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SOMEHOW GOOD
BY
WILLIAM DE MORGAN
AUTHOR OF "JOSEPH VANCE"
AND "ALICE-FOR-SHORT"
[Publisher's Device: Ou polla, alla polu]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1908
COPYRIGHT, 1908,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
_Published February, 1908_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
A RETURNED TRAVELLER. NEMESIS IN LIVERMORE'S RENTS, 1808.
EXTRAVAGANCE, AND NO CASH. A PAWNED WATCH, AND A RESIDUUM
OF FOURPENCE 1
CHAPTER II.
A JOURNEY IN THE TWOPENNY TUBE. A VERY NICE GIRL, AND A
NEGOTIATION. AN EXPOSED WIRE, AND AN ELECTROCUTION 10
CHAPTER III.
KRAKATOA VILLA, AND HOW THE ELECTROCUTED TRAVELLER WENT
THERE IN A CAB. A CURIOUS WELCOME TO A PERFECT STRANGER.
THE STRANGER'S LABEL. A CANCELLED MEMORY. BACK LIKE A BAD
SHILLING 16
CHAPTER IV.
HOW THE STRANGER STOPPED ON AT KRAKATOA VILLA. OF THE FREAKS
OF AN EXTINGUISHED MEMORY. OF HOW THE STRANGER GOT A GOOD
APPOINTMENT, BUT NONE COULD SAY WHO HE WAS, NOR WHENCE 35
CHAPTER V.
THE CHRISTMAS AFTER. OF THE CHURCH OF ST. SATISFAX, AND A
YOUNG IDIOT WHO CAME THERE 44
CHAPTER VI.
OF BOXING DAY MORNING AT KRAKATOA VILLA, AND WHAT OBSERVANT
CREATURES FOSSILS ARE 53
CHAPTER VII.
CONCERNING PEOPLE'S PASTS, AND THE SEPARATION OF THE SHEEP
FROM THE GOATS. OF YET ANOTHER MAJOR, AND HOW HE GOSSIPPED
AT HURKARU CLUB. SOME TRUSTWORTHY INFORMATION ABOUT AN
ALLEGED DIVORCE 60
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ANTECEDENTS OF ROSALIND NIGHTINGALE, SALLY'S MOTHER. HOW
BOTH CAME FROM INDIA TO ENGLAND, AND TOOK A VILLA ON A
REPAIRING LEASE. SOMEWHAT OF SALLY'S UPBRINGING. SOME MORE
ROPER GOSSIP, AND A CAT LET OUT OF A BAG. A PIECE OF
PRESENCE OF MIND 68
CHAPTER IX.
HOW THOSE GIRLS DO CHATTER OVER THEIR MUSIC! MRS.
NIGHTINGALE'S RESOLUTION. BUT, THE RISK! A HARD PART TO
PLAY. THERE WAS ONLY MAMMA FOR THE GIRL! THE GARDEN OF
LONG AGO 82
CHAPTER X.
THE DANGERS OF AN UNKNOWN PAST. NETTLE-GRASPING, AND A
RECURRENCE. WHO AMONG US COURTS CATECHISM ABOUT HIMSELF?
A UNIVERSALLY PROVIDED YOUNG MAN. HOW ABOUT THE POOR OLD
FURNITURE? 95
CHAPTER XI.
MORE GIRLS' CHATTER. SWEEPS AND DUSTMEN. HOW SALLY
DISILLUSIONED MR. BRADSHAW. OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN 105
CHAPTER XII.
WHAT FENWICK AND SALLY'S MOTHER HAD BEEN SAYING IN THE BACK
DRAWING-ROOM. OP. 999. BACK IN THAT OLD GARDEN AGAIN, AND
HOW GERRY COULD NOT SWIM. THE OLD TARTINI SONATA 113
CHAPTER XIII.
OF A SLEEPLESS NIGHT MRS. NIGHTINGALE HAD, AND HOW SALLY
WOKE UP AND TALKED 131
CHAPTER XIV.
HOW MILLAIS' "HUGUENOT" CAME OF A WALK IN THE BACK GARDEN.
AND HOW FENWICK VERY NEARLY KISSED SALLY 139
CHAPTER XV.
