A SALUTATION
As they walked down Moorthorne-road towards the town they certainly made
a couple piquant enough, by reason of the excessive violence of the
contrast between them, to amuse the eye of the beholder. A young and
pretty woman who spends seventy pounds a year on her ornamentations,
walking by the side of a little old man (she had the better of him by an
inch) who had probably not spent seventy pounds on clothes in sixty
years--such a spectacle must have drawn attention even in the least
attentive of towns. And Bursley is far from the least attentive of
towns. James and his great-stepniece had not got as far as the new
Independent Chapel when it was known in St. Luke's-square, a long way
farther on, that they were together; a tramcar had flown forward with
the interesting fact. From that moment, of course, the news, which
really was great news, spread itself over the town with the rapidity of
a perfume; no corner could escape it. All James's innumerable tenants
seemed to sniff it simultaneously. And that evening in the mouth of the
entire town (I am licensing myself to a little poetical exaggeration)
there was no word but the word "Jimmy."
Their converse, as they descended into the town, was not effective. It
was, indeed, feeble. They had fought a brief but bitter duel, and James
Ollerenshaw had been severely wounded. His dignity bled freely; he made,
strange to say, scarcely any attempt to staunch the blood, which might
have continued to flow for a considerable time had not a diversion
occurred. (It is well known that the dignity will only bleed while you
watch it. Avert your eyes, and it instantly dries up.) The diversion,
apparently of a trifling character, had, in truth, an enormous
importance, though the parties concerned did not perceive this till
later. It consisted in the passing of Mrs. Prockter and her stepson,
Emanuel Prockter, up Duck Bank as James and Helen were passing down Duck
Bank.
Mrs. Prockter (who by reason of the rare "k" in her name regarded
herself as the sole genuine in a district full of Proctors) may be
described as the dowager of Bursley, the custodian of its
respectability, and the summit of its social ladder. You could not climb
higher than Mrs. Prockter. She lived at Hillport, and even in that
haughty suburb there was none who dared palter with an invitation from
Mrs. Prockter. She was stout and deliberate. She had waving flowers in
her bonnet and pictures of flowers on her silken gown, and a grey
mantle. Much of her figure preceded her as she walked. Her stepson had a
tenor voice and a good tailor; his age was thirty.
Now, Mrs. Prockter was simply nothing to James Ollerenshaw. They knew
each other by sight, but their orbits did not touch. James would have
gone by Mrs. Prockter as indifferently as he would have gone by a
policeman or a lamp-post. As for Emanuel, James held him in mild,
benignant contempt. But when, as the two pairs approached one another,
James perceived Emanuel furtively shifting his gold-headed cane from his
right hand to his left, and then actually raise his hat to Helen, James
swiftly lost his indifference. He also nearly lost his presence of mind.
He was utterly unaccustomed to such crises. Despite his wealthy
indifference to Mrs. Prockter, despite his distinguished scorn of
Emanuel, despite the richness of Helen's attire, he was astounded, and
deeply impressed, to learn that Helen had the acquaintance of people
like the Prockters. Further, except at grave-sides, James Ollerenshaw
had never in his life raised his hat. Hat-raising formed no part of his
code of manners. In his soul he looked upon hat-raising as affected. He
believed that all people who raised hats did so from a snobbish desire
to put on airs. Hat-raising was rather like saying "please," only worse.
Happily, his was one of those strong, self-reliant natures that can,
when there is no alternative, face the most frightful situations with
unthumping heart. He kept his presence of mind, and decided in the
fraction of a second what he must do. The faculty of instant decision is
indispensable to safety in these swift-rising crises.
He raised his hat, praying that Helen would not stop to speak. Not
gracefully, not with the beauteous curves of an Emanuel did he raise his
hat--but he raised it. His prayer was answered.
"There!" his chest said to Helen. "If you thought I didn't know how to
behave to your conceited acquaintances, you were mistaken."
And his casual, roving eye pretended that hat-raising was simply the
most ordinary thing on earth.
Such was the disturbing incident which ended the bleeding of his
dignity. In order to keep up the pretence that hat-raising was a normal
function of his daily life he was obliged to talk freely; and he did
talk freely. But neither he nor Helen said a word as to the Prockters.