"As if I couldn't take care of myself!" Tommy's chin was high up in the
air.
"Cheer up," suggested Miss Ramsbotham. "Nobody ever tells me not to do
anything. I would change with you if I could."
"I'd have walked into that office and have had that advertisement out of
old Jowett in five minutes, I know I would," bragged Tommy. "I can
always get on with old men."
"Only with the old ones?" queried Miss Ramsbotham.
The door opened. "Anybody in?" asked the face of Johnny Bulstrode,
appearing in the jar.
"Can't you see they are?" snapped Tommy.
"Figure of speech," explained Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called "the
Babe," entering and closing the door behind him.
"What do you want?" demanded the sub-editor.
"Nothing in particular," replied the Babe.
"Wrong time of the day to come for it, half-past eleven in the morning,"
explained the sub-editor.
"What's the matter with you?" asked the Babe.
"Feeling very cross," confessed the sub-editor.
The childlike face of the Babe expressed sympathetic inquiry.
"We are very indignant," explained Miss Ramsbotham, "because we are not
allowed to rush off to Cannon Street and coax an advertisement out of old
Jowett, the soap man. We feel sure that if we only put on our best hat,
he couldn't possibly refuse us."
"No coaxing required," thought the sub-editor. "Once get in to see the
old fellow and put the actual figures before him, he would clamour to
come in."
"Won't he see Clodd?" asked the Babe.
"Won't see anybody on behalf of anything new just at present,
apparently," answered Miss Ramsbotham. "It was my fault. I was foolish
enough to repeat that I had heard he was susceptible to female charm.
They say it was Mrs. Sarkitt that got the advertisement for _The Lamp_
out of him. But, of course, it may not be true."
"Wish I was a soap man and had got advertisements to give away," sighed
the Babe.
"Wish you were," agreed the sub-editor.
"You should have them all, Tommy."
"My name," corrected him the sub-editor, "is Miss Hope."
"I beg your pardon," said the Babe. "I don't know how it is, but one
gets into the way of calling you Tommy."
"I will thank you," said the sub-editor, "to get out of it."
"I am sorry," said the Babe.
"Don't let it occur again," said the sub-editor.
The Babe stood first on one leg and then on the other, but nothing seemed
to come of it. "Well," said the Babe, "I just looked in, that's all.
Nothing I can do for you?"
"Nothing," thanked him the sub-editor.
"Good morning," said the Babe.
"Good morning," said the sub-editor.
The childlike face of the Babe wore a chastened expression as it slowly
descended the stairs. Most of the members of the Autolycus Club looked
in about once a day to see if they could do anything for Tommy. Some of
them had luck. Only the day before, Porson--a heavy, most uninteresting
man--had been sent down all the way to Plaistow to inquire after the
wounded hand of a machine-boy. Young Alexander, whose poetry some people
could not even understand, had been commissioned to search London for a
second-hand edition of Maitland's _Architecture_. Since a fortnight
nearly now, when he had been sent out to drive away an organ that would
not go, Johnny had been given nothing.
Johnny turned the corner into Fleet Street feeling bitter with his lot. A
boy carrying a parcel stumbled against him.
"Beg yer pardon--" the small boy looked up into Johnny's face, "miss,"
added the small boy, dodging the blow and disappearing into the crowd.
The Babe, by reason of his childlike face, was accustomed to insults of
this character, but to-day it especially irritated him. Why at twenty-
two could he not grow even a moustache? Why was he only five feet five
and a half? Why had Fate cursed him with a pink-and-white complexion, so
that the members of his own club had nicknamed him "the Babe," while
street-boys as they passed pleaded with him for a kiss? Why was his very
voice, a flute-like alto, more suitable--Suddenly an idea sprang to life
within his brain. The idea grew. Passing a barber's shop, Johnny went
in.
"'Air cut, sir?" remarked the barber, fitting a sheet round Johnny's
neck.
"No, shave," corrected Johnny.
"Beg pardon," said the barber, substituting a towel for the sheet. "Do
you shave up, sir?" later demanded the barber.
