "has got enough money of his own.Underhill thought he was marrying a girl with a sizable chunk of theready, and, when the fuse blew out, he decided it wasn't good enough.For Heaven's sake don't let's talk any more about the blighter. Itgives me a pain to think of him."
II
Freddie returned to the Albany in a state of gloom and uneasiness.Algy's remarks, coming on top of the Wally Mason episode, had shakenhim. The London in which he and Derek moved and had their being isnothing but a village, and it was evident that village gossip washostile to Derek. People were talking about him. Local opinion haddecided that he had behaved badly. Already one man had cut him.Freddie blenched at a sudden vision of streetfuls of men, longPiccadillys of men, all cutting him, one after the other. Somethinghad got to be done.
The subject was not an easy one to broach to his somewhat forbiddingfriend, as he discovered when the latter arrived about half an hourlater. Derek had been attending the semi-annual banquet of theWorshipful Dry-Salters Company down in the City, understudying one ofthe speakers, a leading member of Parliament, who had been unable toappear; and he was still in the grip of that feeling of degradedrepletion which City dinners induce.
Yet, unfavourably disposed as, judging by his silence and theoccasional moody grunts he uttered, he appeared to be to a discussionof his private affairs, it seemed to Freddie impossible that the nightshould be allowed to pass without some word spoken on the subject. Hethought of Ronny and what Ronny had said, of Algy and what Algy hadsaid, of Wally Mason and how Wally had behaved in this very room; andhe nerved himself to the task.
"Derek, old top."
A grunt.
"I say, Derek, old bean."
Derek roused himself, and looked gloomily across the room to where hestood, warming his legs at the blaze.
"Well?"
Freddie found a difficulty in selecting words. A ticklish business,this. One that might well have disconcerted a diplomat. Freddie was nodiplomat, and the fact enabled him to find a way in the presentcrisis. Equipped by nature with an amiable tactlessness and a happygift of blundering, he charged straight at the main point, and landedon it like a circus elephant alighting on a bottle.
"I say, you know, about Jill!"
He stooped to rub the backs of his legs, on which the fire was playingwith a little too fierce a glow, and missed his companion's start andthe sudden thickening of his bushy eyebrows.
"Well?" said Derek again.
Freddie nerved himself to proceed. A thought flashed across his mindthat Derek was looking exactly like Lady Underhill. It was the firsttime he had seen the family resemblance quite so marked.
"Ronny Devereux was saying...." faltered Freddie.
"Damn Ronny Devereux!"
"Oh, absolutely! But...."
"Ronny Devereux! Who the devil _is_ Ronny Devereux?"
"Why, old man, you've heard me speak of him, haven't you? Pal of mine.He came down to the station with Algy and me to meet your mater thatmorning."
"Oh, _that_ fellow? And he has been saying something about...?"
"It isn't only Ronny, you know," Freddie hastened to interject. "AlgyMartyn's talking about it, too. And lots of other fellows. And Algy'ssister and a lot of peoples They're all saying...."
"What are they saying?"
Freddie bent down and chafed the back of his legs. He simply couldn'tlook at Derek while he had that Lady Underhill expression on the oldmap. Rummy he had never noticed before how extraordinarily like hismother he was. Freddie was conscious of a faint sense of grievance. Hecould not have put it into words, but what he felt was that a fellowhad no right to go about looking like Lady Underhill.
"What are they saying?" repeated Derek grimly.
"Well...." Freddie hesitated. "That it's a bit tough.... On Jill, youknow."
"They think I behaved badly?"
"Well.... Oh, well, you know!"
Derek smiled a ghastly smile. This was not wholly due to mentaldisturbance. The dull heaviness which was the legacy of theDry-Salters' dinner had begun to change to something more activelyunpleasant. A sub-motive of sharp pain had begun to run through it,flashing in and out like lightning through a thunder-cloud. He feltsullen and vicious.
"I wonder," he said with savage politeness, "if, when you chat withyour friends, you would mind choosing some other topic than my privateaffairs."
"Sorry, old man. But they started it, you know."
"And, if you feel you've got to discuss me, kindly keep it toyourself. Don't come and tell me what your damned friends said to eachother and to you and what you said to them, because it bores me. I'mnot interested. I don't value their opinions as much as you seem to."Derek paused, to battle in silence with the imperious agony withinhim. "It was good of you to put me up here," he went on, "but I thinkI won't trespass on your hospitality any longer. Perhaps you'll askBarker to pack my things to-morrow." Derek moved, as majestically asan ex-guest of the Worshipful Company of Dry-Salters may, in thedirection of the door. "I shall go to the Savoy."
"Oh, I say, old man! No need to do that."
"Good night."
"But, I say...."
"And you can tell your friend Devereux that, if he doesn't stop pokinghis nose into my private business, I'll pull it off."
