III.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Seven Sachs, "I have to thank you for getting meout of a very unsatisfactory situation."
"Did you really want to get out of it?" asked Edward Henry.
Mr. Sachs replied simply.
"I did, sir. There were too many partners for my taste."
They were seated more familiarly now in the drawing-room, being indeedseparated only by a small table upon which were glasses. And whereas ona night in the previous week Edward Henry had been entertained by Mr.Bryany in a private parlour at the Turk's Head, Hanbridge, on this nighthe was in a sort repaying the welcome to Mr. Bryany's master in aprivate parlour at Wilkins's, London. The sole difference in favour ofMr. Bryany was that, while Mr. Bryany provided cigarettes and whisky,Edward Henry was providing only cigarettes and Vichy water. Mr. SevenSachs had said that he never took whisky; and though Edward Henry'spassion for Vichy water was not quite ungovernable, he thought well togive rein to it on the present occasion, having read somewhere thatVichy water placated the stomach.
Joseph had been instructed to retire.
"And not only that," resumed Mr. Seven Sachs, "but you've got a verygood thing entirely into your own hands! Masterly, sir! Masterly!Why, at the end you positively had the air of doing them a favour! Youmade them believe you _were_ doing them a favour."
"And don't you think I was?"
Mr. Sachs reflected, and then laughed.
"You were," he said. "That's the beauty of it. But at the same time youwere getting away with the goods!"
It was by sheer instinct, and not by learning, that Edward Henry fullygrasped, as he did, the deep significance of the American idiom employedby Mr. Seven Sachs. He, too, laughed, as Mr. Sachs had laughed. He wasimmeasurably flattered. He had not been so flattered since the Countessof Chell had permitted him to offer her China tea, meringues, and Berlinpancakes at the Sub Rosa tea-rooms in Hanbridge--and that was a verylong time ago.
"You really _do_ think it's a good thing?" Edward Henry ventured, for hehad not yet been convinced of the entire goodness of theatricalenterprise near Piccadilly Circus.
Mr. Seven Sachs convinced him--not by argument, but by the sincerity ofhis gestures and tones; for it was impossible to question that Mr. SevenSachs knew what he was talking about. The shape of Mr. Seven Sachs'chin was alone enough to prove that Mr. Sachs was incapable of a mereignorant effervescence. Everything about Mr. Sachs was persuasive andconfidence-inspiring. His long silences had the easy vigour of oratory,and they served also to make his speech peculiarly impressive.Moreover, he was a handsome and a dark man, and probably half a dozenyears younger than Edward Henry. And the discipline of lime-light hadtaught him the skill to be forever graceful. And his smile, rare enough,was that of a boy.
"Of course," said he, "if Miss Euclid and the others had had any sense,they might have done very well for themselves. If you ask me, theoption alone is worth ten thousand dollars. But then they haven't anysense! And that's all there is to it!"
"So you'd advise me to go ahead with the affair on my own?"
Mr. Seven Sachs, his black eyes twinkling, leaned forward and becamerather intimately humorous:
"You look as if you wanted advice, don't you?" said he.
"I suppose I do, now I come to think of it!" agreed Edward Henry with amost admirable quizzicalness; in spite of the fact that he had notreally meant to "go ahead with the affair," being in truth a littledoubtful of his capacity to handle it.
But Mr. Seven Sachs was, all unconsciously, forcing Edward Henry tobelieve in his own capacities; and the two, as it were, suddenlydeveloped a more cordial friendliness. Each felt the quick lifting ofthe plane of their relations, and was aware of a pleasurable emotion.
"I'm moving onwards--gently onwards," crooned Edward Henry to himself."What price Brindley and his half-crown now?" Londoners might call hima provincial, and undoubtedly would call him a provincial; he admitted,even, that he felt like a provincial in the streets of London. And yethere he was, "doing Londoners in the eye all over the place," andreceiving the open homage of Mr. Seven Sachs, whose name was the basisof a cosmopolitan legend.
