HIS UNCLE AND HIS COUSIN
Mrs. Elmore's income died with her. She had sunk her money in an
annuity because, as she had explained to Rodney, that enabled her to
give him a much better education than she could have done had they
been constrained to live on the interest produced by her slender
capital. But her son was not left penniless. She had bought him an
annuity, to commence when he was twenty-one, of thirty shillings a
week, to be paid weekly, and had tied it up in such a way that he
could neither forestall it nor use it as a security on which to borrow
money. As clerk to his uncle he received one hundred pounds a year.
Feeling that he could no longer reside in Uffham, he sold the house,
which was his mother's freehold, and its contents, the sale producing
quite a comfortable sum. So, on the whole, he was not so badly off as
some young men.
On the contra side he had expensive tastes, practically in every
direction. Among other things, he had a partiality for feminine
society, mostly of the reputable sort; but a young man is apt to find
the society of even a nice girl an expensive luxury. For instance,
Mary Carmichael had a voice. Her fond parents, who lived in the
country, suffered her to live in town while she was taking singing
lessons. Tom Austin, although still an undergraduate at Oxford, made
no secret of his feelings for the maiden, a fact which did not prevent
Mary going out now and then with Rodney Elmore to dinner at a
restaurant, and, afterwards, to a theatre, as, nowadays, young men and
maidens do. On these occasions Rodney paid, and where the evening's
entertainment of a modern maiden is concerned a five-pound note does
not go far. Then, although Miss Carmichael might not have been aware
of it, there were others. Among them Stella Austin, who had reasons of
her own for believing that Mr. Elmore would give the world to make her
his wife, being only kept from avowing his feelings by the fact that
he was, to all intents and purposes, a pauper. Since she was the
possessor of three or four hundred a year of her own, with the
prospect of much more, she tried more than once to hint that, since
she would not mind setting up housekeeping on quite a small income,
there was no reason why they should wait an indefinite period, till
Rodney was a millionaire. But Rodney's delicacy was superfine. While
he commended her attitude with an ardour which made the blood grow hot
in her veins, he explained that he was one of those men who would not
ask a girl to marry him unless he was in a position to keep her in the
style a husband should, adding that that time was not so distant as
some people might think. In another twelve months he hoped--well, he
hoped! As at such moments she was apt to be very close to him, Stella
hoped too.
The young gentleman was living at the rate of at least five or six
hundred a year on an income of a hundred and eighty. He did not bother
himself by keeping books, but he quite realised that his expenditure
bore no relation to his actual income. Of course, he owed money; but
he did not like owing money. It was against his principles. He never
borrowed if he could help it, and he objected to being at the mercy of
a tradesman. He preferred to get the money somehow, and pay; and,
somehow, he got it. Very curious methods that "somehow" sometimes
covered. He was fond of cards; liked to play for all sorts of stakes;
and, on the whole, he won. His skill in one so young was singular;
sometimes, when opportunity offered, it was shown in directions at
which one prefers only to hint. His favourite games were bridge,
piquet, poker, and baccarat, four games at which a skilful player can
do strange things, especially when playing with unsuspicious young men
who have looked upon the wine when it was red.
Rodney's dexterity with his fingers was almost uncanny. He could do
wonderful card tricks, though he never did them in public, but only
for his own private amusement. When reading "Oliver Twist," he had
been tickled by the scene in which Fagin teaches his youthful pupils
how to pick a pocket. He had made experiments of his own in the same
direction upon parties who were not in the least aware of the
experiments he was making. His success amused him hugely, while the
subjects of his experiments never had the dimmest notion as to how or
where their valuables had gone.
In very many ways Rodney Elmore obtained sufficient money to enable
him to keep his credit at a surprisingly high standard. Everyone spoke
well of him; he was a general favourite. Nor was it strange; he looked
a likeable fellow--indeed, ninety-nine people out of a hundred liked
him at first sight. Over six feet in height, slightly built, he did
not look so strong as he was in reality. Straight as an arrow, head
held well up, there was something almost feminine in the lightness
with which he seemed to move. Many girls and women had told him to his
face that he was the best dancer they had ever had for partner.
Indeed, in a sense, he flattered his partners, having a knack of
making a girl who danced badly think she danced well. He had light
brown hair, which seemed as if it had been dusted with golden sand;
grey eyes, which, with the pleasantest expression, looked you right in
the face; an Englishman's clear skin; mobile lips, which parted on the
slightest pretext in a sunny smile; just enough moustache to shade his
upper lip. Altogether as agreeable looking a young gentleman as one
might hope to meet. And his manners bore out the promise of his
appearance. Always cool, easy, self-possessed, ready to perform little
services for women, the aged, the infirm, in a fashion which, so far
as our present-day young men are concerned, is a little out of date.
