FRIENDS IN NEED.
Old Jack Rock was, in his own phrase, "fair tickled to death" at the
whole thing. The messenger boy reached him soon after five, just as he
was having his tea. It was not long before the boy was having tea
too--such a tea as seldom came his way. Butter and jam together--why,
jam on cake, if he liked--and cream in his tea! Something in that letter
pleased the old gentleman uncommon, thought the boy, as he watched Jack
chuckling over it, his forgotten bread-and-butter half-way between plate
and mouth.
"Doris Flower! Well now, that's a pretty name," murmured Jack. "And I'll
lay she's a pretty girl!" He asked the boy whether she was a pretty
girl.
"'Er? Why, they're all mad about 'er," the boy told him. "She's out o'
sight, she is!"
"Writes a pretty letter too," said Jack, and started to read it all
afresh. It was, indeed, a persuasive letter:--
"DEAR MR. ROCK,--I have heard so much that is nice about you from our
friends Harry Belfield and your nephew (isn't he?) Mr. Hayes, that I
feel quite sure you will not mind my writing to you. I know it is
rather an unusual thing to do, but I don't mind doing unusual things
when they're sensible, do you? Mr. Hayes was lunching with us to-day,
and he told us that something had gone wrong with his business, and
that he would have to go back to Canada. I'm sure you don't want him
to go back to Canada any more than we do. We like him so much, and you
must be very fond of him, aren't you? Well, by the most wonderful
chance, Billy Foot's brother (you know Billy, don't you? He has been
down to Meriton, I know) was at lunch too--Gilly Foot. Gilly has got a
most tremendously good business as a publisher, and he wants a
partner. Wasn't it lucky? Just as Mr. Hayes wants a new business,
Gilly Foot wants a partner! It might have been arranged on purpose,
mightn't it? And they took to one another directly. I'm sure Gilly
will be delighted to take Mr. Hayes (That does sound stiff--I think I
shall say 'Andy'), and Andy (!) would be delighted to join Gilly.
There's only one thing--Gilly must have a partner with some money, and
Andy says he hasn't got any. We knew about you and all you had wanted
to do for him, so of course we said he must ask you to give it to him
or lend it to him; but he said he couldn't possibly, as he had refused
your previous offer. But I'm sure you don't feel like that about it,
do you? I'm sure you would like to help him. And then we could keep
him here instead of his going back to Canada; we should all be so
pleased with that, and so would you, wouldn't you? Do please do it,
dear Mr. Rock!
"I wonder if you know who I am. Perhaps you've seen my picture in the
papers? I'm generally done as a Nun. Have you? I wonder if you would
ever care to hear me sing? If you would, _do_ let me know when you can
come, and I will send you a box. And you won't forget to come round
and see me in my dressing-room afterwards, will you? It is so pleasant
to see one's friends afterwards; and I'll sing, oh, ever so much
better than usual for you!
"I told the boy to wait--just in case you wanted to send an answer.
I'm very excited and anxious! It's three thousand pounds Gilly wants.
It seems to me an awful lot, but I don't know much about publishing.
Do forgive me, dear Mr. Rock, but I was sure you would like to know,
and I don't believe Andy would have told you himself. Mind, when you
come to town--don't forget!--I am, dear Mr. Rock, yours very
sincerely,
"DORIS FLOWER.
_P.S._--Some day soon, when I'm out motoring, I may stop and see
you--if you've been nice!"
Jack Rock's heart was very soft; his vanity was also tickled. "Excited
and anxious, is she? Bless her! There'll be a rare talk in Meriton if
she comes to see old Jack!" He chuckled. "Me go and sit in a box, and
hear her sing! Asked to her dressing-room too!"
The novel picture of himself was altogether too much for Jack.
"As soon as you've done your tea, my lad, you can take an answer."