CONCERNING DR. VEREKER AND HIS MAMMA, WHO HAD KNOWN IT ALL
ALONG. HOW SALLY LUNCHED WITH THE SALES WILSONS, AND GOT
SPECULATING ABOUT HER FATHER. HOW TISHY LET OUT ABOUT
MAJOR ROPER. HOW THERE WAS A WEDDING 150
CHAPTER XVI.
OF A WEDDING-PARTY AND AN OLD MAN'S RETROSPECT. A HOPE OF
RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE HEREAFTER. CHARLEY'S AUNT, AND PYRAMUS
AND THISBE. HOW SALLY TRIED TO PUMP THE COLONEL AND GOT
HALF A BUCKETFUL 166
CHAPTER XVII.
SALLY'S LARK, AND HOW SHE TOOK HER MEDICAL ADVISER INTO HER
CONFIDENCE AFTER DIVINE SERVICE 178
CHAPTER XVIII.
OF A SWIMMING-BATH, "ET PRÆTEREA EXIGUUM" 186
CHAPTER XIX.
HOW FENWICK KNEW ALL ABOUT THE MASS. AND HOW BARON
KREUTZKAMMER RECOGNISED MR. HARRISSON. LONDON AGAIN! 191
CHAPTER XX.
MERE DAILY LIFE AT KRAKATOA. BUT SALLY IS QUITE FENWICK'S
DAUGHTER BY NOW. OF HER VIEWS ABOUT DR. VEREKER, AND OF
TISHY'S AUNT FRANCES 203
CHAPTER XXI.
OF JULIUS BRADSHAW'S INNER SOUL. AND OF THE HABERDASHER
BATTLE AT LADBROKE GROVE ROAD. ON CARPET-STRETCHING, AND
VACCINATION FROM THE CALF. AN AFTER-DINNER INTERVIEW, AND
GOOD RESOLUTIONS. EVASIVE TRAPPISTS 217
CHAPTER XXII.
IT WAS THAT MRS. NIGHTINGALE'S FAULT. A SATISFACTORY CHAP, GERRY!
A TELEGRAM AND A CLOUD. BRONCHITIS AND ASTHMA AND FOG.
SALLY GOES TO MAYFAIR. THE OLD SOLDIER HAS NOTICE TO QUIT 236
CHAPTER XXIII.
OF A FOG THAT WAS UP-TO-DATE, AND HOW A FIRE-ENGINE RELIEVED
SALLY FROM A BOY. HOW SALLY GOT IN AT A GENTLEMEN'S CLUB,
AND HOW VETERANS COULD RECOLLECT HER FATHER. BUT THEY KNOW
WHAT SHE CAN BE TOLD, AND WHAT SHE CAN'T. HOW MAJOR ROPER
WOULD GO OUT IN THE FOG 245
CHAPTER XXIV.
HOW MAJOR ROPER MET THAT BOY, AND GOT UPSTAIRS AT BALL
STREET. AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN ASTHMA AND BRONCHITIS. HOW
SALLY PINIONED THE PURPLE VETERAN, AND THERE WAS NO BOY.
HOW THE GOVERNOR DONE HOARCKIN', AND GOT QUALIFIED FOR A
SUBJECT OF PSYCHICAL RESEARCH 260
CHAPTER XXV.
ABOUT SIX MONTHS, AND HOW A CABMAN SAW A GHOST. OF SALLY'S
AND THE DOCTOR'S "MODUS VIVENDI," AND THE SHOOSMITH
FAMILY. HOW SALLY MADE TEA FOR BUDDHA, AND HOW BUDDHA
FORESAW A STEPDAUGHTER. DELIRIUM TREMENS 283
CHAPTER XXVI.
MORNING AT LADBROKE GROVE ROAD, AND FAMILY DISSENSION.
FACCIOLATI, AND A LEGACY. THE LAST CONCERT THIS SEASON.
THE GOODY WILL COME TO IGGULDEN'S. BUT FANCY PROSY IN LOVE! 300
CHAPTER XXVII.
ST. SENNANS-ON-SEA. MISS GWENDOLEN ARKWRIGHT. WOULD ANY
OTHER CHILD HAVE BEEN SALLY? HOW MRS. IGGULDEN'S COUSIN
SOLOMON SURRENDERED HIS COUCH 310
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOW SALLY PUT THE FINISHING TOUCH ON THE DOCTOR, WHO
COULDN'T SLEEP. OF THE GRAND DUKE OF HESSE-JUNKERSTADT.
