The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure

by Arnold Bennett

  VI.

  "Come up here, Sir John," Edward Henry called. "You'll see better, andyou'll be out of the crowd. And I'll show you something."

  He stood, in a fur coat, at the top of a short flight of rough-surfacedsteps between two unplastered walls--a staircase which ultimately was toform part of an emergency exit from the dress-circle of the RegentTheatre. Sir John Pilgrim, also in a fur coat, stood near the bottom ofthe steps, with a glare of a Wells light full on him and throwing hisshadow almost up to Edward Henry's feet. Around, Edward Henry coulddescry the vast mysterious forms of the building's skeleton--black inplaces, but in other places lit up by bright rays from the gaiety below,and showing glimpses of that gaiety in the occasional revelation of awoman's cloak through slits in the construction. High overhead, twogigantic cranes interlaced their arms; and even higher than the cranes,shone the stars of the clear spring night.

  The hour was nearly half-past twelve. The ceremony was concluded--andsuccessfully concluded. All London had indeed been present. Half thearistocracy of England, and far more than half the aristocracy of theLondon stage! The entire preciosity of the metropolis! Journalistswith influence enough to plunge the whole of Europe into war! In oneshort hour Edward Henry's right hand (peeping out from the superb furcoat which he had had the wit to buy) had made the acquaintance ofscores upon scores of the most celebrated right hands in Britain. Hehad the sensation that in future, whenever he walked about the beststreets of the West End, he would be continually compelled to stop andchat with august and renowned acquaintances, and that he would always betaking off his hat to fine ladies who flashed by nodding from powerfulmotor-cars. Indeed, Edward Henry was surprised at the number of famouspeople who seemed to have nothing to do but attend advertising ritualsat midnight or thereabouts. Sir John Pilgrim had, as Marrier predicted,attended to the advertisements. But Edward Henry had helped. And on theday itself the evening newspapers had taken the bit between their teethand run off with the affair at a great pace. The affair was on all thecontents-bills hours before it actually happened. Edward Henry had beeninterviewed several times, and had rather enjoyed that. Gradually hehad perceived that his novel idea for a corner-stone-laying had caughtthe facile imagination of the London populace. For that night at leasthe was famous--as famous as anybody!

  Sir John had made a wondrous picturesque figure of himself as, in araised corner of the crowded and beflagged marquee, he had flourished atrowel and talked about the great and enlightened public, and about thehighest function of the drama, and about the duty of the artist toelevate, and about the solemn responsibility of theatrical managers, andabout the absence of petty jealousies in the world of the stage.Everybody had vociferously applauded, while reporters turned rapidly thepages of their note-books. "Ass!" Edward Henry had said to himself withmuch force and sincerity,--meaning Sir John,--but he too hadvociferously applauded; for he was from the Five Towns, and in the FiveTowns people are like that! Then Sir John had declared the corner-stonewell and truly laid (it was on the corner which the electric sign of thefuture was destined to occupy), and, after being thanked, had wanderedoff shaking hands here and there absently, to arrive at length in theoffice of the clerk of the works, where Edward Henry had arrangedsuitably to refresh the stone-layer and a few choice friends of bothsexes.

  He had hoped that Elsie April would somehow reach that little office.But Elsie April was absent, indisposed. Her absence made the oneblemish on the affair's perfection. Elsie April, it appeared, had beenstruck down by a cold which had entirely deprived her of her voice, sothat the performance of the Azure Society's Dramatic Club, so eagerlyanticipated by all London, had had to be postponed. Edward Henry borethe misfortune of the Azure Society with stoicism, but he had beenextremely disappointed by the invisibility of Elsie April at hisstone-laying. His eyes had wanted her.

  Sir John, awaking apparently out of a dream when Edward Henry hadsummoned him twice, climbed the uneven staircase and joined his host andyoungest rival on the insecure planks and gangways that covered thefirst floor of the Regent Theatre.

  "Come higher," said Edward Henry, mounting upward to the beginnings ofthe second story, above which hung suspended from the larger crane thegreat cage that was employed to carry brick and stone from the ground.

  The two fur coats almost mingled.

  "Well, young man," said Sir John Pilgrim, "your troubles will soon bebeginning."

  Now Edward Henry hated to be addressed as "young man," especially in thepatronising tone which Sir John used. Moreover, he had a suspicion thatin Sir John's mind was the illusion that Sir John alone was responsiblefor the creation of the Regent Theatre--that without Sir John's aid as astone-layer it could never have existed.

  "You mean my troubles as a manager?" said Edward Henry grimly.

  "In twelve months from now, before I come back from my world's tour,you'll be ready to get rid of this thing on any terms. You will bewishing that you had imitated my example and kept out of PiccadillyCircus. Piccadilly Circus is sinister, my Alderman--sinister."

  "Come up into the cage, Sir John," said Edward Henry. "You'll get astill better view. Rather fine, isn't it, even from here?"

  He climbed up into the cage and helped Sir John to climb.

  And, standing there in the immediate silence, Sir John murmured withemotion:

  "We are alone with London!"

  Edward Henry thought:

  "Cuckoo!"

  They heard footsteps resounding on loose planks in a distant corner.

  "Who's there?" Edward Henry called.

  "Only me!" replied a voice. "Nobody takes any notice of me!"

