GEORGE TACKLES THE LABOUR PROBLEM
The following summer Percy Taverner visited his aunts. This gentleman,
who was younger than George, would in due course inherit the money left
by the late Mr. Yard to his sons and daughters, of whom the two ladies
of Highfield were now the sole survivors. Therefore Percy had nothing to
lose by being uncivil, although as a matter of fact he had only
neglected Mrs. Drake because he disliked her husband. His Aunt Sophy he
loved with good reason, for he made a living by mortgaging his fruit
farm, and when the borrowed money was spent he had only to explain
matters to Miss Yard, and she would pay off the mortgage and immediately
forget all about it. Percy was not an idler like George, but he
possessed little business capacity, and had selected a form of
occupation about which he knew nothing whatever; and as he would be
quite a rich man when his aunts departed, he did not take the trouble to
learn. Nor did he care to consider such examples of longevity as the
giant tortoise and the Yellow Leaf.
Miss Yard was delighted to see Percy, but greatly distressed when he
declined to kiss his own sister; at least he was willing, but Nellie
positively refused. The usual explanations were gone through, and the
good lady tried hard to understand.
"Of course you are right not to kiss Nellie as she's your cousin. Young
people who can marry must not get into the habit of kissing each other,"
she said.
Mrs. Drake was inclined to be chilly towards Percy, but thawed quickly
when he revealed himself as an attentive and obliging young man. She was
quite sorry he had to sleep across the road in Bessie's cottage because
there was no spare room in Windward House; and was almost indignant when
Percy declared upon the second day he could not stay until the end of
the week, as he dared not neglect his tomato plants.
"Your foreman can look after them," she said. "I have not seen you for
years, and after all there's nothing like one's own relations. It's a
pleasure to have some one to talk to, for your poor Aunt Sophy is
getting so stupid, and George is no company at all. What do you think of
George?" she asked suddenly.
"Not much," replied Percy with a laugh.
"I want to speak to you about George," Mrs. Drake continued. "You're the
head of my family, so I should like your advice about the
good-for-nothing creature. He is getting on for forty, and has never
done a day's work in his life. He sleeps here, and takes his meals, and
grumbles, and begs money--and, my dear Percy, he has been seen coming
out of the public house. He does nothing whatever. He won't even dig up
the potatoes."
"He knows you can't leave him anything?" asked Percy.
"Of course he knows it. He will have the furniture and all the
curiosities collected by the Captain; I think that's only right, and
besides, I promised my husband he should have them. But the things won't
be of much use if he hasn't got a home."
"He can sell them," said Percy.
"Second-hand furniture goes for next to nothing," replied Mrs. Drake.
"That depends," said Percy. Then he pointed to the mantelpiece and
continued, "If I were you, Aunt, I should wrap those two Chinese vases
in cotton-wool, and put them away."
"Are they really valuable? My dear husband thought they were, but I'm
afraid he didn't know much about such things, and he would exaggerate
sometimes. He used to say they were worth a hundred pounds apiece."
"He was under the mark," said Percy. "I'm not an expert, but I know more
about Chinese vases than I do about tomatoes, as a friend of mine deals
in the things, and I've picked up a lot from him. I believe those vases
are worth a heap of money."
"Well, that is a surprise!" cried Mrs. Drake. "I shall take your advice
and pack them away. Don't mention it to George."
"Certainly not," said Percy, somewhat indignantly.
"And now what can you suggest?" Mrs. Drake continued, waddling to the
mantelpiece and flicking a disreputable blowfly from one of the vases.
"I have told George plainly a hundred times he must do something for a
living, but he won't take a hint. I suppose you wouldn't care to give
him employment? He ought to know something about fruit, as he spends
half his time leaning against an apple tree."
"He wouldn't work under me. Besides, I'm doing a losing business as it
is. It's a jolly difficult problem, Aunt."
"Will you open his eyes to his folly and wickedness? If you can't make
him ashamed, you may be able to frighten him. Tell him, if he works, I
will help him; but, if he won't work, I'll do nothing more for him."
"All right, Aunt. I'll shift the beggar," said Percy cheerfully; and he
went out to search for his victim.
