MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS.
It is not to be supposed that because Geoffrey Ludlow's married life
offered no very striking points for criticism, it was left uncriticised
by his friends. Those, be they married or single, quiet or boisterous,
convivial or misanthropical, who do not receive discussion at the
hands of their acquaintance, are very few in number. There can be
nothing more charmingly delightful, nothing more characteristic of
this chivalrous age, than the manner in which friends speak of each
other behind, as the phrase goes, "each other's backs." To two sets
of people, having a third for common acquaintance, this pastime
affords almost inexpressible delight, more especially if the two
sets present have been made acquainted with each other through the
medium of the absent third. It is rather dangerous ground at first,
because neither of the two sets present can tell whether the other may
not have some absurd scruples as to the propriety of canvassing the
merits or demerits of their absent friend; but a little tact, a little
cautious dealing with the subject, a few advances made as tentatively
as those of the elephant on the timber bridge, soon show that the
discussion will not be merely endured, but will be heartily welcome;
and straightway it is plunged into with the deepest interest. How they
manage to keep that carriage,--that's what we've always wanted to know!
O, you've noticed it too. Well, is it rouge, or enamel, or what? That's
what Ive always said to George--how that poor man can go on slaving
and slaving as he does, and all the money going in finery for her, is
what I can't understand! What a compliment to our opinion of our powers
of character-reading to find all our notions indorsed by others, more
especially when those notions have been derogatory to those with whom
we have for some time been living on terms of intimacy! To be sure
there is another side to the medal, when we find that those who have
known our dear absents a much shorter time than we have, claim credit
for being far more sharp-sighted than we. They marked at once, they
say, all the shortcomings which we had taken so long to discover; and
they lead the chorus of depreciation, in which we only take inferior
parts.
It was not often that Mr. Stompff busied himself with the domestic
concerns of the artists who formed his staff: It was generally quite
enough for him provided they "came up to time," as he called it, did
their work well, and did not want too much money in advance. But in
Geoffrey Ludlow Mr. Stompff took a special interest, regarding him as
a man out of whom, if properly worked, great profit and fame were to
be made. He had paid several visits to Elm Lodge, ostensibly for the
purpose of seeing how the Brighton-Esplanade picture was progressing;
but with this he combined the opportunity of inspecting the domestic
arrangements and noting whether they were such as were likely to "suit
his book." No man more readily understood the dispiriting influence of
a slattern wife or a disorderly home upon the work that was to be done.
"Ive seen 'em," he used to say, "chock-full of promise, and all go to
the bad just because of cold meat for dinner, or the house full of
steam on washing-days. They'd rush away, and go off--public-house or
any where--and then goodbye to my work and the money theyve had of me!
What I like best 's a regular expensive woman,--fond of her dress and
going about, and all that,--who makes a man stick to it to keep her
going. That's when you get the work out of a cove. So I'll just look-up
Ludlow, and see how he's goin' on."
He did "look-up" Ludlow several times; and his sharp eyes soon
discovered a great deal of which he did not approve, and which did not
seem likely to coincide with his notions of business. He had taken a
dislike to Margaret the first time he had seen her, and his dislike
increased on each subsequent visit. There was something about her which
he could scarcely explain to himself,--a "cold stand-offishness,"
he phrased it,--which he hated. Margaret thought Mr. Stompff simply
detestable, and spite of Geoff's half-hints, took no pains to disguise
her feelings. Not that she was ever demonstrative--it was her calm
quiet _insouciance_ that roused Mr. Stompff's wrath. "I can't tell what
to make of that woman," he would say; "she never gives Ludlow a word
of encouragement, but sits there yea-nay, by G--, lookin' as though
she didn't know he was grindin' his fingers off to earn money for her!
She don't seem to take any notice of what's goin' on; but sits moonin'
there, lookin' straight before her, and treatin'me and her husband
as if we was dirt! Who's she, I should like to know, to give herself
airs and graces like that? It was all very well when Ludlow wanted a
model for that Skyllar picture; but there's no occasion for a man to
marry his models, that Ive heard of--leastways it ain't generally done.
She don't seem to know that it's from me all the money comes, by the
way she treats me. She don't seem to think that that pretty house and
furniture, and all the nice things which she has, are paid for by my
money. She's never a decent word to say to me. Damme, I hate her!"
And Mr. Stompff did not content himself by exploding in this manner.
He let off this safety-valve of self-communion to keep himself from
boiling over; but all the cause for his wrath still remained, and he
referred to it, mentally, not unfrequently. He knew that Geoffrey
Ludlow was one of his greatest cards; he knew that he had obtained a
certain mastery over him at a very cheap rate; but he also knew that
Ludlow was a man impressible to the highest degree, and that if he
were preoccupied or annoyed, say by domestic trouble for instance--and
there was nothing in a man of Geoffrey's temperament more destructive
to work than domestic trouble--he would be incapable of earning his
money properly. Why should there be domestic trouble at Elm Lodge?