Jack's epistolary style was of a highly polite but rather unpractised
order. He struggled between his punctilious recognition of his own
station and the temptation of the Nun's friendliness--also (perhaps by
consequence) between the third, second, and first grammatical persons:--
"Mr. John Rock presents his respectful compliments to Miss Doris
Flower. Mr. Rock has the matter of which Miss Flower is good enough to
write under his careful consideration. Mr. Rock begs to assure you
that he will do his best to meet Miss Flower's wishes. There is
nothing I would not do for Andy, and I am sure that the boy will prove
himself deserving of Miss Flower's kind interest. When next visiting
London, Mr. Rock will feel himself highly honoured by availing himself
of Miss Flower's much-esteemed invitation. If Miss Flower should visit
Meriton, he would be very proud to welcome you at his house, next door
to the shop in High Street--anybody in Meriton knows where that is;
and I beg to remain, dear madam, your most obedient servant to
command,
JOHN ROCK."
"You can take it," said Jack to the messenger boy. "And here's half a
crown for yourself."
The messenger boy was a London boy; his professional belt was tight with
tea; and half a crown for himself! He put on his cap and stood on the
threshold. Escape was easy; he indulged his native humour.
"From this"--he exhibited the half-crown--"and your looks, gov'nor," he
said, "I gather that she's accepted ye! My best wishes for yer
'appiness!"
"Damn the boy!" said Jack, charging for the door in an explosion of
laughter. The boy was already half-way down the street. "Hope my letter
was all right," Jack reflected, as he came back, baulked of his prey.
"May stop and see me, may she! Bless her heart!"
Jack Rock felt that he had the chance of his life. He also felt that he
would like to obliterate what, in his humility, he now declared to have
been a sad blunder--the offer of his butcher's shop. A man like Andy, a
lad with friends like that--Mr. Harry Belfield, Mr. Foot, M.P., Mr. and
Miss Wellgood, above all this dazzling Miss Doris Flower--to be the
Meriton butcher! Perish the thought! Publishing was a gentleman's
business. Aye, and his Andy should not go back to Canada. If he did, old
Jack felt that the best part of his own life would be carried far away
across the seas.
The thing should be done dramatically. "I'd like Andy to have a story to
tell her!" It was not at all doubtful whom he meant by "her."
Nearly six--the bank was shut long ago. But George Croton was a friend
as well as a bank manager; he would just have had tea. Jack crossed the
street and dropped in.
"Why, of course I can, Jack," said Mr. Croton, wiping his bald head with
a red handkerchief. "You've securities lodged with us that more than
cover it. Draw your cheque. We won't wrong you over the interest till
you adjust the account. Going to buy a Derby winner?"
"I ain't so sure I'm not goin' to enter one," said Jack. He wrote his
cheque. "That'll be all right to-morrow morning?"
"Unless our shutters are up, it will, Jack," Mr. Croton jestingly
replied.
"Thank God I've been a careful man," thought old Jack. "One that knows a
horse too! Her talkin' about 'Andy'!" The Nun continued to amuse and
delight him immensely. Why, he'd seen her picture on the hoardings last
time he went up to Tattersall's, to sell that bay filly! Lord, not to
have thought of that! That was her--the Nun! He thought much more about
Miss Flower than about Andy as he took his way to Andy's lodgings.
Andy was at home; he had been back from town nearly an hour. But his own
concerns were quite out of his head. Harry Belfield had been waiting for
him--actually waiting, Harry the Great!--and had hailed him with "I had
to come and tell you all about it myself, old fellow!"
In Andy's great devotion to Harry there was mingled an element which
seemed to himself absurd, but which held its place obstinately--dim and
denied, yet always there. It was a sense of something compassionate,
something protective, not diminishing his admiration but qualifying it;
making him not only believe that all would, but also urgently pray that
all might, go well with Harry, that Harry might have everything that he
wished, possibly that Harry might wish the things that he ought to have,
though Andy's conscious analysis of the feeling did not reach as far as
this. He would not only set his hero on a pedestal, he would have the
pedestal securely fenced round, barricaded against danger, ensured
against bombs; even a screen against strong and sudden winds might be
useful to the statue.
