THE REQUIREMENTS OF MRS. SHELF.
Mr. Theodore Shelf wanted to drag Onslow off there and then to his own
business-room, on the first floor, to discuss further this great project
which he had in his head; but Onslow thought fit to remain where he was.
Mr. Shelf nodded significantly towards the new-comers, as much as to hint
that a third person with them would be distinctly an inconvenient third.
Onslow turned to them, cue in hand, and proposed a game of snooker.
“That’s precisely what we came up for,” said Amy Rivers promptly.
“Hamilton, get out the balls. Mr. Onslow, will you put the billiard-balls
away, so that they don’t get mixed?”
They played and talked merrily. Their conversation turned on the wretched
show at the recent Academy, which they agreed was a disgrace to a
civilized country; and Onslow made himself interesting over the art of
painting in Paris—mural, facial, and on canvas. When he chose he could be
very interesting, this man London had nicknamed “The Great Traveler”;
and he generally chose, not being ill-natured.
Mr. Theodore Shelf left the billiard-room with a feeling beneath his
waistcoat much akin to sea-sickness. First of all, that plain-spoken
Patrick Onslow had not over politely hinted that he was a canting
hypocrite, and had showed cause for arriving at the conclusion. This was
true, but that didn’t make it any the more digestive. And secondly, he
himself, in a moment of excitement, had let drop to this same pernicious
Onslow (who after all was a comparative stranger) a proposal to make the
sum of £500,000 at one _coup_. True, he had not mentioned the means;
but Onslow had at once concluded it was to be gained by robbery, and he
(Theodore Shelf) had not denied the impeachment.
Consequently Mr. Shelf went direct to his own room, locked the door, and
fortified his nerves with a liberal allowance of brandy. Then he munched
a coffee-bean in deference to the blue ribbon on his coat-lapel, replaced
the cognac bottle in the inner drawer of his safe, and sat down to think.
If only he understood Onslow, and, better still, knew whether he might
trust him, there was a fortune to be had. Yes, a fortune! And it was
wanted badly. The great firm of Marmaduke Rivers and Shelf, which called
itself “Agents to the Oceanic Steam Transport Co.,” but which really ran
the line of steamers which traded under that flag, might look prosperous
to the outer eye, and might still rear its head haughtily amongst the
first shipping firms of London port. But the man who bragged aloud that
he owned it all, from offices to engine-oil, knew otherwise. He had
mortgages out in every direction, mortgages so cunningly hidden that
only he himself was aware of their vast total. He knew that the firm was
rotten—lock, stock, and barrel. He knew that through any one of twenty
channels a breakup might come any day; and, following on the heels of
that, a smash, which would be none the pleasanter because, from its size
and devastating effects, it would live down into history.
He, Theodore Shelf, would assuredly not be in England to face it. Since
his commercial barometer had reached “stormy,” and still showed signs of
steady descent, he had been transmitting carefully modulated doles to
certain South American banks, and had even gone so far as to purchase
(under a _nom d’escroc_) a picturesquely situated estançia on the upper
waters of the Rio Paraguay.
There, in case the tempest of bankruptcy broke, the extradition treaties
would cease from troubling, and the weary swindler would be at well-fed
rest.
But Mr. Theodore Shelf had no lust for this tropical retirement. He
liked the powers of his present pinnacle in the City. And that howl of
execration from every class of society which would make up his pæan of
defeat was an opera that he very naturally shrank from sitting through.
As he thought of these things, he hugged closer to him the wire-haired
fox-terrier which sat upon his lap.
“George, old friend,” said Mr. Shelf, “if things do go wrong, I believe
you are the only thing living in England which won’t turn against me.”
George slid out a red tongue and licked the angle of Mr. Shelf’s square
chin. Then he retired within himself again, and looked sulky. The door
had opened, and Mrs. Shelf stood on the mat. There was a profound mutual
dislike between George and Mrs. Theodore Shelf.
“You alone, Theodore? I thought Mr. Onslow was here. However, so much the
better. I have wanted to speak with you all the morning. Do turn that
nasty dog away!”
George was not evicted, and Mr. Shelf inquired curtly what his wife was
pleased to want. She seldom invaded this business-room of his, and,
when she did, it was for a purpose which he was beginning to abhor. She
came to the point at once by handing him a letter, which was mostly in
copperplate. He read it through with brief, sour comment.
“H’m! Bank. Your private account overdrawn. That’s the third time this
year, Laura. Warning seems to be no use. You are determined to know what
ruin tastes like.”
“Ruin, pshaw! You don’t put me off with that silly tale. To begin with,
I don’t believe it for an instant; and even if it were true, I’d rather
be ruined than retrench. You and I can afford to be candid between
ourselves, Theodore. You know perfectly well that we have gained our
position in society purely and solely by purchase.”
