It was quite time for me to go and get ready to join Mr. Perry. Indeed,
it was more than time, as I found when I went upstairs, and was greeted
by Lord Arthur with the remark that if I wasn't in the hall ready for
the carriage when it came round I should hear about it.
But I found him a good deal more anxious to be friendly than before, and
presently discovered that the reason for this was that it had got about
in the household that I was a "Highlander." I did not contradict the
report, but refrained from giving him any information about where I
really had come from, for one thing because I didn't think he would
believe me, and for another because I thought it might not be a bad
thing to be looked upon as the altogether superior being which the
dwellers in that remote part of Upsidonia were evidently considered to
be.
Fortunately, I was just ready to step into the carriage when it came
round, and thus escaped an expression of censure from the coachman, who
drove off quickly towards Culbut.
We picked up Mr. Perry, and as we drove on to his club I managed to
bring into the conversation a reference to the Highlands. He expressed
considerable surprise to hear that I was an inhabitant of that region,
which was not altogether gratifying. But he explained that, having first
met me on the opposite side of the city, it had not occurred to him that
I was a Highlander, otherwise he would certainly have guessed it from my
perfect manners.
We arrived at the club very well pleased with one another. It was a
large building, luxuriously furnished, but in very bad taste. There were
some atrocious pictures on the walls, and the decorations were garish.
The big room into which we first went was full of opulent-looking
gentlemen, lounging in easy chairs, drinking and smoking and talking to
one another. We joined a group of them, and Mr. Perry introduced me to
one or two, addressing them in a genially patronising manner. He did not
tell them that I was a Highlander, and I suppose they took me for one of
themselves, for their greeting was not ceremonious.
However, one of them was good enough to ask me what I would take, and I
said a small whisky and soda. This was brought by a haughty-looking
servant in a powdered wig and crimson plush breeches, who held out his
salver, not to my entertainer but to me, and I paid for my drink and his
as well, as it seemed to be expected of me.
The talk was all about money. One gentleman with thick lips and a hooked
nose said that he had done good business that afternoon. He had bought
ten thousand Northern Railways, having received private information that
the men had decided to strike for an all-round decrease in wages, and
they had fallen three points when the news had become public. He had
dropped quite a tidy little sum.
Another man said that that sort of business was too risky for him. He
believed in doing a steady safe business. If he lost fifteen per cent on
his capital every year he was quite satisfied.
Another said he had been looking all his life for a safe investment that
would lose ten per cent without your having to worry about it, and he
didn't believe it was to be found.
All these men talked in quite an uneducated way, and their manners were
not attractive. They wore a good deal of heavy jewellery, and clothes
that looked as if they were new, but not one of them looked or spoke
like a gentleman.
Mr. Perry, who had taken his part in the conversation, and had been
treated with some deference, drew me away towards another group, saying
as we crossed the room that he wanted me to see all sorts, and I must
try to make myself as much one of them as possible. I should now be
introduced to some racing men.
But before we reached them, Mr. Perry was hailed in a cheery but
somewhat vinous voice by a man who was reclining in the depths of an
easy chair by an open window, with a table at his side on which was a
bottle of Maraschino half empty, and a good-sized glass of the same half
full. His appearance was not markedly different from that of dozens of
elderly men whom you may see after lunch at any London club, taking
their ease, and perhaps their little nap, and never far removed in point
of time or space from refreshment of a spirituous nature. He was sleek
and well-groomed, and the tint of his face was only a trifle more
plum-coloured than might betoken abstemious living.
"Well, old Perry," said this cheerful gentleman in his mellow voice, but
without shifting his semi-recumbent position, "what are you going to do
to raise us this afternoon? Come and help me buzz this bottle, and show
your sympathy with the rich."
Mr. Perry seemed to look at the speaker, the bottle, and me, all at the
same time, but with a different expression for each.
"Allow me," he said, "to introduce my young friend, John Howard, who
comes from the Highlands--Lord Charles Delagrange. He is anxious to see
something of life amongst the rich, and I am showing him round.
Naturally, he has never been in a place like this before, and----"
"And we must behave ourselves, eh?" interrupted Lord Charles. "Come now,
old Perry, don't pretend to be above your company. You don't like
poverty any more than I do. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, and
touch that bell for another glass--two more glasses, if Mr. Howard will
join us."