The statue, it now appeared, had taken all these precautions for itself.
Vivien Wellgood was each and all of these things--fence, screen, and
barricade. And many other things besides, such as an ideal, an
incentive, an inspiration. It was among Harry's attractions that he was
not in the least ashamed of his emotions or shy about them.
"With the girls one meets in town it's a bargain," said Harry. "With
her--oh, I can talk to you, old man!--it really does seem a sort of
sacrament."
"I know. I mean I can imagine."
"Not things a fellow can talk about to everybody," Harry pursued.
"Too--well, sacred, you know. But when for absolutely the first time in
your life you feel the real thing, you know the difference. The pater
told me not to be in a hurry about it; but a thing like that's just the
same now or a thousand years hence. It's there--and that's all about
it!"
Andy felt a little out of his depth. He had had one fancy himself, but
it had been nothing like so wonderful as this. It was Harry's privilege
to be able to feel things in that marvellous way. Andy was not equal
even to commenting on them.
"When are you going to be married?" he asked, sticking to a
matter-of-fact line of sympathy.
"Going to wait till October--rather a bore! But here it's nearly July,
and I've got my tour of the Division fixed for September. After all,
things aren't so bad as they might be. And when I'm through with the
campaign--a honeymoon in Italy! Pretty good, Andy?"
"Sounds all right," laughed Andy. "I expect I shall have to send you my
blessing from Montreal."
"From Montreal? What--you're not going back?"
"The business is a frost in London, Harry; and I've nothing else to look
to."
"Lord, now, what a pity! Well, I'm sorry. We shall miss you, Andy.
Still, it's a ripping fine country, isn't it? Mind you cable us
congratulations!"
"I'm not quite certain about going yet," said Andy. He felt rather like
being seen off by the train--very kindly.
"Oh, well, I hope you won't have to, old chap, I really do. But it'll be
better than the shop! I say--I told Billy and the girls about that. They
roared."
"I know they did--I met them at lunch to-day."
"Had they heard about me?" Harry asked rather eagerly. "Or did you tell
them? What did they say?"
"Oh--er--awfully pleased," said Andy, rather confused. It seemed strange
to remember how very little had been said on the wonderful topic.
Somehow they had wandered off to other things.
"I must give them all one more dinner," said Harry, smiling, "before I
settle down."
"Foot's brother was there--Gilly Foot--and--"
"Did they ask what she was like?"
"I--I don't quite remember--everybody was talking. Gilly Foot--"
"I expect they were a bit surprised, weren't they?"
"Oh yes, they seemed surprised." Andy was really trying to remember.
"Yes, they did."
"I don't think I've got the character of a marrying man," smiled Harry.
"I hope you told them I meant business?" Harry rose to his feet with a
laugh. "They used to rot a lot, you know."
Harry was not to be got off the engrossing subject of himself, his past,
and his future; evidently he could not imagine that the lunch-party had
kept off these subjects either. With a smile Andy made up his mind not
to trouble him with the matter of Gilly Foot.
"I'll walk back with you as far as Halton gates," he said.
"No, you won't, old chap," laughed Harry. "Vivien's been in the town and
is going to call for me here, and I'm going to walk with her as far as
Nutley gates--at least."
Voices came from outside. "Wish you good evenin', miss!"--and a very
timid "Good evening, Mr. Rock." Vivien and Jack! How was Vivien bearing
the encounter?
"There she is!" cried Harry, and ran out of the house, Andy following.
"Ah, Jack, how are you? Why, you're looking like a two-year-old!"
Jack indeed looked radiant as he made bold to offer his congratulations.
He gave Harry his hand and a hearty squeeze, then looked at Vivien
tentatively. She blushed, pulled herself together, and offered Jack her
hand. The feat accomplished, she glanced quickly at Andy, blushing yet
more deeply. He knew what was in her mind, and nodded his head at her in
applause. In Harry's cause she had touched a butcher.