“To my cost I do know it. But having paid your entrance fee at least
eight times over, I think you might be content with an ordinary
subscription. The ball last night, for instance——”
“Was necessary. And I couldn’t afford to do the thing otherwise than
gorgeously.”
“Gorgeously! Do you think I’m a Crœsus, Laura, to pay for gearing one
room with red roses, and another room with pink, and another room with
Marshal Niels for fools to flit in during one short night? This morning’s
paper informs me that those flowers came by special express from Nice,
and cost five hundred pounds.”
“And yet you twit me with extravagance! All the papers have got in that
paragraph, as I took care they should; and everybody will read it. Yet
the flowers only cost a paltry three hundred pounds, so that in credit I
am two hundred to the good, because I have clearly given _the_ ball of
the season. Theodore, you are short-sighted; you are a fool to your own
profit. By myself I shall make you a baronet this year, and if you had
only worked in your own interests half as hard as I have done, you could
have entered the House of Lords.”
“Titles,” said Shelf grimly, “for people of our stamp, are only given
for direct cash outlay in almshouses, or picture galleries, or political
clubs. Before they are bestowed, a Crown censor satisfies himself that
one’s financial position is broad and absolutely sound. There are reasons
connected with those matters which block you further and further from
being ‘milady’ every day.”
Mrs. Shelf shrugged her shoulders in utter unbelief. “Your preaching
tendencies cover you like a second skin, Theodore. It seems as if you
never drop the conventicle and the pleasure of pointing a moral at one.
Believe me, is isn’t a paying speculation, this cant of yours. At the
most they would only give you a trumpery knighthood for it. But go your
own way, and I’ll go mine. You shall be made in spite of yourself.”
Mrs. Shelf noticed that at this point her husband’s eyes were beginning
to glow with dull fury. She objected to scenes; and, dropping the
subject, reverted once more to her present needs.
“However, let us stop this wrangle, and come to business. I wish you to
see to that impertinent circular from the bank. I have several checks
out, and unpresented; I am absolutely compelled to draw others to-day,
for trifles which will add up to about a thousand. You will kindly see
that they are honored. It is all your own fault, this trumpery worry
about nothing. You should not try and screw me down to such a niggardly
allowance.”
Shelf stood up, and the dog on his lap leaped hurriedly to the ground
growling. “Woman!” he said passionately, “you won’t believe me; but if
you will go on in this mad extravagance, you will soon learn for yourself
that I am not lying—perhaps very soon. Perhaps to-morrow. When a shameful
bankruptcy does come, then you can play your hand as you please. I shall
not be here to hinder you any longer. Where shall I go, how I shall
lead my new life, who will be my partner, are matters which you will be
allowed no finger in. So long as things last here, I shall observe all
the conventionalities; and, if you appreciate those, you will find it
wise to reconsider your present ways. I tell you candidly that if the
firm does go down, not only England, but half the world will ring with
its transactions. Marmaduke Rivers and Shelf,” he went on with scowling
fury, “were honest, prosperous tradesmen once, before their ways were
fouled to find money for your cursed ambition.”
There was a new look on Theodore Shelf’s clean-shaven face which his
wife had never seen before, and an evil glint in the eyes which scared
her. Irresolutely she moved towards the door and put her fingers upon
the handle. Then she drew herself up and stared him up and down with a
look of forced contempt. “You will be good enough,” she said coldly, “to
attend to the business which brought me here. I am going now to draw the
checks I spoke about.”
Shelf looked at her very curiously. “Go,” he said, “and do as you please.
You are a determined woman, and, because I am determined myself, I admire
your strength of will; but for all that I think I shall murder you before
I leave England.”
Mrs. Shelf laughed derisively, but with pale lips; and then she opened
the door.
“What fine heroics,” she said. “But thanks for seeing after my balance. I
must have that money.”
She passed through the door, closing it gently behind her, and Shelf
returned to his armchair.
“George,” he said, as the fox-terrier stood up against his knee, “if
that woman were only struck dead to-day, there are two thousand families
in England who would rejoice madly if they only knew one-tenth part of
what I know. Poor beggars, they have trusted me to the hilt, and she
makes me behave to them like a fiend. D’you know, my small animal, I wish
very much just now an earthquake or a revolution or something like that
would occur, to shuffle matters up. Then if I got killed I should be
spared a great deal of worry; and if I didn’t, why I’ve got large hands,
and I believe could grab enough in the general scramble to suit even
her. As it is, however, with neither earthquake nor revolution probable,
I’m a desperate man, ready to take any desperate chance of commercial
salvation. Eh, well!” he concluded, as he reached for a paper-block and
rested it on George’s back, “worrying myself about the matter won’t
improve it. The only thing is to try and keep things running in their
present groove.” He broke off and scribbled a Biblical text. “Other men
would have been suspected long before this. But my reputation has saved
me.” He smiled to himself softly. “What a thing it is to be known as a
thoroughly good man!”
He broke off at this point, and applied himself with gusto to writing his
sermon for the ensuing Sunday.