Mr. Perry touched the bell, as requested, and said with an agreeable
smile: "You will have your little joke, Lord Charles. You know very well
that all self-indulgence is extremely distasteful to me; but in this
place I do not wish to put myself on a pedestal."
"You put yourself in that chair, old Perry," said Lord Charles,
indicating one only a little less deep and easy than his own, "and don't
be a humbug. Well, Mr. Howard, this must be an agreeable change to you
from the Highlands. You live on porridge and Plato there, I believe. You
did well to put yourself into the hands of old Perry. He'll do you top
notch--nobody knows how to better than he--and send you home to spread
the gospel of high living and plain thinking among the benighted toilers
with whom you have been brought up."
"I hope," said Mr. Perry, "that Mr. Howard will go back with no such
lesson. If you are going to try to persuade him that my efforts to
uplift the wealthy classes are a cloak for vicious desires of my own,
Lord Charles, I shall not shrink from holding you up to him as an
example of what to avoid."
Lord Charles hoisted himself up in his seat to pour out three glasses of
the liqueur. "Fire away, old Perry," he said. "Tell him my awful story.
But get outside this first; it will do you a world of good."
Mr. Perry got outside it, and began:
"Lord Charles is a younger son of the late Duke of Trumps, a man
respected and beloved for his many virtues."
"A fine old boy, my governor," Lord Charles agreed, "and the best hedger
and ditcher to be found in Upsidonia. But he liked his glass of beer,
old Perry; don't forget that. Don't forget that he liked his glass of
beer."
"I have no doubt that his Grace permitted himself moderate relaxation
after the labours of the day were over," said Mr. Perry. "But it would
have shocked him deeply to know that a son of his would ever sink to
the level of glorying in a life of ease and sloth."
"I dare say it would," said Lord Charles indulgently. "I dare say it
would. You're not smoking, old Perry. Try one of these weeds; they're in
very good condition. I'll do the same by you some day."
Mr. Perry accepted a cigar, lit it, and continued:
"Lord Charles, here, was brought up to an agricultural career, which is
a tradition in his family. There are no better farm-labourers in
Upsidonia than the Delagranges, and his brother, the present Duke of
Trumps, who is a carter, has several times taken the first prize at the
May Day parade of cart-horses. But Lord Charles grew tired of that
simple, uplifting life."
"Have you ever tried uplifting hay on to a stack all through a long
summer day?" asked Lord Charles, "or getting up at five o'clock on a
winter's morning to look after somebody else's horses? Yes, I got tired
of it."
"His temptation came," said Mr. Perry, "when he went on to a farm on the
Downs, near Pepsom, and attended his first race-meeting."
"Never touched a winner all day," said Lord Charles, "and came away with
a pot of money."
"Which, of course, he had to spend," said Mr. Perry. "It is often the
beginning of such a downfall as his. He allowed himself to take a
pleasure in surreptitious spending, and when his father, the duke, died,
he threw up his situation and became a man about town."
"Haven't a care in the world," said Lord Charles, "except the confounded
inspectors. But they are never hard on a man of my birth, and I manage
to escape accumulating more than I can conveniently spend. The fact is,
Mr. Howard, I hate work, and I like making myself comfortable. There are
plenty of others like me. Old Perry is one of them, but, of course, he
has a family, and must keep up appearances."
"Mr. Howard already knows me too well not to believe that all I do is
dictated by humanitarianism," said Mr. Perry. "Lord Charles is cut off
from the society of his equals. His family has disowned him. At first
they combined to take small sums of money from him, and tried to help
him out of the morass into which he had sunk. But they have long since
given it up. He now, as you see, wallows--absolutely wallows--in his
degradation, and I fear he is past all hope."
"Not a bit," said Lord Charles, again hoisting himself in his chair. "I
am hoping to have a very good dinner to-night, and another one
to-morrow. Now I am going to play bridge. I don't know whether you would
care for a rubber, Mr. Howard?"
For some reason Mr. Perry seemed to desire me to accept this invitation.
He said he had some important business to think over, and we might leave
him where he was.
"Old Perry can't put away the liquor he used to," said Lord Charles, as
we went out of the room. "He's had too much of it. He wants a little nap
now. He's a nice old fellow, and you'll have a good time at Magnolia
Hall as long as you stay there."