And now he made the cardinal discovery, which marks an epoch in the lifeof every man who arrives at it, that world-celebrated persons are verylike other persons. And he was happy and rather proud in thisdiscovery, and began to feel a certain vague desire to tell Mr. SevenSachs the history of his career--or at any rate the picturesque portionsof it. For he, too, was famous in his own sphere; and in thedrawing-room of Wilkins's one celebrity was hobnobbing with another!("Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Brindley!") Yes, he washappy, both in what he had already accomplished, and in thecontemplation of romantic adventures to come.
And yet his happiness was marred--not fatally, but quite appreciably--bya remorse that no amount of private argument with himself would conjureaway. Which was the more singular in that a morbid tendency to remorsehad never been among Edward Henry's defects! He was worrying, foolishfellow, about the false telephone-call in which, for the purpose oftesting Rose Euclid's loyalty to the new enterprise, he had pretended tobe the new private secretary of Sir John Pilgrim. Yet what harm had itdone? And had it not done a lot of good? Rose Euclid and her youthfulworshipper were no worse off than they had been before being victimisedby the deceit of the telephone-call. Prior to the call they had assumedthemselves to be deprived forever of the benefits which association withSir John Pilgrim could offer, and as a fact they were deprived foreverof such benefits. Nothing changed there! Before the call they had hadno hope of lunching with the enormous Sir John on the morrow, and as afact they would not lunch with the enormous Sir John on the morrow.Nothing changed there either! Again, in no event would Edward Henryhave joined the trio in order to make a quartette in partnership. Evenhad he been as convinced of Rose's loyalty as he was convinced of herdisloyalty, he would never have been rash enough to co-operate with sucha crew. Again, nothing changed!
On the other hand, he had acquired an assurance of the artiste'sduplicity, which assurance had made it easier for him to disappoint her,while the prospect of a business repast with Sir John had helped her tobear the disappointment as a brave woman should. It was true that onthe morrow, about lunch-time, Rose Euclid and Carlo Trent might have tolive through a few rather trying moments, and they would certainly bevery angry; but these drawbacks would have been more than compensatedfor in advance by the pleasures of hope. And had they not between thempocketed seventy-five pounds which they had stood to lose?
Such reasoning was unanswerable, and his remorse did not attempt toanswer it. His remorse was not open to reason; it was one of thosestupid, primitive sentiments which obstinately persist in the refinedand rational fabric of modern humanity.
He was just sorry for Rose Euclid.
"Do you know what I did?" he burst out confidentially, and confessed thewhole telephone trick to Mr. Seven Sachs.
Mr. Seven Sachs, somewhat to Edward Henry's surprise, expressed highadmiration of the device.
"A bit mean, though, don't you think?" Edward Henry protested weakly.
"Not at all!" cried Mr. Sachs. "You got the goods on her. And shedeserved it."
(Again this enigmatic and mystical word "goods"! But he understood it.)
Thus encouraged, he was now quite determined to give Mr. Seven Sachs abrief episodic account of his career. A fair conversational opening wasall he wanted in order to begin.
"I wonder what will happen to her--ultimately?" he said, meaning to workback from the ends of careers to their beginnings, and so to himself.
"Rose Euclid?"
"Yes."
Mr. Sachs shook his head compassionately.
"How did Mr. Bryany get in with her?" asked Edward Henry.
"Bryany is a highly peculiar person," said Mr. Seven Sachs familiarly."He's all right so long as you don't unstrap him. He was born toconvince newspaper reporters of his own greatness."
/> "I had a bit of talk with him myself," said Edward Henry.
"Oh, yes! He told me all about you."
"But _I_ never told him anything about myself," said Edward Henryquickly.
"No, but he has eyes, you know, and ears too. Seems to me the people ofthe Five Towns do little else of a night but discuss you, Mr. Machin._I_ heard a good bit when _I_ was down there, though I don't go aboutmuch when I'm on the road. I reckon I could write a whole biography ofyou."
Edward Henry smiled self-consciously. He was of course enraptured, butat the same time it was disappointing to find Mr. Sachs already so fullyinformed as to the details of his career. However, he did not intend tolet that prevent him from telling the story afresh, in his own manner.
"I suppose you've had your adventures too," he remarked withnonchalance, partly from politeness, but mainly in order to avoid theappearance of hurry in his egotism.
The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure Page 19