  "Who is it?" muttered Sir John.

  "Alloyd, the architect," Edward Henry answered, and then calling loud:"Come up here, Alloyd."

  The muffled and coated figure approached, hesitated, and then joined theother two in the cage.

  "Let me introduce Mr. Alloyd, the architect--Sir John Pilgrim," saidEdward Henry.

  "Ah!" said Sir John, bending towards Alloyd. "Are you the genius whodraws those amusing little lines and scrawls on transparent paper, Mr.Alloyd? Tell me, are they really necessary for a building, or do youonly do them for your own fun? Quite between ourselves, you know! I'veoften wondered."

  Said Mr. Alloyd with a pale smile:

  "Of course everyone looks on the architect as a joke!" The pause wassomewhat difficult.

  "You promised us rockets, Mr. Machin," said Sir John. "My mind yearnsfor rockets."

  "Right you are!" Edward Henry complied. Close by, but somewhat abovethem, was the crane-engine, manned by an engineer whom Edward Henry waspaying for overtime. A signal was given, and the cage containing theproprietor and the architect of the theatre and Sir John Pilgrim boundedmost startlingly up into the air. Simultaneously it began to revolverapidly on its cable, as such cages will, whether filled with bricks orwith celebrities.

  "Oh!" ejaculated Sir John, terror-struck, clinging hard to the side ofthe cage.

  "Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Alloyd, also clinging hard.

  "I want you to see London," said Edward Henry, who had been through theexperience before.

  The wind blew cold above the chimneys.

  The cage came to a standstill exactly at the peak of the other crane.London lay beneath the trio. The curves of Regent Street and ofShaftesbury Avenue, the right lines of Piccadilly, Lower Regent Street,and Coventry Street, were displayed at their feet as on an illuminatedmap, over which crawled mannikins and toy autobuses. At their feet along procession of automobiles were sliding off, one after another, withthe guests of the evening. The metropolis stretched away, lifting tothe north, and sinking to the south into jewelled river on whose curvedbank rose messages of light concerning whisky, tea, and beer. Thepeaceful nocturnal roar of the city, dwindling every moment now, reachedthem like an emanation from another world.

  "You asked for a rocket, Sir John," said Edward Henry. "You shall haveit."

  He had tak
en a box of fuses from his pocket. He struck one, and hiscompanions in the swaying cage now saw that a tremendous rocket was hungto the peak of the other crane. He lighted the fuse.... An instant ofdeathly suspense! ... And then with a terrific and a shattering bang andsplutter the rocket shot towards the kingdom of heaven, and there burstinto a vast dome of red blossoms which, irradiating a square mile ofroofs, descended slowly and softly on the West End like a benediction.

  "You always want crimson, don't you, Sir John?" said Edward Henry, andthe easy cheeriness of his voice gradually tranquillised the alarmnatural to two very earthly men who for the first time found themselvessuspended insecurely over a gulf.

  "I have seen nothing so impressive since the Russian ballet," murmuredMr. Alloyd, recovering.

  "You ought to go to Siberia, Alloyd," said Edward Henry.

  Sir John Pilgrim, pretending now to be extremely brave, suddenly turnedon Edward Henry and in a convulsive grasp seized his hand.

  "My friend," he said hoarsely, "a thought has just occurred to me: youand I are the two most remarkable men in London!" He glanced up as thecage trembled. "How thin that steel rope seems!"

  The cage slowly descended, with many twists.

  Edward Henry said not a word. He was too deeply moved by his owntriumph to be able to speak.

  "Who else but me," he reflected, exultant, "could have managed thisaffair as I've managed it? Did anyone else ever take Sir John Pilgrimup into the sky like a load of bricks, and frighten his life out ofhim?"

  As the cage approached the platforms of the first story he saw twopeople waiting there; one he recognised as the faithful, harmlessMarrier; the other was a woman.

  "Someone here wants you urgently, Mr. Machin!" cried Marrier.

  "By Jove," exclaimed Alloyd under his breath, "what a beautiful figure!No girl as attractive as that ever wanted _me_ urgently! Some folks dohave luck!"

  The woman had moved a little away when the cage landed. Edward Henryfollowed her along the planking.

  It was Elsie April.

  "I thought you were ill in bed," he breathed, astounded.

  Her answering voice reached him, scarcely audible:

  "I'm only hoarse. My cousin Rose has arrived to-night in secret atTilbury by the _Minnetonka_."

  "The _Minnetonka_!" he muttered. Staggering coincidence! Mysticheralding of misfortune!

  "I was sent for," the pale ghost of a delicate voice continued. "She'sbroken, ruined; no courage left. Awful fiasco in Chicago! She's hidingnow at a little hotel in Soho. She absolutely declined to come to myhotel. I've done what I could for the moment. As I was driving by herejust now I saw the rocket, and I thought of you. I thought you ought toknow it. I thought it was my duty to tell you."

  She held her muff to her mouth. She seemed to be trembling.

  A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

  "Excuse me, sir," said a strong, rough voice. "Are you the gent thatfired off the rocket? It's against the law to do that kind o' thinghere, and you ought to know it. I shall have to trouble you--"

  It was a policeman of the C division.

  Sir John was disappearing, with his stealthy and conspiratorial air,down the staircase.