With the pleasantest voice and trick of speech, no chatterer, it
seemed impossible for him to say a disagreeable or an unkind thing
either to or of anyone. It was a standing joke among his intimates
that, when scandal-mongering was in the air, Elmore would spoil the
fun by pointing out the good qualities of those attacked and refusing
to see anything else but them. He had ever an excuse to offer for the
most notorious sinner. It was not wonderful that everybody liked him.
On his part, he seemed incapable of disliking anyone. He might rob his
friend of all that he had, but he would not regard him as less his
friend on that account.
To this rule, so far as he knew, there was only one exception, and as
time went on this exception surprised him more and more. There was
only one person who he felt sure disliked him, and why he disliked him
was beyond his comprehension. This person was the uncle in whose
office he was a clerk--Graham Patterson. Mr. Patterson was Mrs.
Elmore's brother. Rodney quite understood that his uncle had not
offered him the position he held, but had only received him at his
mother's particular request. There had been that in his uncle's manner
which had struck him as peculiar from the first, as if he were
prejudiced against him before they met, regarding him with suspicion
and dislike. As, for some reason which he would have liked to have had
explained, he had never seen his uncle till he entered his office, his
relative's attitude struck him as distinctly odd; but, in his
light-hearted way, he told himself that he would gain his uncle's
esteem before they had been acquainted long. However, they had been
acquainted now nearly three years, and he was conscious that his uncle
esteemed him as little as ever. He wondered why.
Mr. Patterson's appearance was against him; he was big and bloated. A
City merchant of the old school, he was addicted to the pleasures of
the table and fond--for one of his habit of body unduly fond--of what
he called a "glass of wine." He liked half a pint of port with his
luncheon and a pint for his dinner, he being just the kind of person
who never ought to have touched port at all. Nor, when his health
permitted, was his daily allowance of stimulants by any means confined
to his pint and a half of port. The result was that he suffered both
in mind and body. The "governor's temper" was a byword in the office.
When, to use his own phrase, he was "a little below par" he would fly
into such fits of passion about the merest trivialities that those
about him used to regard his "paddies" as part of the daily routine;
so soon as he was out of his "paddy" he had forgotten all about it.
Although his methods were a little old-fashioned, he was still an
excellent man of business. The staple of his trade was silk, but
latterly he had added other lines. In these days of shoddy the quality
of his goods was above suspicion; he did a remunerative trade in
everything he touched. In the trade no man's commercial integrity
stood higher than Graham Patterson's; whoever dealt with him could be
sure that everything would be all right. His books showed every year a
comfortable turnover at fair rates of profit. There were those in his
employ who were of opinion that if only a younger and more pushing man
could have a voice in the management of affairs, the business might
rapidly become one of the finest in the city of London.
Rodney Elmore had not been long in his uncle's office before this
opinion became emphatically his. He was conscious of commercial
abilities of the most unusual kind, and was convinced that if he could
only get a chance he would double both the turnover and the profits in
so short a space of time that his uncle could not fail to be
gratified. Since he was the nephew of his uncle, and, indeed, his only
male relative, he did not see why he should not have a chance. When he
first went to St. Paul's Churchyard he had hopes, but these hopes had
grown dimmer. His perceptions on such matters were keen; few persons,
no matter what their age, could see farther into a brick wall than he.
He felt certain that his uncle only kept him at all because Mrs.
Elmore had wrung from him a promise that he should have a place, of
sorts, in his office. So far from having an eye to his nephew's
advancement, it seemed to Rodney that his uncle even went out of his
way to let him have as little as possible to do with the conduct of
his business. It was true that he had a room for his separate use,
and, though it was but a tiny one, on this foundation, at the
beginning, he built much. But before long he understood that what he
had reared were castles in the air. It seemed to Rodney before long
that it must have been Mr. Patterson's intention to keep him apart
from the others in order that he might know nothing of what was going
on. His own work was of the simplest clerical kind; occasionally he
was sent on an errand of no importance. He seemed free to come when he
liked, and leave when he chose; nobody appeared to care what he did,
or left undone. For these onerous labours he had been paid the first
year eighty pounds, the second a hundred, then a hundred and twenty;
now, after three years, he wondered what was going to happen next.