"I like to see young folks happy. I like to see 'em get what they want,
Mr. Harry."
"You see before you one at least who has, Jack. I wonder if I may say
two, Vivien? And I wish I could say three, Andy."
"Maybe you wouldn't be so far wrong, Mr. Harry," chuckled Jack. "But
that's neither here nor there, and I mustn't be keepin' you and your
young lady."
With blithe salutations the lovers went off. Andy watched them; they
were good to see. He felt himself their friend--Vivien's as well as
Harry's, for Vivien trusted him with her shy confidences. They were hard
to leave--even as were the delights of London with its lunch-parties and
the like.
"Going for a walk, Jack?"
"No, I want a talk with you, Andy." He led the way in, and sat down at
the table. "I've been thinkin' a bit about you, Andy; so have some
others, I reckon. Mr. Belfield--he speaks high of you--and there's
others. There's no reason you shouldn't take your part with the best of
'em. Why, they feel that--they make you one of themselves. So you shall
be. I can't make you a rich man, not as they reckon money, but I can
help a bit."
"O Jack, you're always at it," Andy groaned affectionately.
The old fellow's eyes twinkled as he drew out a cheque and pushed it
across the table.
"Put that in your pocket, and go and talk to Mr. Foot's brother," he
said.
Andy's start was almost a jump; old Jack's pent-up mirth broke out
explosively.
"But this--this is supernatural!" cried Andy.
"Looks like it, don't it? How did I find out about that? Well, it shows,
Andy, that it's no use you thinkin' of tryin' not to keep a certain
promise you made to me--because I find you out!"
"Dear old Jack!" Andy was standing by him now, his hand on his shoulder.
"I don't believe I could have kept the promise in this case. I think I
should have gone back--since the thing's no go in London."
"Yes, you'd have gone back--just like your obstinate ways. But I found
out. I've my correspondents."
"But there's been no time! Well, you are one too many for me, Jack!"
Jack's pride in his cunning was even greater than his delight in his
benevolence. "Perhaps I've had a wireless telegram?" he suggested,
wagging his head. "Or a carrier pigeon? Who knows?"
"But who was it told you?"
"You've got some friends I didn't know of, up there in London. Havin'
your fling, are you, Andy? That's right. And very good taste you seem to
have too." He nodded approvingly.
"Oh, I give it up," said Andy. "You're a wizard, Jack."
"If you talk about a witch, you'll be a bit nearer the point, I reckon.
Not meanin' me, I need hardly say! Well, I must let you into the
secret." With enormous pride he produced Miss Doris Flower's letter.
"Read that, my lad."
"The Nun!" cried Andy, as his eye fell on the signature. "Who'd have
thought of that?"
He read the letter; he listened to Jack's enraptured story of how it had
arrived. "And you're not goin' to shame her by refusin' the money now,
are you?" asked cunning Jack. "If you do, you'll make her feel she's
been meddlin'. Nice thing to make her feel that!"
Andy saw through this little device, but he only patted Jack's shoulder
again, saying quietly, "I'll take the money, Jack." All the kindness
made his heart very full--whether it came from old-time friends or these
new friends from a new world who made his cause theirs with so ready a
sympathy.
"You're launched now, lad--fair launched! And I know you'll float," said
old Jack, grave at last, as he took his leave, his precious letter most
carefully stowed away in his breast-pocket. It had been a great day for
Jack, great for what he had done, great for the way in which his doing
it had come about.
Within less than twenty-four hours Montreal had been written to, Gilly
Foot had been written to--and Andy was at the Nun's door.
She dwelt with Miss Dutton in a big block of flats near Sloane Street,
very high up. Her sitting-room was small and cosy, presenting, however,
one marked peculiarity. On two of the walls the paper was red, on the
other two green. Seeing Andy's eyes attracted by this phenomenon, the
Nun explained: "We quarrelled over the colour to such an extent that at
last I lost my temper, and, when Sally was away for a day, had it done
like this--to spite her. Now she won't let me alter it, because it's a
perpetual warning to me not to lose my temper. But it does look a little
queer, doesn't it?"