AND OF AN INTERVIEW OVERHEARD 323
CHAPTER XXIX.
OF A MARRIAGE BY SPECIAL LICENCE. ROSALIND'S COMPARISONS.
OF THE THREE BRIDESMAIDS, AND HOW THE BRIDE WAS A GOOD
SAILOR 331
CHAPTER XXX.
HOW A FORTNIGHT PASSED, AND THE HONEYMOONERS RETURNED.
OF A CHAT ON THE BEACH, AND MISS ARKWRIGHT'S SCIENTIFIC
EXPERIENCE. ALMOST THE LAST, LAST, LAST--MAN'S HEAD! 337
CHAPTER XXXI.
HOW SALLY DIDN'T CONFESS ABOUT THE DOCTOR, AND JEREMIAH CAME
TO ST. SENNANS ONCE MORE 349
CHAPTER XXXII.
HOW SALLY DIVED OFF THE BOAT, AND SHOCKED THE BEACH. OF THE
SENSITIVE DELICACY OF THE OCTOPUS. AND OF DR. EVERETT
GAYLER'S OPINIONS 357
CHAPTER XXXIII.
OF AN INTERMITTENT CURRENT AT THE PIER-END, AND OF DOLLY'S
FORTITUDE. HOW FENWICK PUT HIS HEAD IN THE JAWS OF THE
FUTURE UNAWARES, AND PROSY DIDN'T COME. HOW SALLY AND
HER STEP SAW PUNCH, AND OF A THIN END OF A FATAL WEDGE.
BUT ROSALIND SAW NO COMING CLOUD 366
CHAPTER XXXIV.
OF THE REV. SAMUEL HERRICK AND A SUNSET. THE WEDGE'S
PROGRESS. THE BARON AGAIN, AND THE FLY-WHEEL. HOW FENWICK
KNEW HIS NAME RIGHT, AND ROSALIND DIDN'T. HOW SALLY AND
HER MEDICAL ADVISER WERE NOT QUITE WET THROUGH. HOW HE
HAD MADE HER THE CONFIDANTE OF A LOVE-AFFAIR. OF A GOOD
OPENING IN SPECIALISM. MORE PROGRESS OF THE WEDGE. HOW
GERRY NEARLY MADE DINNER LATE 377
CHAPTER XXXV.
HOW A STONE THROWN DROVE THE WEDGE FURTHER YET. OF A
TERRIBLE NIGHT IN A BIG GALE, AND A DOOR THAT SLAMMED.
THE WEDGE WELL IN 392
CHAPTER XXXVI.
HOW FENWICK AND VEREKER WENT FOR A WALK, AND MORE MEMORIES
CAME BACK. HOW FENWICK WAS A MILLIONAIRE, OR THEREABOUTS.
OF A CLUE THAT KILLED ITSELF. HARRISSON'S AFFAIR NOW!
BOTHER THE MILLIONS! IS NOT LOVE BETTER THAN MONEY? ONLY
FENWICK'S NAME WASN'T HARRISSON NEITHER 399
CHAPTER XXXVII.
OF THE DOCTOR'S CAUTIOUS RESERVE, AND MRS. FENWICK'S STRONG
COMMON-SENSE. AND OF A LADY AT BUDA-PESTH. HOW HARRISSON
WAS ONLY PAST FORGOTTEN NEWSPAPERS TO DR. VEREKER. OF THE
OCTOPUS'S PULSE. HOW THE HABERDASHER'S BRIDE WOULD TRY ON
AT TWO GUAS. A WEEK, AND OF A PLEASANT WALK BACK FROM THE
RAILWAY STATION 416
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
OF AN EXPEDITION AGAINST A GOODY, AND THE WALK BACK TO
LOBJOIT'S. AND THE WALK BACK AGAIN TO IGGULDEN'S. HOW
FENWICK TOOK VEREKER'S CONFIDENCE BY STORM. OF A COLLIER
THAT PUT TO SEA. SUCCESSFUL AMBUSCADE OF THE OCTOPUS.