"Yes," answered Johnny.
"Pleasant weather we are having," said the barber.
"Very," assented Johnny.
From the barber's, Johnny went to Stinchcombe's, the costumier's, in
Drury Lane.
"I am playing in a burlesque," explained the Babe. "I want you to rig me
out completely as a modern girl."
"Peeth o' luck!" said the shopman. "Goth the very bundle for you. Juth
come in."
"I shall want everything," explained the Babe, "from the boots to the
hat; stays, petticoats--the whole bag of tricks."
"Regular troutheau there," said the shopman, emptying out the canvas bag
upon the counter. "Thry 'em on."
The Babe contented himself with trying on the costume and the boots.
"Juth made for you!" said the shopman.
A little loose about the chest, suggested the Babe.
"Thath's all right," said the shopman. "Couple o' thmall towelths, all
thath's wanted."
"You don't think it too showy?" queried the Babe.
"Thowy? Sthylish, thath's all."
"You are sure everything's here?"
"Everythinkth there. 'Thept the bit o' meat inthide," assured him the
shopman.
The Babe left a deposit, and gave his name and address. The shopman
promised the things should be sent round within an hour. The Babe, who
had entered into the spirit of the thing, bought a pair of gloves and a
small reticule, and made his way to Bow Street.
"I want a woman's light brown wig," said the Babe to Mr. Cox, the
perruquier.
Mr. Cox tried on two. The deceptive appearance of the second Mr. Cox
pronounced as perfect.
"Looks more natural on you than your own hair, blessed if it doesn't!"
said Mr. Cox.
The wig also was promised within the hour. The spirit of completeness
descended upon the Babe. On his way back to his lodgings in Great Queen
Street, he purchased a ladylike umbrella and a veil.
Now, a quarter of an hour after Johnny Bulstrode had made his exit by the
door of Mr. Stinchcombe's shop, one, Harry Bennett, actor and member of
the Autolycus Club, pushed it open and entered. The shop was empty.
Harry Bennett hammered with his stick and waited. A piled-up bundle of
clothes lay upon the counter; a sheet of paper, with a name and address
scrawled across it, rested on the bundle. Harry Bennett, given to idle
curiosity, approached and read the same. Harry Bennett, with his stick,
poked the bundle, scattering its items over the counter.
"Donth do thath!" said the shopman, coming up. "Juth been putting 'em
together."
"What the devil," said Harry Bennett, "is Johnny Bulstrode going to do
with that rig-out?"
"How thoud I know?" answered the shopman. "Private theathricals, I
suppoth. Friend o' yourth?"
"Yes," replied Harry Bennett. "By Jove! he ought to make a good girl.
Should like to see it!"
"Well arthk him for a ticket. Donth make 'em dirty," suggested the
shopman.
"I must," said Harry Bennett, and talked about his own affairs.
The rig-out and the wig did not arrive at Johnny's lodgings within the
hour as promised, but arrived there within three hours, which was as much
as Johnny had expected. It took Johnny nearly an hour to dress, but at
last he stood before the plate-glass panel of the wardrobe transformed.
Johnny had reason to be pleased with the result. A tall, handsome girl
looked back at him out of the glass--a little showily dressed, perhaps,
but decidedly _chic_.
"Wonder if I ought to have a cloak," mused Johnny, as a ray of sunshine,
streaming through the window, fell upon the image in the glass. "Well,
anyhow, I haven't," thought Johnny, as the sunlight died away again, "so
it's no good thinking about it."
Johnny seized his reticule and his umbrella and opened cautiously the
door. Outside all was silent. Johnny stealthily descended; in the
passage paused again. Voices sounded from the basement. Feeling like an
escaped burglar, Johnny slipped the latch of the big door and peeped out.
A policeman, pasting, turned and looked at him. Johnny hastily drew back
and closed the door again. Somebody was ascending from the kitchen.
