Cousin Jane was for packing her boxes and departing, but Zora bade her
remain until her own plans were settled. As soon as Emmy arrived she would
have to go to London and play fairy godmother, a proceeding which might
take up considerable time. Mrs. Oldrieve commended her beneficent
intention, and besought her to bring the irreligiously wedded pair to the
Vicar, and have them wedded in a respectable, Anglican way. She was firmly
convinced that if this were done, nothing more could possibly be heard of
separate lives. Zora promised to do her best, but Cousin Jane continued to
sniff. It would be far better, she declared, to shut the man up in an idiot
asylum and bring Emmy to Nunsmere, where the child could have a decent
upbringing. Zora dissented loftily, but declined to be led into a
profitless argument.
"All I ask of you, my dear Jane," said she, "is to take care of mother a
little longer while I do what I consider my duty."
She did not inform Cousin Jane that a certain freedom of movements was also
rendered desirable by what she considered her duty to Clem Sypher. Cousin
Jane lacked the finer threads of apprehension, and her comments might have
been crude. When Zora announced her intention to Sypher of leading a
migratory existence between London and Nunsmere for the sakes of Emmy and
himself, he burst into a panegyric on her angelic nature. Her presence
would irradiate these last dark days of disaster, for the time was quickly
approaching when the Bermondsey factory would be closed down, and Sypher's
Cure would fade away from the knowledge of men.
"Have you thought of the future--of what you are going to do?" she asked.
"No," said he, "but I have faith in my destiny."
Zora felt this to be magnificent, but scarcely practical.
"You'll be without resources?"
"I never realized how full empty pockets could be," he declared.
They were walking across the common, Sypher having lunched at "The Nook."
Presently they came across Septimus sitting by the pond. He rose and
greeted them. He wore an overcoat buttoned up to the throat and a cloth
cap. Zora's quick eyes noted an absence of detail in his attire.
"Why, you're not dressed! Oh, you do want a wife to look after you."
"I've only just got up," he explained, "and Wiggleswick wanted to do out my
bedroom, so I hadn't time to find my studs. I was thinking all night, you
see, and one can't think and sleep at the same time."
"A new invention?" laughed Zora.
"No. The old ones. I was trying to count them up. I've taken out about
fifty patents, and there are heaps of things half worked out which might be
valuable. Now I was thinking that if I made them all over to Sypher he
might get in some practical fellow to set them right, and start companies
and things to work them, and so make a lot of money."
He took off his cap and ran his hand up his hair. "There's also the new
gun. I do wish you'd have that, too," he added, anxiously. "In fact, it
was our talk yesterday that put the other idea into my head."
Sypher clapped him on the shoulder and called him his dear, generous
fellow. But how could he accept?
"They're not all rot," said Septimus pleadingly. "There's a patent
corkscrew which works beautifully. Wiggleswick always uses it."
Sypher laughed. "Well, I'll tell you what we can do. We can get a syndicate
together to run the Dix inventions, and pay you royalties on sales."
"That seems a very good idea," said Zora judicially.
But Septimus looked dissatisfied. "I wanted to give them to Sypher," said
he.
Zora reminded him laughingly that he would have to provide for the future
member of Parliament's election expenses. The royalties would come in
handy. She could not take Septimus's inventions seriously. But Sypher spoke
of them later in his enthusiastic way.
"Who knows? There may be things hidden among his models and specifications
of enormous commercial value. Lots of his inventions are crazy, but some
are bound to be practical. This field gun, for instance. The genius who
could have hit on that is capable of inventing anything. Why shouldn't I
devote my life to spreading the Dix inventions over the earth? It's a
colossal idea. Not one invention, but fifty--from a corkscrew to a machine
gun. It's better than Sypher's Cure, isn't it?"
She glanced swiftly at him to see whether the last words were spoken in
bitterness. They were not. His face beamed as it had beamed in the days
when he had rhapsodied over the vision of an earth, one scab, to be healed
by Sypher's Cure.
"Say you think it's better," he urged.
"Yes. It's better," she assented. "But it's chimerical."
"So are all the dreams ever dreamed by man. I shouldn't like to pass my
life without dreams, Zora. I could give up tobacco and alcohol and clean
collars and servants, and everything you could think of--but not dreams.
Without them the earth is just a sort of backyard of a place."
"And with them?" said Zora.
"An infinite garden."
"I'm afraid you'll be disillusioned over poor Septimus," she said, "but I
shouldn't like you to take up anything you didn't believe in. What would be
quite honest in another man wouldn't be honest in you."
"That means," said Sypher, "you wouldn't like to see me going on dealing in
quack medicines?"
Zora flushed red.
"It was at the back of my mind," she confessed. "But I did put my thoughts
into the form of a compliment."
"Zora," said he, "if I fell below what I want to appear in your eyes, I
should lose the dearest dream of all."