Obviously an office boy could do what he had to do for five shillings
a week.
Under the circumstances, the fact that he had acquired such an insight
into the ins and outs, the pros and cons, of his uncle's business
transactions spoke volumes for his keenness and acumen. He often
smiled to himself as he pictured the expression which would come on
his uncle's rubicund countenance if he guessed what an intimate
knowledge his office boy had of his affairs. Rodney was perfectly
aware that the expression would not be one of pleasure; that his
knowledge would not be regarded as the fruit of promising zeal, but as
something which could only be adequately described by a flood of
uncomplimentary adjectives. What was at the back of Graham Patterson's
mind the young man, with all his shrewdness, had still no notion. He
was one of the few men he had met who puzzled him. But of this much he
was clear--that, while for his sister's sake Mr. Patterson was willing
that his nephew should have a seat in his office, the less active
interest the young man took in the duties he was, presumably, paid to
perform the better pleased his employer would be. Elmore was of a
hopeful disposition, willing to persevere if he saw even a remote
chance of ultimate gain. But so convinced was he that his uncle, if he
could help it, would never, on his own initiative, advance him to a
position of trust that, before this, he would have cast about for a
chance of improving his prospects--had it not been for a young lady.
He had already been more than two years in his uncle's employment, and
was meditating leaving it at a very early date, when one afternoon,
Mr. Patterson being out, he heard an unknown feminine voice speaking
in the outer office, and unexpectedly the door of his own den was
opened, and someone entered--a girl. Slipping the papers he was
assiduously studying into his desk with lightning-like rapidity, he
rose to greet her.
"Are you Rodney Elmore?" He smilingly owned that he was. "Then you're
my cousin. How are you?"
His cousin? He did not know that he had such a relative in the world.
She held out her hand. Almost before he knew it he had it in his;
whether willingly or not, she left it in his quite an appreciable
space of time. He admitted his ignorance.
"I didn't know I had such a delightful thing as a cousin."
"Isn't that queer? I didn't till the other day. I'm Gladys Patterson;
your uncle's my father."
For once in his life Rodney was taken by surprise. His researches into
his uncle's affairs had been confined to their commercial side. He
knew practically nothing of his private life. He had never heard
it spoken of, and had asked no questions. He had a vague idea
that his uncle was a bachelor. He knew that he lived in rooms,
and--accidentally--had learnt that he had relations with certain
ladies of a kind which one does not associate with a family man. That
he had ever had a wife and, still less, a daughter he had never
guessed. Even in the midst of his surprise he reproached himself for
his stupidity that such an important point should have escaped him! As
he regarded the girl in front of him he perceived that she was her
father's child.
She was about his height, he being short and fat. One day, if
appearances were not misleading, she also would be plump. Already she
had something of her father's rubicund countenance; her cheeks were
red, even a trifle blotchy. She had dark hair and eyes, both her mouth
and nose were a little too big. Yet he did not find her disagreeable
to look at. On the contrary, there was something about her which
appealed to him, just as he was conscious that there was something
about him which appealed to her. Where a girl was concerned it was
strange how some subtle instinct told him these things. He was moved
to audacity.
"If you're my cousin, oughtn't I to kiss you?"
Her eyes lit up. Her lips parted, showing her beautiful teeth; if they
were a little large, they were very white and even.
"As I've had no experience of cousins, how can I say?"
"I shouldn't like you to feel that I'm beginning by evading what, for
aught either of us can tell, might be my duty."
Stooping, he kissed her on the mouth. Though it was little more than a
butterfly's kiss, her lips seemed to meet his with a gentle pressure
which he found agreeable.
"You are a cousin!" she exclaimed.
"I'm glad you are," he replied.
"Didn't you really know you had a cousin?" He shook his head. "Nor I;
isn't it queer? I only found it out the other day by the merest
accident; in some respects dad is the most secretive person. I've been
abroad for the last five years. How old do you think I am?"
There was a frankness, a friendliness about this cousin which amused
him. In that sense she could not have been more unlike her sire.
"Twenty-two."
"I'm twenty-five--isn't it awful? How old are you?"
"I regret to say that I am only twenty-three. I'm afraid you'll regard
me as only a kid."
"Shall I? I don't think I shall. You don't look as if you were 'only a
kid.' I've been what papa calls 'finishing my education.' Fancy! at my
time of life! If my mother had been living I shouldn't have stood it;
but, as you know, she died when I was only a tiny tot; and I knew
dad--so I lay, comparatively, low. I've been living here and there and
everywhere with the queerest duennas, though they really have been
dears; and now and then I have had a good time, though I've had some
frightfully dull ones. But at last I have struck. You know we've got a
house in Russell Square?" Again he shook his head. "What do you know?"