Johnny, caught between two terrors, nearer to the front door than to the
stairs, having no time, chose the street. It seemed to Johnny that the
street was making for him. A woman came hurriedly towards him. What was
she going to say to him? What should he answer her? To his surprise she
passed him, hardly noticing him. Wondering what miracle had saved him,
he took a few steps forward. A couple of young clerks coming up from
behind turned to look at him, but on encountering his answering stare of
angry alarm, appeared confused and went their way. It began to dawn upon
him that mankind was less discerning than he had feared. Gaining courage
as he proceeded, he reached Holborn. Here the larger crowd swept around
him indifferent.
"I beg your pardon," said Johnny, coming into collision with a stout
gentleman.
"My fault," replied the stout gentleman, as, smiling, he picked up his
damaged hat.
"I beg your pardon," repeated Johnny again two minutes later, colliding
with a tall young lady.
"Should advise you to take something for that squint of yours," remarked
the tall young lady with severity.
"What's the matter with me?" thought Johnny. "Seems to be a sort of
mist--" The explanation flashed across him. "Of course," said Johnny to
himself, "it's this confounded veil!"
Johnny decided to walk to the Marble Soap offices. "I'll be more used to
the hang of things by the time I get there if I walk," thought Johnny.
"Hope the old beggar's in."
In Newgate Street, Johnny paused and pressed his hands against his chest.
"Funny sort of pain I've got," thought Johnny. "Wonder if I should shock
them if I went in somewhere for a drop of brandy?"
"It don't get any better," reflected Johnny, with some alarm, on reaching
the corner of Cheapside. "Hope I'm not going to be ill. Whatever--" The
explanation came to him. "Of course, it's these damned stays! No wonder
girls are short-tempered, at times."
At the offices of the Marble Soap, Johnny was treated with marked
courtesy. Mr. Jowett was out, was not expected back till five o'clock.
Would the lady wait, or would she call again? The lady decided, now she
was there, to wait. Would the lady take the easy-chair? Would the lady
have the window open or would she have it shut? Had the lady seen _The
Times_?
"Or the _Ha'penny Joker_?" suggested a junior clerk, who thereupon was
promptly sent back to his work.
Many of the senior clerks had occasion to pass through the waiting-room.
Two of the senior clerks held views about the weather which they appeared
wishful to express at length. Johnny began to enjoy himself. This thing
was going to be good fun. By the time the slamming of doors and the
hurrying of feet announced the advent of the chief, Johnny was looking
forward to his interview.
It was briefer and less satisfactory than he had anticipated. Mr. Jowett
was very busy--did not as a rule see anybody in the afternoon; but of
course, a lady--"Would Miss--"
"Montgomery."
"Would Miss Montgomery inform Mr. Jowett what it was he might have the
pleasure of doing for her?"
Miss Montgomery explained.
Mr. Jowett seemed half angry, half amused.
"Really," said Mr. Jowett, "this is hardly playing the game. Against our
fellow-men we can protect ourselves, but if the ladies are going to
attack us--really it isn't fair."
Miss Montgomery pleaded.
"I'll think it over," was all that Mr. Jowett could be made to promise.
"Look me up again."
"When?" asked Miss Montgomery.
"What's to-day?--Thursday. Say Monday." Mr. Jowett rang the bell. "Take
my advice," said the old gentleman, laying a fatherly hand on Johnny's
shoulder, "leave business to us men. You are a handsome girl. You can
do better for yourself than this."
A clerk entered, Johnny rose.
"On Monday next, then," Johnny reminded him.
"At four o'clock," agreed Mr. Jowett. "Good afternoon."
Johnny went out feeling disappointed, and yet, as he told himself, he
hadn't done so badly. Anyhow, there was nothing for it but to wait till
Monday. Now he would go home, change his clothes, and get some dinner.
He hailed a hansom.
"Number twenty-eight--no. Stop at the Queen's Street corner of Lincoln's
Inn Fields," Johnny directed the man.
"Quite right, miss," commented the cabman pleasantly. "Corner's
best--saves all talk."
"What do you mean?" demanded Johnny.