PROVISIONAL EQUILIBRIUM OF FENWICK'S MIND. WHY BOTHER
ABOUT HORACE? WHY NOT ABOUT PICKWICK JUST AS MUCH? THE
KITTEN WASN'T THERE--CERTAINLY NOT! 431
CHAPTER XXXIX.
HOW MEMORY CREPT BACK AND BACK, AND FENWICK KEPT HIS OWN
COUNSEL. ROSALIND NEED NEVER KNOW IT. OF A JOLLY BIG BLOB
OF MELTED CANDLE, AND SALLY'S HALF-BROTHER. OF FENWICK'S
IMPROVED GOOD SPIRITS 448
CHAPTER XL.
BATHING WEATHER AGAIN, AND A LETTER FROM TISHY BRADSHAW. THE
TRIUMPH OF ORPHEUS. BUT WAS IT EURYDICE OR THE LITTLE
BATTERY? THE REV. MR. HERRICK. OF A REVERIE UNDER A
BATHING-MACHINE, AND OF GWENDOLEN'S MAMMA'S CONNECTING-LINK.
OF DR. CONRAD'S MAMMA'S DONKEY-CHAIR, AND HIS GREAT-AUNT
ELIZA. HOW SALLY AND HE STARTED FOR THEIR LAST WALK AT
ST. SENNANS 457
CHAPTER XLI.
OF LOVE, CONSIDERED AS A THUNDERSTORM, AND OF AGUR, THE SON
OF JAKEH (PROV. XXX.). OF A COUNTRY WALK AND A JUDICIOUSLY
RESTORED CHURCH. OF TWO CLASPED HANDS, AND THEIR
CONSEQUENCES. NOTHING SO VERY REMARKABLE AFTER ALL! 471
CHAPTER XLII.
OF A RECURRENCE FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT," AND HOW FENWICK
DIDN'T. WHY A SAILOR WOULD NOT LEARN TO SWIM. THE BARON
AGAIN. OF A CUTTLE-FISH AND HIS SQUIRT. OF THE POWER OF
_A PRIORI_ REASONING. OF SALLY'S CONFESSION, AND HOW
FENWICK WENT TO A FIRST-CLASS HOTEL 489
CHAPTER XLIII.
OF AN OBSERVANT AND THOUGHTFUL, BUT SNIFFY, WAITER; AND HOW
HE OPENED A NEW BOTTLE OF COGNAC. HOW THE BARON SAW
FENWICK HOME, WITHOUT HIS HAT. AN OLD MEMORY FROM
ROSALIND'S PAST AND HIS. AND THEN FACE TO FACE WITH THE
WHOLE. SLEEP UPON IT! BUT WHAT BECAME OF HIS HORRIBLE BABY? 498
CHAPTER XLIV.
OF A CONTRACT JOB FOR REPAIRS. HOW FENWICK HAD ANOTHER
SLEEPLESS NIGHT AFTER ALL. WHICH IS WHICH, NOW OR TWENTY
ODD YEARS AGO? HOW SALLY FOLLOWED JEREMIAH OUT. WHAT A LOT
OF TALK ABOUT A LIFE-BELT! 513
CHAPTER XLV.
OF CONRAD VEREKER'S REVISION OF PARADISE, AND OF FENWICK'S
HIGH FEVER. OF AN ENGLISH OFFICER WHO WAVERED AT BOMBAY,
AND OF FENWICK'S SURPRISE-BATH IN THE BRITISH CHANNEL. WHY
HE DID NOT SINK. THE "ELLEN JANE" OF ST. SENNANS. ONLY
SALLY IS IN THE WATER STILL. MORE BOATS. FOUND! 524
CHAPTER XLVI.
AN ERRAND IN VAIN, AND HOW DR. CONRAD CAME TO KNOW.
CONCERNING LLOYD'S COFFEE-HOUSE, AND THE BATTLE OF
CAMPERDOWN. MARSHALL HALL'S SYSTEM AND SILVESTER'S. SOCIAL
DISADVANTAGES. A CHAT WITH A CENTENARIAN, AND HOW ROSALIND
CAME TO KNOW. THOMAS LOCOCK OF ROCHESTER. ONE O'CLOCK! 531
CHAPTER XLVII.