George was reclining upon a seat which his uncle had dedicated to the
public for ever, to commemorate the return of the Drakes to Highfield.
When he saw the enemy approaching he closed his eyes; for his cunning
nature suggested that Percy would respect his slumbers unless he came as
a special messenger. When the footsteps ceased, and the ferrule of a
stick was pressed gently against his ribs, George realised that a
certain amount of trouble awaited him.
"I was sound asleep. It's a tiring day, and I've been a long walk," he
explained amiably. "Sit down, old chap, and look at the view; but if you
want to admire the sunset, I should advise you to go higher up."
"I don't want to admire the sunset," replied Percy. "I've been having a
talk with Aunt Maria----"
"And I've been to Black Anchor," broke in George. "I don't suppose
you've read my uncle's history of the parish. It's a classic, and there
are nine hundred copies at home. People called Slack were living there
when we came; a regular bad lot and a disgrace to the village."
"Friends of yours?" asked Percy.
"Not likely! They were no better than savages. The man hobbled off one
day and has never been seen since, and the woman was sent to prison for
stealing, and the children were taken into a Home. The farm has been
without a tenant for the last two years, and now an old man named Brock
has taken it."
"Perhaps he would give you a job," suggested Percy.
"That's a good idea. I'm sorry I forgot to ask him when I went over this
afternoon," said the amiable George, perfectly well aware in which
direction the wind was blowing. "Unluckily the old chap hasn't any
money. He cooks the grub while his grandson drains the bogs. Everybody's
talking about it; they can't get over the idea of two men running a farm
without a woman. Sidney, the young chap, wants to go into the Navy, but
he sacrifices his future to help his grandfather. Funny idea that! Now
if my uncle had been alive he would have got young Brock on a training
ship, I warrant."
"Funny idea he should want to do some good for his grandfather?"
"No; but it's queer that a chap who wants to go into the Navy should
come to Black Anchor with all its associations of us Drakes," said
George loftily. Then he added, "I'm rested now, so I'll take a stroll."
"Just as you like. We'll sit here and talk, or we'll stroll and talk,"
said the pestilential Percy.
"Go on then," said George sourly.
So Percy in his capacity of ambassador delivered the ultimatum: Aunt
Maria had borne with her husband's nephew for a great number of years,
postponing vigorous action out of a mistaken kindness, but she was now
firmly resolved upon the act of expulsion. "It's for your sake
entirely," he continued. "Naturally Aunt wants to see you settled in
some business, as she knows she can't leave you anything."
"Except the furniture," remarked George indifferently.
"That's not exactly a fortune," replied Percy, wondering how much his
cousin knew about Chinese vases.
"My uncle promised I should have the furniture," said the monotonous
George.
"Every man should work," observed Percy virtuously.
"I could manage tomatoes," retorted George.
"I shall be a rich man when the aunts die, while you will have nothing.
I don't require to build up a business. Don't you want a home of your
own, wife and children, and all that sort of thing?"
"No," said George.
"What do you want then?"
"Board and lodging, and some one to look after me," replied the candid
cousin.
"Aunt Maria has said her last word. She won't keep you in idleness any
longer. And I'm going to stay here until you leave the place."
"They never brought me up to do anything," argued George for the
defence.
"They did their best, but you wouldn't work."
"They ought to have made me. I was young then, and it was their duty to
make me submit to discipline. Now I'm middle-aged."
"Thirty-eight is still young."
"With some men; not with me. My habits are formed."
"When you find something to do--"
"That's just what Aunt Maria says," George interrupted bitterly. "She
never suggested anything but once, and then she said I might have gone
abroad as a missionary if I hadn't been unfit for the job. It's all very
well to talk about doing something in this beastly overcrowded world,
but what can a middle-aged bachelor do except put his trust in
Providence? My uncle was at least practical: he did suggest I should
turn pilot or harbour-master, although he knew the very sight of the sea
puts my liver out of order."
"You might open a shop to sell fruit and flowers; and I'll supply you."
"I don't understand buying and selling, and I can't do accounts. You
would take the profit, and I should have the losses."
"You must make up your mind. Aunt is perfectly serious," declared Percy.