Mr. Stompff had his ears wider open than most men, and had heard a
certain something which had been rumoured about at the time of Geoff's
marriage; but he had not paid much attention to it. There were many
_ateliers_ which he was in the habit of frequenting,--and the occupants
of which turned out capital pictures for him,--where he saw ladies
playing the hostess's part whose names had probably never appeared in a
marriage-register; but that was nothing to him. Most of them accepted
Mr. Stompff's compliments, and made themselves agreeable to the great
_entrepreneur_, and laughed at his coarse story and his full-flavoured
joke, and were only too delighted to get them, in conjunction with
his cheque. But this wife of Ludlow's was a woman of a totally
different stamp; and her treatment of him so worried Mr. Stompff that
he determined to find out more about her. Charley Potts was the most
intimate friend of Ludlow's available to Mr. Stompff, and to Charley
Potts Mr. Stompff determined to go.
It chanced that on the morning which the great picture-dealer had
selected to pay his visit, Mr. Bowker had strolled into Charley
Potts's rooms, and found their proprietor hard at work. Mr. Bowker's
object, though prompted by very different motives from those of Mr.
Stompff, was identically the same. Old William had heard some of those
irrepressible rumours which, originating no one knows how, gather
force and strength from circulation, and had come to talk to Mr. Potts
about them. "Dora in the Cornfield" had progressed so admirably since
Bowker's last visit, that after filling his pipe he stood motionless
before it, with the unlighted lucifer in his hand.
"'Pon my soul, I think you'll do something some day, young 'un!" were
his cheering words. "That's the real thing! Wonderful improvement since
I saw it; got rid of the hay-headed child, and come out no end. Don't
think the sunlight's _quite_ that colour, is it? and perhaps no reason
why those reaping-parties shouldn't have noses and mouths as well as
eyes and chins. Don't try scamping, Charley,--you're not big enough for
that; wait till you're made an R.A., and then the critics will point
out the beauties of your outline; at present you must copy nature. And
now"--lighting his pipe--"how are you?"
"O, I'm all right, William," responded Mr. Potts; "all right, and
working like any number of steam-engines. Orson, sir--if I may so
describe myself--Orson is endowed with reason. Orson has begun to find
out that life is different from what he imagined, and has gone in for
something different."
"Ha!" said old Bowker, eyeing the young man kindly as he puffed at his
pipe; "it's not very difficult to discover what's up now, then.
"O, I don't want to make any mystery about it," said Charley. "The
simple fact is, that having seen the folly of what is called a life of
pleasure--"
"At thirty years of age!" interrupted Bowker.
"Well, what then?--at thirty years of age! One does not want to be a
Methuselah like you before one discovers the vanity, the emptiness, the
heartlessness of life."
"Of course not, Charley?" said Bowker, greatly delighted. "Go on!"
"And I intend to--to----to cut it, Bowker, and go in for something
better. It's something, sir, to have something to work for. I have an
end in view, to--"
"Well, but you've always had that. I thought that your ideas were
concentrated on being President of the Academy, and returning thanks
for your health, proposed by the Prime Minister."
"Bowker, you are a ribald. No, sir; there is a spur to my ambition
far beyond the flabby presidentship of that collection of dreary old
parties--"
"Yes, I know and the spur is marked with the initials M.L. That it,
Master Charley?"
"It may be, Bowker, and it may be not. Meanwhile, my newly-formed but
unalterable resolutions do not forbid the discussion of malt-liquor,
and Caroline yet understands the signal-code."
With these words, Mr. Potts proceeded to make his ordinary pantomimic
demonstration at the window, and, when the beer arrived, condescended
to give up work for a time; and, lighting a pipe and seating himself in
his easy-chair, he entered into conversation with his friend.
"And suppose the spur were marked with M.L.," said he, reverting to the
former topic, after a little desultory conversation,--"suppose the spur
were marked with M. L., what would be the harm of that, Bowker?"
"Harm!" growled old Bowker; "you don't imagine when you begin to speak
seriously of such a thing that I, of all people, should say there was
any harm in it? I thought you were chaffing at first, and so I chaffed;
but I'm about the last man in the world to dissuade a young fellow with
the intention and the power to work from settling himself in life with
a girl such as I know this one to be. So far as I have seen of her, she
has all our Geoff's sweetness of disposition combined with an amount of
common-sense and knowledge of the world which Geoff never had and never
will have."
"She's A1, old boy, and that's all about it; but we're going a-head
rather too quickly. Ive not said a word to her yet, and I scarcely know
whether--"
"Nonsense, Chancy! A man who is worth any thing knows right well
whether a woman cares for him or not; and knows in what way she cares
for him too. On this point I go back to my old ground again, and say
that Geoffrey Ludlow's sister could not be dishonest enough to flirt
and flatter and play the deuce with a man. There's too much honesty
about the family; and you would be in a very different state of mind,
young fellow, if you thought there was any doubt as to how your remarks
would be received in that quarter, when you chose to speak."