She had received him with her usual composure. "I knew you'd come,
because I knew Mr. Jack Rock would do as I wanted, and I was sure he
couldn't keep the letter to himself. Well, that's all right! It was only
that the obvious thing wanted doing."
"But I don't see--well, I don't see why you should care."
She looked at him, a lurking laugh in her eye.
"Oh, you needn't suppose that it was life and death to me! It was rather
fun, just on its own account. You'll like Gilly; he's a good sort,
though he's rather greedy. Did you notice that? Billy's really my
friend. I'm very fond of Billy. Are you ambitious? Billy's very
ambitious."
"No, I don't think I am."
The Nun lay back on a long chair; she was certainly wonderfully pretty
as she smiled lazily at Andy.
"You look a size too large for the room," she remarked. "Yes, Billy's
ambitious. He'd like to marry me, only he's ambitious. It doesn't make
any difference to me, because I'm not in love with him; but I'm afraid
it's an awfully uncomfortable state of affairs for poor Billy."
"Well, if he'd have no chance anyhow, couldn't you sort of let him know
that?" Andy suggested, much amused at an innocent malice which marked
her description of Billy's conflict of feeling.
"No use at all. I've tried. But he's quite sure he could persuade me. In
fact I don't think he believes I should refuse if it came to the point.
So there he is, always just pulling up on the brink! He can't like it,
but he goes on. Oh, but tell me all about Harry Belfield. Now I've got
you off my mind, I'm awfully interested about that."
Andy was not very ready at description. She assisted him by a detailed
and skilful cross-examination, directed to eliciting full information
about Vivien Wellgood's appearance, habits, and character--how old she
was, where she had been, what she had seen. When the picture of Vivien
had thus emerged--of Vivien's youth and secluded life, how she had been
nowhere and seen nothing, how she was timid and shy, innocent and
trustful, above all, how she idolized Harry--the Nun considered it for a
moment in silence.
"Poor girl!" she said at last. Andy looked sharply at her. She smiled.
"Oh yes, you worship Harry, don't you? Well, he's a very charming man. I
was rather inclined to fall in love with him once myself. Luckily for me
I didn't."
"I'm sure he'd have responded," Andy laughed.
"Yes, that's just it; he would have! When did you say they were going to
be married?"
"October, I think Harry said."
"Four months! And he dotes on her?"
"I should think so. You should just hear him!"
"I daresay I shall. He always likes talking to one girl about how much
he's in love with another."
The Nun's matter-of-fact way of speaking may have contributed to the
effect, but in the end the effect of what she said was to give the
impression that she regarded Harry Belfield's present passion as one of
a series--far from the first, not at all likely to be the last. The
inflection of tone with which she had exclaimed "Four months!" implied
that it was a very long while to wait.
"You'd understand it better if you saw them together," said Andy, eager,
as always, to champion his friend.
"You're very enthusiastic about her, anyhow," smiled the Nun. "It almost
sounds as if you were a little in love with her yourself."
"Such a thing never occurred to me." Then he laughed, for the Nun was
laughing at him. "Well, she would make every man want to--well, sort of
want to take care of her, you know."
"Well, there's no harm in your doing that--in moderation; and she may
come to want it. Have you ever been in love yourself?"
"Yes, once," he confessed; "a long while ago, just before I left South
Africa."
"Got over it?" she inquired anxiously.
"Yes, of course I have, long ago. It wasn't very fatal."
"Fickle creature!"
Andy gave one of his bursts of hearty laughter to hear himself thus
described.
"I like you," she said; "and I'm glad you're going in with Gilly,
because we shall often see you at lunch-time."
"Oh, but I can't afford to lunch at that place every day!"
