A normal Bill Hollis would not have been slow to analyze this speech
and to find a lurking insult. But he was not a normal Bill Hollis this
evening; it was the last place he was likely to be in if he had been.
Therefore he shook his head gently at Miss Searson without submitting
her to any more destructive form of criticism. What a fool the woman
was, what a common fool not to understand that in the presence of a war
with Germany nothing else could possibly matter.
"I don't think I'd stop here--if I was you." Yes, there was a
bluntness about Miss Searson which at ordinary times had a unique
power of "getting there." But Bill merely smiled at her now. The
chrysanthemum-topped fathead! Suddenly he reached the limit of his
endurance; he expressed a boundless contempt for her and all her tribe
by recourse to a spittoon.
How _could_ Melia ever have married him ... Melia Munt who might have
married an architect!...
Bill Hollis defensively went on with his bitter. He was consumed with
scorn of a person whom he had once respected immensely. She was found
out, the shallow fool, fringe and back hair included! When he came to
the end of the pint, he paused a moment in the midst of the pleasant
sensations it had inspired and then decided that he would have another,
not because he wanted another, but because he felt that it would annoy
this Toplofty Crackpot.
The second pint did annoy the T.C., annoyed her obviously; emotionally
she was a very obvious lady. But it was odd that Bill Hollis, shaken to
the depths by a world catastrophe, should desire a cheap revenge and
stoop to gratify it. Perhaps it was a case of multiple personality.
There were several Bill Hollises in this moment of destiny.
There was the Bill Hollis who gave the defiant order for another pint
of bitter, the Bill Hollis who paid for it with truculent coolness,
the Bill Hollis who bore it to the window the better to regard the
somber stream of fellow citizens flowing steadily in the direction of
the Market Place, the Bill Hollis who took a beer-stained copy of the
Blackhampton _Tribune_ from a table with a marble top and glanced at
the portentous headings of its many columns. And finally there was
the Bill Hollis who suddenly heard with a sick thrill that came very
near to nausea a footfall heavily familiar and a voice outside in the
passage.
Could it be...! Could it be that...!
There was a look of obvious triumph on the almost unnaturally fair
countenance of Miss Searson. In her grim eyes was "I told you so!"
The ex-barman, in the peril of the moment, glanced hastily around, but
the eyes of Miss Searson assured him that he was a rat and that he was
caught in a trap. Moreover they assured him that if ever rat deserved
a fate so ignominious, William Hollis was the name of that rodent. And
the loathsome animal had time to recall before that voice and those
footsteps were able to enter the private bar that sixteen years ago
Miss Searson had been the witness of a certain incident. And if her
warlike bearing meant anything she was now looking for a repetition,
with modern improvements and variations.
Escape was impossible, that was clear. And on the strength of a fact so
obvious all the various kinds of Bill Hollises promptly came together
and decided to hand over the body politic to the only Bill Hollis who
could hope to deal with the crisis. This was the Bill Hollis who had
had a pint and a half of his father-in-law's excellent bitter and felt
immeasurably the better for it.
As a measure of precaution this Bill Hollis spread wide the _Tribune_
and by taking cover behind it greatly reassured his brethren. None of
the others would have had the wit to think of that. Even as it was only
a pint and a half of a very choice brew enabled the device to be put
coolly and quietly into practice.
He had hardly taken cover when Josiah came in. Following close behind
were Julius Weiss and Councilor Kersley. It was a tense moment, but
these grandees were occupied with a matter more important than the
identity of the man behind the newspaper in the corner by the window.
"Miss Searson!" The tone of the proprietor was like unto that of Jove.
"Ring up Strathfieldsaye and tell them I am going to eat at the Club."
Bill Hollis was sensible of a thrill. He was a mere cat in the presence
of a king, except that this was a king whom he dare not look at. It was
a disgusting feeling yet somehow it was exalting. And this sense of
uplift grew when Josiah and his friends disposed themselves augustly at
one of the tables with a marble top, and three tankards of an exclusive
brew were brought to them and they began to talk.
It was "inner circle talk" and in the ear of William Hollis that lent
it piquancy. Really it was what he was there for. The newspapers
were unsatisfying. He craved to hear the matter discussed by men of
substance, standing, general information, by men of the world. Sitting
there behind his paper in the private bar, he felt nearer to the heart
of things than he had ever been in his life.
"Is it going to make so much difference?" Councilor Kersley, the
eminent retail grocer, asked the question.
"It's going to alter everything, Kersley--you mark me." The tone of
Josiah was as final as an act of parliament and Julius Weiss slowly
nodded in deep concurrence with it.
"Of course we shall down 'em," said Councilor Kersley.
"Yes, we shall down 'em, but----" Josiah's "but" left a good deal to
the imagination.
"Don't be too sure, my friends," said the master-hair-dresser.
"Our Navy'll settle it at the finish," Josiah's growl was that of a
very big dog.
Julius Weiss shook his head solemnly but he didn't speak again. An odd,
uneasy silence settled on the three of them while they drank their
beer. But of a sudden there came a wholly unexpected obtrusion into the
conversation.
The man by the window lowered his paper. "We're not going to have a
walk over, so don't let us think we are." For a reason he could not
have explained had his life depended on it, William Hollis revealed his
presence and plunged horse, foot and artillery into the matter in hand.