WAS IT THE LITTLE GALVANIC BATTERY? THE LAST CHAPTER RETOLD
BY THE PRESS. A PROPER RAILING. BUT THEY _WEREN'T_ DROWNED.
WHAT'S THE FUSS? MASTER CHANCELLORSHIP APPEARS AND VANISHES.
ELECTUARY OF ST. SENNA. AT GEORGIANA TERRACE. A LETTER FROM
SALLY. ANOTHER FROM CONRAD. EVERYTHING VANISHES! 554
SOMEHOW GOOD
SOMEHOW GOOD
CHAPTER I
A RETURNED TRAVELLER. NEMESIS IN LIVERMORE'S RENTS, 1808. EXTRAVAGANCE,
AND NO CASH. A PAWNED WATCH, AND A RESIDUUM OF FOURPENCE
An exceptionally well-built man in a blue serge suit walked into a
bank in the City, and, handing his card across the counter, asked if
credit had been wired for him from New York. The clerk to whom he
spoke would inquire.
As he leaned on the counter, waiting for the reply, his appearance was
that of a man just off a sea voyage, wearing a suit of clothes well
knocked about in a short time, but quite untainted by London dirt. His
get-up conveyed no information about his social position or means. His
garments had been made for him; that was all that could be said. That
is something to know. But it leaves the question open whether their
wearer is really only a person in decent circumstances--_one_ decent
circumstance, at any rate--or a Duke.
The trustworthy young gentleman in spectacles who came back from an
authority in the bush to tell him that no credit had been wired so
far, did not seem to find any difficulty in affecting confidence that
the ultimate advent of this wire was an intrinsic certainty, like
the post. Scarcely, perhaps, the respectable confidence he would have
shown to a real silk hat--for the applicant's was mere soft felt,
though it looked new, for that matter--and a real clean shirt, one
inclusive of its own collar and cuffs. Our friend's answered this
description; but then, it was blue. However, the confidence would
have wavered under an independent collar and wristbands. Cohesiveness
in such a garment means that its wearer may be an original genius:
compositeness may mean that he has to economize, like us.
"Did you expect it so early as this?" says the trustworthy young
gentleman, smiling sweetly through his spectacles. "It isn't ten
o'clock yet." But he only says this to show his confidence, don't you
see? Because his remark is in its nature meaningless, as there is
no time of day telegrams have a penchant for. No doubt there is a
time--perhaps even times and half-a-time--when you cannot send them.
But there is no time when they may not arrive. Except the smallest
hours of the morning, which are too small to count.
"I don't think I did," replies the applicant. "I don't think I thought
about it. I wired them yesterday from Liverpool, when I left the boat,
say four o'clock."
"Ah, then of course it's a little too early. It may not come till late
in the afternoon. It depends on the load on the wires. Could you call
in again--well, a little before our closing time?"
"All right." The speaker took out a little purse or pocket-book, and
looked in it. "I thought so," said he; "that was my last card." But
the clerk had left it in the inner sanctum. He would get it, and
disappeared to do so. When he came back with it, however, he found its
owner had gone, saying never mind, it didn't matter.
"Chap seems in a great hurry!" said he to his neighbour clerk. "What's
he got that great big ring on his thumb for?" And the other replying:
"Don't you know 'em--rheumatic rings?" he added: "Doesn't look a
rheumatic customer, anyhow!" And then both of them pinned up cheques,
and made double entries.
The chap didn't seem in a great hurry as he sauntered away along
Cornhill, looking in at the shop-windows. He gave the idea of a chap
with a fine June day before him in London, with a plethora of choices
of what to do and where to go. Also of being keenly interested in
everything, like a chap that had not been in London for a long time.
After watching the action of a noiseless new petroleum engine longer
than its monotonous idea of life seemed to warrant, he told a hansom
to take him to the Tower, for which service he paid a careless two
shillings. The driver showed discipline, and concealed his emotions.
_He_ wasn't going to let out that it was a double fare, and impair
a fountain of wealth for other charioteers to come. Not he!