"So far as you are concerned--nothing. I know that I'm clerk to my
uncle, and that's all."
"Well, we have got a house in Russell Square. It's been shut up all
these years--papa's been living in rooms. But I've made him refurbish
it, and he's made it really nice--when he does undertake to do a thing
he does it well--and I'm installed in it as mistress. Of course, I
know Russell Square's out of the way, but they are good houses, and,
if I can only manage dad, I'm going to have a real good time."
"Did he tell you about me?"
"Not he. Don't I tell you that I only discovered your existence by the
merest accident? Do you remember a boy named Henderson who was at
school with you?"
"Alfred Henderson--very well; we moved together from form to form."
"I know his sister Cissie; we were at school together, years ago,
and she knows you. She told me the other day that you were in your
uncle's office in St. Paul's Churchyard, and that his name was Graham
Patterson, and was he any relation of mine. I nearly had a fit. When
dad came home I bombarded him with questions---- What have you done to
offend him?"
"Nothing of which I'm conscious. Ever since I've been in the office
I've been aware that he dislikes me, though I assure you that I've
done my best to please him and give him no cause of complaint."
"Well, he does not like you, and that's a fact. He as good as forbade
me to make your acquaintance; but, as he wouldn't give any reasons, I
decided to find out for myself what sort of person you were, and--then
be guided by circumstances. The truth is, I've had enough of obeying
dad, and that's another fact. If I'm not careful I shall end my days
in a convent, and the conventual life has not the slightest attraction
for me. I've got a will of my own, and when a girl is twenty-five it's
about time that she should let such a very unreasonable parent as mine
seems to be know it. I'm sure Cissie Henderson is a girl who knows
what she is talking about, and as she said all sorts of nice things
about you, and nothing else but nice things, I made up my mind that,
since I had a cousin, I'd find out for myself what kind of cousin my
cousin was. There is dad. Now you see how I manage him."
A heavy step and a loud voice were heard without; then the door was
thrown back upon its hinges.
"Gladys! What does this mean?"
"I've come to see my cousin, dad, as I told you I should do."
"Come into my room."
"Directly, dad. I want Rodney to come and dine with us to-night."
Her father perceptibly winced at his daughter's use of the Christian
name.
"To-night? Impossible! I'm engaged."
"Are you? Then in that case he can come and keep me company while you
are out. We ought to have heaps of things to say to each other. Do you
mind?"
The question was put to Elmore. Mr. Patterson glared.
"Gladys, I want you to come with me to the theatre to-night."
"My dear dad, this is the first time I've heard of it--and, if you
don't mind, I'd much rather not. One can go to the theatre any night,
but one can't discover that one has a cousin, and meet him for the
first time, every day. I'd much rather Rodney would come to dine.
Won't you?"
Again the question was put to Elmore.
"I'd be very glad to come--with Mr. Patterson's permission."
"You hear, dad? He'll come, with your permission. Nothing would please
you more than that he should come, would it?"
The father looked into the daughter's eyes, seeming to see something
in them which kept him from uttering words which were at the tip of
his tongue. He spoke gruffly.
"Perhaps he has an engagement."
"Have you?"
"Not any."
"And if you had, you'd throw it over to dine with us, wouldn't you?"
"I certainly would."
"You see, papa, what a compliment he pays you. Come, since it seems
that he doesn't regard my invitation as sufficient, will you please
ask him to dine with us to-night?"
Again the father eyed his daughter. The observant youth, as he glanced
from one to the other, was struck by the unmistakable evidence that
this young woman was her father's child. He did not doubt that she had
more than a touch of the paternal temper. He saw that Mr. Patterson,
fearful of an exhibition of it then and there, as the lesser of two
evils, yielded, not gracefully.
"He can come if he likes."
"Thank you, papa. You haven't a very pretty way--has he?--but as my
invitation couldn't possibly be warmer, I'm sure you'll regard dad's
endorsement as more than sufficient. So you will come?"
"I shall be only too delighted."
"Now, then, Gladys, come to my room. I want to speak to you."
"Coming, dad. Remember, Rodney, our address is 90, Russell Square, and
we dine at eight; but if you come any time after half-past seven
you'll find me ready. You can't think how dad and I will look forward
to your coming."