"Well," said Freddie doubtfully, "of course I don't suppose you know,but.... Ronny's a pretty hefty bird. He boxed for Cambridge in thelight-weights the last year he was up, you know. He...."
Derek slammed the door. Freddie was alone. He stood rubbing his legsfor some minutes, a rueful expression on his usually cheerful face.Freddie hated rows. He liked everything to jog along smoothly. What arotten place the world was these days! Just one thing after another.First, poor old Jill takes the knock and disappears. He would missher badly. What a good sort! What a pal! And now--gone. Biffed off.Next, Derek. Together, more or less, ever since Winchester, andnow--bing!...
Freddie heaved a sigh, and reached out for the _Sporting Times_, hisnever-failing comfort in times of depression. He lit another cigar andcurled up in one of the arm-chairs. He was feeling tired. He had beenplaying squash all the afternoon, a game at which he was exceedinglyexpert and to which he was much addicted.
Time passed. The paper slipped to the floor. A cold cigar followed it.From the depths of the chair came a faint snore....
* * * * *
A hand on his shoulder brought Freddie with a jerk from troubleddreams. Derek was standing beside him. A bent, tousled Derek,apparently in pain.
"Freddie!"
"Hullo!"
A spasm twisted Derek's face.
"Have you got any pepsin?"
Derek uttered a groan. What a mocker of our petty human dignity isthis dyspepsia, bringing low the haughtiest of us, less than loveitself a respecter of persons. This was a different Derek from the manwho had stalked stiffly from the room two hours before. His pride hadbeen humbled upon the rack.
"Pepsin?"
"Yes. I've got the most damned attack of indigestion."
The mists of sleep rolled away from Freddie. He was awake again, andbecame immediately helpful. These were the occasions when the Last ofthe Rookes was a good man to have at your side. It was Freddie whosuggested that Derek should recline in the arm-chair which he hadvacated; Freddie who nipped round the corner to the all-nightchemist's and returned with a magic bottle guaranteed to relieve anostrich after a surfeit of tenpenny nails; Freddie who mixed andadministered the dose.
His ministrations were rewarded. Presently the agony seemed to pass.Derek recovered.
One would say that Derek became himself again, but that the mood ofgentle remorse which came upon him as he lay in the arm-chair was oneso foreign to his nature. Freddie had never seen him so subdued. Hewas like a convalescent child. Between them, the all-night chemist andthe Dry. Salters seemed to have wrought a sort of miracle. Thesetemporary softenings of personality frequently follow City dinners.The time to catch your Dry-Salter in angelic mood is the day after thesemi-annual banquet. Go to him then and he will give you his watch andchain.
"Freddie," said Derek.
They were sitting over the dying fire. The clock on the mantelpiece,beside which Jill's photograph had stood pointed to ten minutes pasttwo. Derek spoke in a low, soft voice. Perhaps the doctors are rightafter all, and two o'clock is the hour at which our self-esteemdeserts us, leaving in its place regret for past sins, goodresolutions for future behaviour.
"What do Martyn and the others say about ... you know?"
Freddie hesitated. Pity to start all that again.
"Oh, I know," went on Derek. "They say I behaved like a cad."
"Oh, well...."
"They are quite right. I did."
"Oh, I shouldn't say that, you know. Faults on both sides and all thatsort of rot."
"I did!" Derek stared into the fire. Scattered all over London at thatmoment, probably a hundred Worshipful Dry-Salters were equallysleepless and subdued, looking wide-eyed into black pasts. "Is it trueshe has gone to America, Freddie?"
"She told me she was going."
"What a fool I've been!"
The clock ticked on through the silence. The fire sputtered faintly,then gave a little wheeze, like a very old man. Derek rested his chinon his hands, gazing into the ashes.
"I wish to God I could go over there and find her."
"Why don't you?"
"How can I? There may be an election coming on at any moment. I can'tstir."
Freddie leaped from his seat. The suddenness of the action sent ared-hot corkscrew of pain through Derek's head.
"What the devil's the matter?" he demanded irritably. Even the gentlemood which comes with convalescence after a City dinner is notguaranteed to endure against this sort of thing.
"I've got an idea, old bean!"
"Well, there's no need to dance, is there?"
"I've nothing to keep me here, you know. What's the matter with mypopping over to America and finding Jill?" Freddie tramped the floor,aglow. Each beat of his foot jarred Derek, but he made no complaint.
"Could you?" he asked eagerly.
"Of course I could. I was saying only the other day that I had half amind to buzz over. It's a wheeze! I'll get on the next boat and chargeover in the capacity of a jolly old ambassador. Have her back in notime. Leave it to me, old thing! This is where I come out strong!"
Jill the Reckless Page 8