The fare enjoyed himself evidently at the Tower. He saw everything
he could be admitted to--the Beauchamp Tower for sixpence, and the
Jewel-house for sixpence. And he gave uncalled-for gratuities. When
he had thoroughly enjoyed all the dungeons and all the torture-relics,
and all the memories of Harrison Ainsworth's romance, read in youth
and never forgotten, he told another hansom to drive him across the
Tower Bridge, and not go too fast.
As he crossed the Bridge he looked at his watch. It was half-past
twelve. He would have time to get back before half-past one to a
restaurant he had made a mental note of near the Bank, and still to
allow the cabby to drive on a bit through the transpontine and
interesting regions of Rotherhithe and Cherry Garden Pier. It was so
unlike anything he had been seeing lately. None the worse for the
latter, in some respects. So, at least, thought the fare.
For he had the good, or ill, fortune to strike on a rich vein of
so-called life in a London slum. Shrieks of fury, terror, pain
were coming out of an archway that led, said an inscription, into
Livermore's Rents, 1808. Public opinion, outside those Rents, ascribed
them to the fact that Salter had been drinking. He was on to that pore
wife of his again, like last week. Half killed her, he did, then! But
he was a bad man to deal with, and public opinion wouldn't go down
that court if I was you.
"But you're not, you see!" said the fare, who had sought this
information. "You stop here, my lad, till I come back." This to the
cabman, who sees him, not without misgivings about a source of income,
plunge into the filthy and degraded throng that is filling the court,
and elbow his way to the scene of excitement.
"_He's_ all right!" said that cabby. "I'll put a tenner on him, any
Sunday morning"--a figure of speech we cannot explain.
From his elevation above the crowd he can see a good deal of what goes
on, and guess the rest. Of what he hears, no phrase could be written
without blanks few readers could fill in, and for the meaning of which
no equivalent can even be hinted. The actual substance of the
occurrence, that filters through the cries of panic and of some woman
or child, or both, in agony, the brutal bellowings and threats of a
predominant drunken lout, presumably Mr. Salter, the incessant appeals
to God and Christ by terrified women, and the rhetorical use of the
names of both by the men, with the frequent suggestion that some one
else should go for the police--this actual substance may be drily
stated thus: Mr. Salter, a plumber by trade, but at present out of
work, had given way to ennui, and to relieve it had for two days past
been beating and otherwise maltreating his daughter, aged fourteen,
and had threatened the life of her mother for endeavouring to protect
her. At the moment when he comes into this story (as a mere passing
event we shall soon forget without regret) he is engaged in the
fulfilment of a previous promise to his unhappy wife--a promise we
cannot transcribe literally, because of the free employment of a
popular adjective (supposed to be a corruption of "by Our Lady")
before or after any part of speech whatever, as an expletive to drive
home meaning to reluctant minds. It is an expression unwelcome on the
drawing-room table. But, briefly, what Mr. Salter had so sworn to do
was to twist his wife's nose off with his finger and thumb. And he
did not seem unlikely to carry out his threat, as Livermore's tenantry
lacked spirit or will to interpose, and did nothing but shriek in
panic when feminine, and show discretion when masculine; mostly
affecting indifference, and saying they warn't any good, them Salters.
The result seemed likely to turn on whether the victim's back hair
would endure the tension as a fulcrum, or would come rippin' out like
so much grarse.
"Let go of her!" half bellows, half shrieks her legal possessor, in
answer to a peremptory summons. "Not for a swiney, soap-eatin'
Apoarstle--not for a rotten parson's egg, like you. Not for a...."
But the defiance is cut short by a blow like the kick of a horse, that
lands fairly on the eye-socket with a cracking concussion that can be
heard above the tumult, and is followed by a roar of delight from the
male vermin, who see all the joys before them of battle unshared and
dangerless--the joys bystanders feel in foemen worthy of each other's
steel, and open to be made the subject of wagers.
The fare rejects all offers to hold his coat, but throws his felt hat
to a boy to hold. Self-elected seconds make a kind of show of getting
a clear space. No idea of assisting in the suppression of a dangerous
drunken savage seems to suggest itself--nothing but what is called
"seeing fair." This is, to wit, letting him loose on even terms on the
only man who has had the courage to intervene between him and his
victim. Let us charitably suppose that this is done in the hope that
it means prompt and tremendous punishment before the arrival of the
police. The cabman sees enough from his raised perch to justify his
anticipating this with confidence. He can just distinguish in the
crowd Mr. Salter's first rush for revenge and its consequences. "He's
got it!" is his comment.