"I don't want to offend her, and of course I couldn't abuse her
kindness," said George slowly; "but just suppose I did refuse to leave
home--suppose I insisted upon staying here and leading the sort of life
that suits my health--what could she do?"
"If you were rotten enough for that, I suppose she could appeal to the
magistrates for an ejectment order," replied Percy hazily.
"She is much too kind for that. Besides, I am her nephew."
"Only by marriage. You are not a blood relation; you can't claim to be
dependent on her."
"I was thinking what a scandal it would make in the parish. Aunt and I
don't get on well together, but I'm sure she would never turn me out."
"You ought to have heard her just now. I had no idea Aunt Maria could be
so determined. She will give you money--she will help you--but go you
must."
"Did she say where?"
"That's for you to decide. Isn't there any sort of job that takes your
fancy?"
"I like railways. I always feel at home in a big railway station,"
George admitted.
"Station-master,--or traffic-manager--might suit you."
"Do you know I really believe it would," said George brightly.
"Now we've found it!" exclaimed Percy. "I'm going the day after
tomorrow, and you had better come with me. We will travel up to
Waterloo, and you can see the directors there about getting a job as
station-master. I don't know if there's a premium, but, if there is,
Aunt will pay it. You might get a small suburban station to start with.
We'll go on Friday--that's a bargain, George?"
"Right, old chap! It's a long time since I had a holiday," came the
ominous reply.
Mrs. Drake opened her heart and purse when she discovered George was
about to accept a position as station-master. Miss Yard said she was
sorry to hear he was giving up tomatoes, then in the same breath
implored Percy to keep away from junctions where people were lost and
trains collided with distressing frequency. Kezia mended linen, packed,
and uttered many a dark saying about men who left their homes on Friday
in the pride of life and were not heard of again. Percy assured his
aunts they might always rely upon him to settle any difficulty. While
George basked in popularity, like a sleek cat upon a windowsill, and
took all that he could get in the way of cash, clothing, and
compliments.
"You must come here sometimes. I expect you won't be able to get away
for a year or two; but when you do get leave remember this is always
your home," said Mrs. Drake warmly.
"I feel sure we shall soon meet again," said George hopefully.
"A year anyhow: you cannot expect a holiday before then. I'm sure the
railway will be lucky to get such a fine looking man, though it's a pity
you stoop, and I wish you were not quite so stout. Perhaps the King will
get out at your station some day; and you will have the honour of
putting flower-pots on the platform and laying down the red carpet. You
may be knighted, George, or at the very least get a medal for
distinguished service."
George was not thinking about honours much; for he had glanced towards
the mantelpiece and discovered that the pair of vases were missing.
"I have put them away," explained Mrs. Drake. "They are wrapped up
safely in a box underneath my bed."
"I was afraid Percy might have taken them," said George cautiously.
"He did advise me to put them away, as he thought perhaps we ought to
take care of them," Mrs. Drake admitted.
"I hate the chap," muttered George.
"I was afraid Aunt Sophy might break them. She is always knocking
things over. She takes an ornament from the mantelpiece, and when she
tries to put it back she misjudges the distance. It's the same with
tables and teacups. She has broken such a lot of crockery."
"Uncle said I was to have the vases and everything else that belonged to
him," said George firmly.
"Oh, you needn't worry," Mrs. Drake replied. "Now that you are really
going to work for your living, I will let you into a little secret. When
I married your uncle he insisted upon going to a lawyer and making his
will leaving everything to me, although the dear fellow had nothing to
leave except his odds and ends. So then of course I made a will leaving
everything to him, although I thought I had nothing to leave; but the
lawyer explained that any money I should have in the bank, together with
the proportion of income reckoned up to the day of my death, would go to
him. Then we adopted you, so I went to the lawyer again, and he put on
something called a codicil, which said that, in the event of uncle dying
first, everything that I left would go to you."
"Then there is no reason why I should work for my living," said George
cheerfully.
"How are you going to live upon the interest of two or three hundred
pounds?"
"A man of simple tastes can do with very little," declared the nephew.