In the evening came Septimus to Penton Court to discuss the new scheme with
Sypher. Wiggleswick, with the fear of Zora heavy upon him, had laid out his
master's dinner suit, and Septimus had meekly put it on. He had also dined
in a Christian fashion, for the old villain could cook a plain dinner
creditably when he chose. Septimus proclaimed the regeneration of his body
servant as one of the innumerable debts he owed to Zora.
"Why do you repay them to me?" asked Sypher.
Then he rose, laughed into the distressed face, and put both his hands on
Septimus's shoulders.
"No, don't try to answer. I know more about you than you can possibly
conceive, and to me you're transparency itself. But you see that I can't
accept your patents, don't you?"
"I shall never do anything with them."
"Have you tried?"
"No."
"Then I will. It will be a partnership between my business knowledge and
energy and your brains. That will be right and honorable for the two of
us."
Septimus yielded. "If both you and Zora think so, it must be" he said. But
in his heart he was disappointed.
* * * * *
A few days afterwards Shuttleworth came into Sypher's office, with an
expression of cheerfulness on his dismal countenance.
"Can I have a few moments with you, sir?"
Sypher bade him be seated. Since his defection to the enemy, Shuttleworth
had avoided his chief as much as possible, the excess of sorrow over anger
in the latter's demeanor toward him being hard to bear. He had slunk about,
not daring to meet his eyes. This morning, however, he reeked of conscious
virtue.
"I have a proposal to put before you, with which I think you'll be
pleased," said he.
"I'm glad to hear it," said Sypher.
"I'm proud to say," continued Shuttleworth, "that it was my suggestion, and
that I've carried it through. I was anxious to show you that I wasn't
ungrateful for all your past kindnesses, and my leaving you was not as
disloyal as you may have thought."
"I never accused you of disloyalty," said Sypher. "You had your wife and
children. You did the only thing possible."
"You take a load off my mind," said Shuttleworth.
He drew a long breath, as though relieved from an intolerable burden.
"What is your proposal?" asked Sypher.
"I am authorized by the Jebusa Jones Company to approach you with regard to
a most advantageous arrangement for both parties. It's your present
intention to close down the factory and shut up this office as soon as
things can be wound up."
"That's my intention," said Sypher.
"You'll come out of it solvent, with just a thousand pounds or so in your
pocket. The Cure will disappear from the face of the earth."
"Quite so," said Sypher. He leaned back in his chair, and held an ivory
paper-knife in both hands.
"But wouldn't that be an enormous pity?" said Shuttleworth. "The Cure is
known far and wide. Economically financed, and put, more or less, out of
reach of competition it can still be a most valuable property. Now, it
occurred to me that there was no reason why the Jebusa Jones Company could
not run Sypher's Cure side by side with the Cuticle Remedy. They agree with
me. They are willing to come to terms, whereby they will take over the
whole concern as it stands, with your name, of course, and advertisements
and trade-marks, and pay you a percentage of the profits."
Sypher made no reply. The ivory paper-knife snapped, and he laid the pieces
absently on his desk.
"The advantage to you is obvious," remarked Shuttleworth, who was beginning
to grow uneasy before the sphinx-like attitude of his chief.
"Quite obvious," said Sypher. Then, after a pause: "Do they propose to ask
me to manage the Sypher Cure branch?"
The irony was lost on Shuttleworth.
"No--well--not exactly--" he stammered.
Sypher laughed grimly, and checked further explanations.
"That was a joke, Shuttleworth. Haven't you noticed that my jokes are
always rather subtle? No, of course you are to manage the Cure."
"I know nothing about that, sir," said Shuttleworth hastily.
Sypher rose and walked about the room, saying nothing, and his manager
followed him anxiously with his eyes. Presently he paused before the
cartoon of the famous poster.
"This would be taken over with the rest?"
"I suppose so. It's valuable--part of the good-will."
"And the model of Edinburgh Castle--and the autograph testimonials, and the
'Clem Sypher. Friend of Humanity'?"
"The model isn't much use. Of course, you could keep that as a curiosity--"
"In the middle of my drawing-room table," said Sypher, ironically.
Shuttleworth smiled, guessing that the remark was humorous.
"Well," he said, "that's as you please. But the name and title naturally
are the essence of the matter."
"I see," said Sypher. "'Clem Sypher, Friend of Humanity,' is the essence of
the matter."
"With the secret recipe, of course."
"Of course," said Sypher, absently. He paced the room once or twice, then
halted in front of Shuttleworth, looked at him fixedly for a second or two
out of his clear eyes and resumed his walk; which was disconcerting for
Shuttleworth, who wiped his spectacles.
"Do you think we might now go into some details with regard to terms?"
"No," said Sypher, stopping short of the fireplace, "I don't. I've got to
agree to the principle first."
"But, surely, there's no difficulty about that!" cried Shuttleworth, rising
in consternation. "I can see no earthly reason--"
"I don't suppose you can," said Sypher. "When do you want an answer?"
"As soon as possible."
"Come to me in an hour's time and I'll give it you."