Then he hears the voice of his fare ring out clear in a lull--such
a one as often comes in the tense excitement of a fight. "Give him a
minute.... Now stick him up again!" and then is aware that Mr. Salter
has been replaced on his legs, and is trying to get at his antagonist,
and cannot. "He's playin' with him!" is his comment this time. But
he does not play with him long, for a swift _finale_ comes to the
performance, perhaps consequent on a cry that heralds a policeman.
It causes a splendid excitement in that cabman, who gets as high as
he can, to miss none of it. "That's your sort!" he shouts, quite wild
with delight. "That's the style! Foller on! Foller on!" And then,
subsiding into his seat with intense satisfaction, "Done his job,
anyhow! Hope he'll be out of bed in a week!"--the last with an
insincere affectation of sympathy for the defeated combatant.
The fare comes quickly along the court and out at the entry, whose
occupants the cabman flicks aside with his whip suggestively. "Let
the gentleman come, can't you!" he shouts at them. They let him come.
"Be off sharp!" he says to the cabby, who replies, "Right you are,
governor!" and is off, sharp. Only just in time to avoid three
policemen, who dive into Livermore's Rents, and possibly convey Mr.
Salter to the nearest hospital. Of all that this story knows no more;
Mr. Salter goes out of it.
The fare, who seems very little discomposed, speaks through the little
trap to his Jehu. "I never got my new hat again," he says. "You must
drive back; there won't be any decent hatter here."
"Ask your pardon, sir--the Bridge is histed. Vessel coming
through--string of vessels with a tug-boat."
"Oh, well, get back to the Bank--anywhere--the nearest way you can."
And after a mysterious short cut through narrow ways that recall old
London, some still paved with cobbles, past lofty wharves or
warehouses daring men lean from the floors of at dizzy heights, and
capture bales for, that seem afloat in the atmosphere till one detects
the thread that holds them to their crane above--under unexplained
rialtos and over inexplicable iron incidents in paving that ring
suddenly and waggle underfoot--the cab finds its way across London
Bridge, and back to a region where you can buy anything, from penny
puzzles to shares in the power of Niagara, if you can pay for them.
Our cab-fare, when he called out, "Hold hard here!" opposite to a
promising hat-shop, seemed to be in doubt of being able to pay for
something very much cheaper than Niagara. He took out his purse, still
sitting in the cab, and found in it only a sovereign, apparently. He
felt in his pockets. Nothing there beyond five shillings and some
coppers. He could manage well enough--so his face and a slight nod
seemed to say--till he went back to the Bank after lunch. And so, no
doubt, he would have done had he been content with a common human
billycock or bowler, like the former one, at four-and-six. But man is
born to give way to temptation in shops. No doubt you have noticed the
curious fact that when you go into a shop you always spend more--more
than you mean to, more than you want to, more than you've got--one or
other of them--but always _more_.
Inside the shop, billycocks in tissue-paper came out of band-boxes,
and then out of tissue-paper. But, short of eight shillings, they
betrayed a plebeian nature, and lacked charm. Now, those beautiful
white real panamas, at twenty-two shillings, were exactly the thing
for this hot weather, especially the one the fare tried on. His rich
brown hair, that wanted cutting, told well against the warm
straw-white. He looked handsome in it, with those strong cheek-bones
and bronzed throat Mr. Salter would have been so glad to get at. He
paid for it, saying never mind the receipt, and then went out to pay
the cabby, who respectfully hoped he didn't see him any the worse for
that little affair over the water.
"None the worse, thank you! Shan't be sorry for lunch, though." Then,
as he stands with three shillings in his hand, waiting for a recipient
hand to come down from above, he adds: "A very one-sided affair! Did
you hear what he said about his daughter? That was why I finished him
so thoroughly."