"No offence, miss," answered the man. "We was all young once."
Johnny climbed in. At the corner of Queen Street and Lincoln's Inn
Fields, Johnny got out. Johnny, who had been pondering other matters,
put his hand instinctively to where, speaking generally, his pocket
should have been; then recollected himself.
"Let me see, did I think to bring any money out with me, or did I not?"
mused Johnny, as he stood upon the kerb.
"Look in the ridicule, miss," suggested the cabman.
Johnny looked. It was empty.
"Perhaps I put it in my pocket," thought Johnny.
The cabman hitched his reins to the whip-socket and leant back.
"It's somewhere about here, I know, I saw it," Johnny told himself.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Johnny added aloud to the cabman.
"Don't you worry about that, miss," replied the cabman civilly; "we are
used to it. A shilling a quarter of an hour is what we charge."
"Of all the damned silly tricks!" muttered Johnny to himself.
Two small boys and a girl carrying a baby paused, interested.
"Go away," told them the cabman. "You'll have troubles of your own one
day."
The urchins moved a few steps further, then halted again and were joined
by a slatternly woman and another boy.
"Got it!" cried Johnny, unable to suppress his delight as his hand
slipped through a fold. The lady with the baby, without precisely
knowing why, set up a shrill cheer. Johnny's delight died away; it
wasn't the pocket-hole. Short of taking the skirt off and turning it
inside out, it didn't seem to Johnny that he ever would find that pocket.
Then in that moment of despair he came across it accidentally. It was as
empty as the reticule!
"I am sorry," said Johnny to the cabman, "but I appear to have come out
without my purse."
The cabman said he had heard that tale before, and was making
preparations to descend. The crowd, now numbering eleven, looked
hopeful. It occurred to Johnny later that he might have offered his
umbrella to the cabman; at least it would have fetched the eighteenpence.
One thinks of these things afterwards. The only idea that occurred to
him at the moment was that of getting home.
"'Ere, 'old my 'orse a minute, one of yer," shouted the cabman.
Half a dozen willing hands seized the dozing steed and roused it into
madness.
"Hi! stop 'er!" roared the cabman.
"She's down!" shouted the excited crowd.
"Tripped over 'er skirt," explained the slatternly woman. "They do
'amper you."
"No, she's not. She's up again!" vociferated a delighted plumber, with a
sounding slap on his own leg. "Gor blimy, if she ain't a good 'un!"
Fortunately the Square was tolerably clear and Johnny a good runner.
Holding now his skirt and petticoat high in his left hand, Johnny moved
across the Square at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. A butcher's boy
sprang in front of him with arms held out to stop him. The thing that
for the next three months annoyed that butcher boy most was hearing
shouted out after him "Yah! who was knocked down and run over by a lidy?"
By the time Johnny reached the Strand, _via_ Clement's Inn, the hue and
cry was far behind. Johnny dropped his skirts and assumed a more girlish
pace. Through Bow Street and Long Acre he reached Great Queen Street in
safety. Upon his own doorstep he began to laugh. His afternoon's
experience had been amusing; still, on the whole, he wasn't sorry it was
over. One can have too much even of the best of jokes. Johnny rang the
bell.
The door opened. Johnny would have walked in had not a big, raw-boned
woman barred his progress.
"What do you want?" demanded the raw-boned woman.
"Want to come in," explained Johnny.
"What do you want to come in for?"
This appeared to Johnny a foolish question. On reflection he saw the
sense of it. This raw-boned woman was not Mrs. Pegg, his landlady. Some
friend of hers, he supposed.
"It's all right," said Johnny, "I live here. Left my latchkey at home,
that's all."
"There's no females lodging here," declared the raw-boned lady. "And
what's more, there's going to be none."
All this was very vexing. Johnny, in his joy at reaching his own
doorstep, had not foreseen these complications. Now it would be
necessary to explain things. He only hoped the story would not get round
to the fellows at the club.
"Ask Mrs. Pegg to step up for a minute," requested Johnny.