Shuttleworth retired. Sypher sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, and
struggled with his soul, which, as all the world knows, is the most
uncomfortable thing a man has to harbor in his bosom. After a few minutes
he rang up a number on the telephone.
"Are you the Shaftesbury Club? Is Mr. Septimus Dix in?"
He knew that Septimus was staying at the club, as he had come to town to
meet Emmy, who had arrived the evening before from Paris.
Mr. Dix was in. He was just finishing breakfast, and would come to the
telephone. Sypher waited, with his ear to the receiver.
"Is that you, Septimus? It's Clem Sypher speaking. I want you to come to
Moorgate Street at once. It's a matter of immediate urgency. Get into a
hansom and tell the man to drive like the devil. Thanks."
He resumed his position and sat motionless until, about half an hour
later, Septimus, very much scared, was shown into the room.
"I felt sure you were in. I felt sure you would come. There's a destiny
about all this business, and I seem to have a peep into it. I am going to
make myself the damnedest fool of all created beings--the very damnedest."
Septimus murmured that he was sorry to hear it.
"I hoped you might be glad," said Sypher.
"It depends upon the kind of fool you're going to make of yourself," cried
Septimus, a ray of wonderful lucidity flashing across his mind. "There's a
couplet of Tennyson's--I don't read poetry, you know," he broke off
apologetically, "except a little Persian. I'm a hard, scientific person,
all machinery. My father used to throw poetry books into the fire if he
caught me with one, but my mother used to read to me now and then--oh,
yes!--Tennyson. It goes: '_They called me in the public squares, The fool
that wears a crown of thorn_.' That's the best kind of a fool to be." He
suddenly looked round. "Dear me; I've left my umbrella in the cab. That's
the worst kind of a fool to be."
He smiled wanly, dropped his bowler hat on the floor, and eventually sat
down.
"I want to tell you something," said Sypher, standing on the hearthrug with
his hands on his hips. "I've just had an offer from the Jebusa Jones
Company."
Septimus listened intently while he told the story, wondering greatly why
he, of all unbusinesslike, unpractical people--in spite of his friendship
with Sypher--should be summoned so urgently to hear it. If he had suspected
that in reality he was playing the part of an animated conscience, he would
have shriveled up through fright and confusion.
Said Sypher: "If I accept this offer I shall have a fair income for the
rest of my days. I can go where I like, and do what I like. Not a soul can
call my commercial honesty in question. No business man, in his senses,
would refuse it. If I decline, I start the world again with empty pockets.
What shall I do? Tell me."
"I?" said Septimus, with his usual gesture of diffidence. "I'm such a silly
ass in such things."
"Never mind," said Sypher. "I'll do just what you would do."
Septimus reflected, and said, hesitatingly:
"I think I should do what Zora would like. She doesn't mind empty pockets."
Sypher dashed his hand across his forehead, and broke into a loud cry.
"I knew you would say that. I brought you here to say it! Thank God! I love
her, Septimus. I love her with every fiber in me. If I had sold my name to
these people I should have sold my honor. I should have sold my birthright
for a mess of pottage. I couldn't have looked her in the face again.
Whether she will marry me or not has nothing to do with it. It would have
had nothing to do with it in your case. You would have been the best kind
of fool and so shall I."
He swung about the room greatly excited, his ebullient nature finding in
words relief from past tension. He laughed aloud, proclaimed his love for
Zora, shook his somewhat bewildered friend by the hand, and informed him
that he, Septimus, alone of mortals, was responsible for the great
decision. And while Septimus wondered what the deuce he meant, he rang the
bell and summoned Shuttleworth.
The dismal manager entered the room. On seeing Sypher's cheery face, his
own brightened.
"I've thought the matter over, Shuttleworth."
"And you've decided--"
"To refuse the offer, absolutely."
The manager gasped. "But, Mr. Sypher, have you reflected--"
"My good Shuttleworth," said Sypher, "in all the years we've worked
together have you ever known me to say I've made up my mind when I
haven't?"
Shuttleworth marched out of the room and banged the door, and went forth to
declare to the world his opinion of Clem Sypher. He had always been half
crazy; now he had gone stick, stark, staring, raving, biting mad. And those
to whom he told the tale agreed with him.
But Sypher laughed his great laugh.
"Poor Shuttleworth! He has worked hard to bring off this deal. I'm sorry
for him. But one can't serve God and Mammon."
Septimus rose and took his hat. "I think it awfully wonderful of you," he
said. "I really do. I should like to talk to you about it--but I must go
and see Emmy. She came last night."
Sypher inquired politely after her health, also that of her baby.
"He's taking such a deuce of a time to grow up," said Septimus. "Otherwise
he's well. He's got a tooth. I've been wondering why no dentist has ever
invented a set of false teeth for babies."
"Then your turn would come," laughed Sypher, "for you would have to invent
them a cast-iron inside."
Before Septimus went, Sypher thrust a gold-headed umbrella into his hands.
"It's pouring with rain, and you'll wade about and get wet through. I make
a rule never to lend umbrellas, so I give you this from a grateful heart.
God bless you."