"No, sir, I did _not_ hear it. But he was good for the gruel he's got,
Lord bless you! without that ... I ask your pardon, sir--no! _Not_
from a gentleman like you! Couldn't think of it! Couldn't _think_ of
it!" And with a sudden whip-lash, and a curt hint to his horse, that
cabman drove off unpaid. The other took out a pencil, and wrote the
number of the cab on his blue wristband, close to a little red
spot--Mr. Salter's blood probably. When he had done this he turned
towards the restaurant he had taken note of. But he seemed embarrassed
about finances--at least, about the three shillings the cabby had
refused; for he kept them in his hand as if he didn't know what to do
with them. He walked on until he came to a hidden haven of silence
some plane-trees and a Church were enjoying unmolested, and noticing
there a box with a slot, and the word "Contributions" on it, dropped
the three shillings in without more ado, and passed on. But he had no
intention of lunching on the small sum he had left.
An inquiry of a City policeman guided him to a pawnbroker's shop. What
would the pawnbroker lend him on that--his watch? Fifteen shillings
would do quite well. That was his reply to an offer to advance that
sum, if he was going to leave the chain as well. It was worth more,
but it would be all safe till he came for it, at any rate. "You'll
find it here, any time up to twelve months," said the pawnbroker, who
also nodded after him knowingly as he left the shop. "Coming back for
it in a week, of course! All of 'em are. Name of Smith, _as_ usual!
Most of 'em are." Yet this man's honouring Mr. Smith with a comment
looked as if he thought him unlike "most of 'em." _He_ never indulged
in reflections on the ruck--be sure of that!
Mr. Smith, if that was his name, didn't seem uneasy. He found his
way to his restaurant and ordered a very good lunch and a bottle of
Perrier-Jouet--not a half-bottle; he certainly was extravagant. He
took his time over both, also a nap; then, waking, felt for his watch
and remembered he had pawned it; looked at the clock and stretched
himself, and called for his bill and paid it. Most likely the wire had
come to the Bank by now; anyhow, there was no harm in walking round to
see. If it wasn't there he would go back to the hotel at Kensington
where he had left his luggage, and come back to-morrow. It was a
bore. Perhaps they would let him have a cheque-book, and save his
having to come again. Much of this is surmise, but a good deal was the
substance of remarks made in fragments of soliloquy. Their maker gave
the waiter sixpence and left the restaurant with three shillings in
his pocket, lighting a cigar as he walked out into the street.
He kept to the narrow ways and little courts, wondering at the odd
corners Time seems to have forgotten about, and Change to have
deserted as unworthy of her notice; every door of every house an
extract from a commercial directory, mixed and made unalphabetical by
the extractor; every square foot of flooring wanted for Negotiation to
stand upon, and Transactions to be carried out over. No room here for
anything else, thought the smoker, as, after a quarter of an hour's
saunter, he threw away the end of his cigar. But his conclusion was
premature. For lo and behold!--there, in a strange little wedge-shaped
corner, of all things in the world, _a barber's shop_; maybe a relic
of the days of Ben Jonson or earlier--how could a mere loafer tell?
Anyhow, his hair wanted cutting sufficiently to give him an excuse to
see the old place inside. He went in and had his hair cut--but under
special reservation; not too much! The hairdresser was compliant; but,
said he, regretfully: "You do your 'ed, sir, less than justice." Its
owner took his residuum of change from his pocket, and carelessly
spent all but a few coppers on professional remuneration and a large
bottle of eau-de-Cologne. Perhaps the reflection that he could cab all
the way back to the hotel had something to do with this easy-going way
of courting an empty pocket.
When he got to the Bank another young gentleman, with no spectacles
this time, said _he_ didn't know if any credit was wired. He was very
preoccupied, pinning up cheques and initialling some important
customer's paying-in book. But _he_ would inquire in a moment, if you
would wait. And did so, with no result; merely expression of abstract
certainty that it was sure to come. There was still an hour--over an
hour--before closing time, said he to a bag with five pounds of silver
in it, unsympathetically. If you could make it convenient to look in
in an hour, probably we should have received it. The person addressed
but not looked at might do so--wouldn't commit himself--and went away.
The question seemed to be how to while away that hour. Well!--there
was the Twopenny Tube. At that time it was new, and an excitement. Our
friend had exactly fourpence in his pocket. That would take him to
anywhere and back before the Bank closed. And also he could put some
of that eau-de-Cologne on his face and hands. He had on him still a
sense of the foulness of Livermore's Rents and wanted something to
counteract it. Eau-de-Cologne is a great sweetener.