There had been a long silence between us. We sat lunching comfortably at
the Ritz, and the Spring air came pleasantly in at the open window beside
us. I watched the people passing by and commented on some of them to Tony,
but he seemed completely wrapped in meditation.
Really it was a little aggravating. Spring always thrills me to the tips of
my fingers; I had put on my very nicest clothes; we were eating the very
last word in lunches, and there was a glorious atmosphere of holiday in the
air; but it was all lost on Tony.
Suddenly he roused himself. "It's a queer thing," he began _a propos_ of
nothing, abstractedly toying with his _peche Melba_ and lapsing into
thoughtful silence again.
"Shouldn't be surprised," I retorted sharply.
Then I looked across at him and my heart smote me. He is extraordinarily
good to look upon--fair crinkled hair, Saxon colouring and blue eyes that
can warm up so delightfully at moments.
"What is queer, Tony?" I went on more gently, conscious that in spite of
his abstraction his gaze was wandering appreciatively in my direction, so
that I felt my new blouse was not entirely wasted after all.
"Well, the fact is," he roused himself to start, "I've been making some
_very_ interestin' experiments."
"Oh!" I said, a trifle disappointed.
"Yes, very interestin' indeed. You know, of course, that I've only been
demobbed about six months, so there's no ghastly hurry or anythin', but I
rather feel that I ought to begin to think of doin' somethin'--some
business, profession sort of affair, I mean. Havin' made up my mind more or
less, I thought I'd come up to town yesterday and have a talk with one or
two of the fellows I know who have got jobs--get a few tips and so on."
"That sounds an awfully good idea," I encouraged him.
"Well, it was rather," he agreed modestly, "but on my life, Betty, you'd
never believe----Well, I'll tell you.
"I dropped in first of all on Dixon. Not a bad chap at all, one of
those--you know--solicitors. Partner in an A1 firm an' all that. They're
fairly rakin' in money at present with this boom in Divorce Court stunts.
"Anyway we began talkin' about old times and so on, as I hadn't seen him
for ages. We got laughin' over some of his funny stories about their
stuff--no names or anythin' like that, of course--and then bit by bit I
started tellin' him what was really at the back of my mind about takin' up
the work. I don't think he grasped it quite at first, but when he did he
just leant back in his chair and looked at me with a kind of pityin'
expression. 'My dear old boy,' he said, 'take it from a friend, one who has
been through it--don't! It's a dog's life; years of training; work all day
and night. No peace. Responsibility all the time. You know, dear old
fellow, what you want is a soft job. Why don't you start stock-brokin' or
somethin'?'
"Well, of course that was a bit of a set-back; still I thought, 'Are we
down-hearted?' So I trotted on round to old Simkins--remember that
stockbroker chap we ran into at the Gaiety the other evenin'? He's a decent
sort of fellow; clever an' all that too--but not by way of overworkin'
himself.
"Well, I got to his office and asked him out to lunch at the Club, but he
wouldn't hear of it. 'My dear old man,' he said, 'you're comin' right along
with me to the Carlton, and we're goin' to have the best lunch they can
turn out. I tell you I've struck lucky this morning; absolutely had a
haul!'
"Well, I thought that sounded pretty cheery, so we toddled off, and I must
say they did us jolly well. It seemed just the chance to get him to talk in
a pally sort of way, so I simply put it to him straight and told him what I
was thinkin' of doin'. He listened to me a bit doubtfully for a few minutes
and then leaned across the table and put his hand on my arm, interruptin'
me. 'Don't you do it, my son,' he said. 'As a pal I warn you. The work! the
worry! the carking anxiety! Take my word for it the life of a stockbroker
isn't fit for a dog.'
"Seemed funny, didn't it? Only he was so insistent that I began to get the
hump about it myself too and after a little while I managed to leave him
and rolled off to get cheered up by Bird. Teddy Bird's one of the best of
fellows--always merry an' bright. They manufacture ladies' jumpers or
somethin' of the sort; they were on Army clothin' durin' the War; pots of
money, of course; not doin' too badly now either.
"I just blew in an' told him to come on the binge or somethin' to cheer me
up. He wanted to know what I had got the hump about, so I told him about
these other two chaps, and really I was beginnin' to think what a let-off I
had had. Then a bright idea flashed into my mind. Why shouldn't _I_
manufacture somethin'? It seemed such a toppin' good scheme that I asked
him straight out what he thought about it.
"'My poor innocent lad,' he said, 'don't you yet realise the sort of
existence fellows like me have to lead? Labour troubles, money troubles,
taxation on profits. Why, good heavens, it's little better than a dog's
life!'
"I kind of felt crumpled and left him."
Tony looked across at me gloomily.
There was a heavy silence. I couldn't think of anything comforting to say.
He paid the bill and we started threading our way towards Piccadilly.
"But, Tony," I finally suggested rather desperately, "you said just now
there isn't such a ghastly hurry. Why don't you just stay round and amuse
yourself for a bit till something crops up?"
He turned and gazed at me reproachfully.
"My dear Betty," he said, "I thought you understood me better than that.
For a fellow of real ambition and keenness for gettin' on, it's absolutely
feedin', an existence like this, just messin' about. It's the limit. Why,
it's nothin' better than a dog's----"