Fruit grower and prospective railway magnate went off together on Friday
morning, but the only despatch to reach Windward House came from Percy,
who announced he had reached his mortgaged premises in perfect safety,
after leaving George upon the platform of Waterloo station surrounded by
officials. This might have signified anything. Mrs. Drake supposed it
meant that all the great men of the railway had assembled to greet their
new colleague upon his arrival. What it did mean was that Percy had
freed himself of responsibility at the earliest possible moment,
abandoning his cousin to a knot of porters who claimed the honour and
distinction of dealing with his baggage, which probably they supposed
was the property of a gentleman about to penetrate into one of the
unexplored corners of the earth.
Not a postcard came from George. He disappeared completely; but Mrs.
Drake was delighted to think he was attending to his new duties so
strenuously as to be unable to write; while Miss Yard remembered him
only once, and then remarked in a reverential whisper that she would
very much like to visit his grave.
It was the fourteenth day after the flight of George into the realm of
labour; and during the afternoon Mrs. Drake set out upon her weekly
pilgrimage to the churchyard, accompanied by Kezia, who carried a basket
of flowers, and Bessie with a watering pot. Nellie had settled Miss Yard
in her easy chair with the latest report of the Society for Improving
the Morals of the Andaman Islanders, and had then retired to her bedroom
to do some sewing. The giant tortoise was clearing the kitchen garden of
young lettuces; the monkeys were collecting entomological specimens. One
of the intelligent parrots exclaimed, "Gone for a walk;" a still more
intelligent bird answered, "Here we are again!" Then George passed out
of the sunshine and entered the cool parlour.
"Oh dear! I'm afraid I had nearly gone to sleep," said Miss Yard, rising
to receive the visitor, and wondering whoever he could be, until she
remembered the churchwarden had promised to call for a subscription to
the organ fund.
"Do please sit down," she continued and tried to set the example; but
she missed the chair by a few inches and descended somewhat heavily upon
the footstool. The visitor helped her to rise, and was much thanked.
"You will stay to tea? My sister will be here presently," Miss Yard
continued, while she fumbled in her reticule, and at last produced a
sovereign. "You see I had it all ready for you. I remembered I had
promised it," she said triumphantly.
George pocketed the coin, and thanked her heartily. He mentioned that it
was very dusty walking, and he was weary, having travelled a
considerable distance since the morning. Then he proposed to leave Miss
Yard, who shook hands, and said how sorry her sister would be not to
have seen him; and went to his bedroom, which he was considerably
annoyed to find had been converted into a place for lumber.
"Maria, you have missed the vicar!" cried Miss Yard excitedly, the
moment her sister returned. "I gave him a sovereign for the Andaman
Islanders, and he told me what a lot of sleeping sickness there is in
the village."
"What are you talking about? The vicar can't have been here, for we saw
him in the churchyard, and he never mentioned any sickness in the
village."
"Perhaps I was thinking of something I had just read about. One gets
muddled sometimes. But the vicar--or somebody--has been, and there was
nearly a dreadful accident. He caught his foot in the hearth rug, but
luckily my footstool broke his fall."
At that moment footsteps descended the stairs. With a feeling that the
sounds were horribly familiar, Mrs. Drake hurried into the hall, there
to discover her nephew, who appeared delighted to be home again upon a
thoroughly well earned holiday. "George, I have prayed that you
wouldn't do this," she cried.
"It's all right, Aunt," came the cheery answer. "Though perhaps it _was_
rather silly of me to start work upon a Friday. The railway profession
is very much overcrowded just now, and there's not a single vacancy for
station-master anywhere. They have put my name on the waiting list, and
as soon as there's a job going, they will write and let me know. I am
quite content to wait, and I may just as well do it here as in expensive
lodgings."
"How long do you expect to wait?"
"Can't tell. It may be a slow business, but it's sure. A station-master
told me you may have to wait year after year, but promotion is bound to
come at last--if you live long enough."
"Then you may do nothing for years."
"I'm not going to take anything; I owe it to my uncle's memory to occupy
a respectable position. Still, if I can't get a terminus after a few
months' waiting, I'll put up with a small junction. Rather than not work
at all, I would condescend to act as a mere Inspector," said George with
dignity.
"I wish the vicar would shave off his moustache," Miss Yard murmured.