"You'll have to--with Gilly; because lunch is the only time he ever gets
ideas--he always says so--and unless he can tell somebody else he
forgets them again, and they're lost beyond recall. He used to tell them
to me, but I always forgot them too. Now he'll tell you; so you'll have
to be at lunch, and put it down as office expenses."
Andy had risen to go. The Nun sat up. "I can only tell you once again
how grateful I am for all your kindness," he said.
She gave him a whimsically humorous look. "It's really time somebody
told you," she said; "and as I feel rather responsible for you, after my
letter to Mr. Jack Rock, I expect I'm the proper person to do it. If
you're not told, you may go about doing a lot of mischief without
knowing anything about it. Prepare for a surprise. You're attractive!
Yes, you are. You're attractive to women, moreover. People don't do
things for you out of mere kindness, as they might be kind to a little
boy in the street or to a lost dog. They do them because you're
attractive, because it gives them pleasure to please you. That sort of
thing will go on happening to you; very likely it'll help you a good
deal." She nodded at him wisely, then broke suddenly into her gurgle.
"Oh, dear me, you do look so much astonished, and if you only knew how
red you've got!"
"Oh, I feel the redness all right; I know that's there," muttered Andy,
whose confusion was indeed lamentable. "But when a--a person like you
says that sort of thing to me--"
"A person, like me?" She lifted her brows. "What am I? I'm the fashion
for three or four seasons--that's what I am. Nobody knows where I come
from; nobody knows where I'm going to; and nobody cares. I don't know
myself, and I'm not sure I care. My small opinion doesn't count for
much. Only, in this case, it happens to be true."
"Where do you come from?" asked Andy, in a sudden impulse of great
friendliness.
She looked him straight in the face. "Nobody knows. Nobody must ask."
"I've got no people belonging to me either. Even Jack Rock's no
relation--or only a 'step.'"
Her eyes grew a little clouded. "You mustn't make me silly. Only we're
friends now, aren't we? We don't do what we can for one another out of
kindness, but for love?" She daintily blew him a kiss, and smiled again.
"And because we're both very attractive--aren't we?"
"Oh, I'll accept the word if I'm promoted to share it with you. But I
can't say I've got over the surprise yet."
"You've stopped blushing, anyhow. That's something. Good-bye. I shall
see you at lunch, I expect, to-morrow."
Andy was very glad that she liked him, but he was glad of it because he
liked her. His head was not turned by her assurance that he was
attractive in a general sense: in the first place, because he remained
distinctly sceptical as to the correctness of her opinion, sincere as it
obviously was; in the second, because the matter did not appear to be
one of much moment. No doubt folks sometimes did one a good turn for
love's sake, but, taking the world broadly, a man had to make his way
without relying on such help as that. That sort of help had given him a
fair start now. He was not going to expect any more of it. It seemed to
him that Jack Rock--or Jack and the Nun between them?--had already given
him more than his share. It was curious to associate her with Jack Rock
in the work; a queer freak of chance that she had come into it! But she
had come into it--by chance and her own wilful fancy. Odd her share in
it certainly was, but it was not unpleasant to him. He felt that he had
gained a friend, as well as an opening in Gilly Foot's publishing house.
"But I wish," he found himself reflecting as he travelled back in the
Underground, "that she understood Harry better."
Here he fell into an error unusual with him; he overrated his own
judgment, led thereto by old love and admiration. The Nun had clear
eyes; she had seen much of Harry Belfield, and no small amount of life.
She had had to dodge many dangers. She knew what she was talking about.
In all the side of things she knew so well, Andy, with his one
attachment before he left South Africa long ago, was an innocent.
Perhaps it was some dim consciousness of this, some half-realized
feeling that he was on strange ground where she was on familiar, which
made him find it difficult to get what she had said or hinted out of his
head. It was apt to come back to him when he saw Vivien Wellgood; an
unlooked-for association in his mind of people who seemed far remote
from one another. Thus the Nun had come into the old circle of his
thoughts; henceforward she too belonged, in a way, to the world of
Meriton.