Mr. Potts smiled, and pulled his moustache, triumphantly now, not
doubtfully as was his wont. Then his face settled into seriousness, as
he said:
"You're right, William, I think. I hope so, please God! Ive never said
so much as this to any one, as you may guess; but I love that girl with
all my heart and soul, and if only the dealers will stick by me, I
intend to tell her that same very shortly. But what you just said has
turned my thoughts into another channel--our Geoff."
"Well, what about our Geoff?" asked Mr. Bowker, twisting round on his
seat, and looking hard at his friend.
"You must have noticed, Bowker--probably much more than I have, for
you're more accustomed to that sort of thing--that our Geoff's not
right lately. There's something wrong up there at Elm Lodge, that I
can't make out,--that I daren't think, of. You remember our talks both
before and after Geoff's marriage? Well, I must hark back upon them.
He's not happy, William--there, you have the long and the short of it!
I'm a bad hand at explaining these matters, but Geoff's not happy. He's
made a mistake; and though I don't think he sees it himself--or if he
does, he would die sooner than own it--there can be no doubt about it.
Mrs. Ludlow does not understand,--does not appreciate him; and our
Geoff's no more like our crony of old days than I'm like Raffaelle.
There, that's it, as clear as I can put it!"
Bowker waited for an instant, and then he said:
"Ive tried hard enough, God knows!--hard enough to prevent myself from
thinking as you think, Charley; but all to no purpose. There is a cloud
over Geoff's life, and I fear it springs from----Some one knocking.
Keep 'em out, if possible; we don't want any one boring in here just
now."
But the knocker, whoever he was, seemed by no means inclined to be
kept out. He not only obeyed the regular directions and "tugged the
trotter," but he afterwards gave three distinct and loud raps with his
fist on the door, which was the signal to the initiated; and when the
door was opened and the knocker appeared in the person of Mr. Stompff,
further resistance was useless.
The great man entered the room with a light and airy step and a light
and airy address. "Well, Charley, how are you? Come to give you a
look-up, you see. Hallo! who's this?--Mr. Bowker, how do you do,
sir?" in a tone which meant, "What the devil do you do here?"--"how
are you, sir?--Well, Charley, what are you at? Going to the bad, you
villain,--going to the bad!"
"Not quite that, I hope, Mr. Stompff--"
"Working for Caniche, eh? That's the same thing, just the same thing!
Ive heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get old of
you, eh? This is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you
call 'em--reapers? That's it! reapers, and a little child. Some story,
eh? O, ah! Tennyson; I don't know him--not bad, by Jove! not half bad
it's Caniche's?"
"Yes; that's Caniche's commission."
"Give you fifty more than he's given to make it over to me. You won't,
of course not, you silly feller! it's only my joke. But look here,
mind you give me the refusal of the next. I can do better for you than
Caniche. He's a poor paltry chap. I go in for great things,--that's my
way, Mr. Bowker."
"Is it?" growled old William over his pipe; "then you go in also for
great pay, Mr. Stompff, I suppose?"
"Ask your friend Ludlow about that. He'll tell you whether I pay
handsomely or not, sir.--By the way, how is your friend Ludlow Potts?"
"He's all right, I believe."
"And his wife, how's she?"
There was something in his tone and in the expression of his eyes which
made Mr. Potts say:
"Mrs. Ludlow is going on very well, I believe," in a tone of
seriousness very unusual with Charley.
"That's all right," said Mr. Stompff. "Going on very well, eh? Every
body will be glad to hear that, and Ludlow in partickler. Going on very
well--in a regular domestic quiet manner, eh? That's all right. Hasn't
been much used to the domestic style before her marriage, I should
think, eh?"
"Whatever you may think, I should advise you not to say much, Mr.
Stompff," said Bowker. "I don't think Geoff would much like hearing
those things said of his wife; I'm sure I should not of mine."
"N-no; but you have not a wife; I--I mean living, Mr. Bowker," said
Stompff with a sneer.
William Bowker swallowed down a great lump rising in his throat, and
forcibly restrained the involuntary clenching of his fists, as he
replied, "No, you're right there, Mr. Stompff; but still I repeat my
advice."
"O, I shall say nothing. People will talk, you know, Whether I'm silent
or not, and people will want to know who Mrs. Ludlow was before she
married Ludlow, and why she's so silent and preoccupied, and why she
never goes into society, and why she faints away when she looks at
photograph-books, and so on. But I didn't come here to talk of Mrs.
Ludlow. Now, Potts, _mon brave_, let us discuss business."
When the great man took his departure, after proposing handsome terms
to Charley Potts for a three years' engagement, Bowker said; "There's
more in what we were saying when that blatant ruffian came in than I
thought for, Charley. The news of Geoff's domestic trouble has got
wind."
"I'm afraid so. But what did Stompff mean about the fainting and the
photograph-book?"
"God knows! probably an invention and a lie. But when people like
Stompff begin to talk in that way, it's bad for those they talk about,
depend upon it."