"Not at 'ome," explained the raw-boned lady.
"Not--not at home?"
"Gone to Romford, if you wish to know, to see her mother."
"Gone to Romford?"
"I said Romford, didn't I?" retorted the raw-boned lady, tartly.
"What--what time do you expect her in?"
"Sunday evening, six o'clock," replied the raw-boned lady.
Johnny looked at the raw-boned lady, imagined himself telling the raw-
boned lady the simple, unvarnished truth, and the raw-boned lady's utter
disbelief of every word of it. An inspiration came to his aid.
"I am Mr. Bulstrode's sister," said Johnny meekly; "he's expecting me."
"Thought you said you lived here?" reminded him the raw-boned lady.
"I meant that he lived here," replied poor Johnny still more meekly. "He
has the second floor, you know."
"I know," replied the raw-boned lady. "Not in just at present."
"Not in?"
"Went out at three o'clock."
"I'll go up to his room and wait for him," said Johnny.
"No, you won't," said the raw-boned lady.
For an instant it occurred to Johnny to make a dash for it, but the raw-
boned lady looked both formidable and determined. There would be a big
disturbance--perhaps the police called in. Johnny had often wanted to
see his name in print: in connection with this affair he somehow felt he
didn't.
"Do let me in," Johnny pleaded; "I have nowhere else to go."
"You have a walk and cool yourself," suggested the raw-boned lady. "Don't
expect he will be long."
"But, you see--"
The raw-boned lady slammed the door.
Outside a restaurant in Wellington Street, from which proceeded savoury
odours, Johnny paused and tried to think.
"What the devil did I do with that umbrella? I had it--no, I didn't.
Must have dropped it, I suppose, when that silly ass tried to stop me. By
Jove! I am having luck!"
Outside another restaurant in the Strand Johnny paused again. "How am I
to live till Sunday night? Where am I to sleep? If I telegraph
home--damn it! how can I telegraph? I haven't got a penny. This is
funny," said Johnny, unconsciously speaking aloud; "upon my word, this is
funny! Oh! you go to--."
Johnny hurled this last at the head of an overgrown errand-boy whose
intention had been to offer sympathy.
"Well, I never!" commented a passing flower-girl. "Calls 'erself a lidy,
I suppose."
"Nowadays," observed the stud and button merchant at the corner of Exeter
Street, "they make 'em out of anything."
Drawn by a notion that was forming in his mind, Johnny turned his steps
up Bedford Street. "Why not?" mused Johnny. "Nobody else seems to have
a suspicion. Why should they? I'll never hear the last of it if they
find me out. But why should they find me out? Well, something's got to
be done."
Johnny walked on quickly. At the door of the Autolycus Club he was
undecided for a moment, then took his courage in both hands and plunged
through the swing doors.
"Is Mr. Herring--Mr. Jack Herring--here?"
"Find him in the smoking-room, Mr. Bulstrode," answered old Goslin, who
was reading the evening paper.
"Oh, would you mind asking him to step out a moment?"
Old Goslin looked up, took off his spectacles, rubbed them, put them on
again.
"Please say Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister."
Old Goslin found Jack Herring the centre of an earnest argument on
Hamlet--was he really mad?
"A lady to see you, Mr. Herring," announced old Goslin.
"A what?"
"Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister. She's waiting in the hall."
"Never knew he had a sister," said Jack Herring, rising.
"Wait a minute," said Harry Bennett. "Shut that door. Don't go." This
to old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. "Lady in a heliotrope
dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the skirt?"
"That's right, Mr. Bennett," agreed old Goslin.
"It's the Babe himself!" asserted Harry Bennett.
The question of Hamlet's madness was forgotten.
"Was in at Stinchcombe's this morning," explained Harry Bennett; "saw the
clothes on the counter addressed to him. That's the identical frock.
This is just a 'try on'--thinks he's going to have a lark with us."
The Autolycus Club looked round at itself.
"I can see verra promising possibilities in this, provided the thing is
properly managed," said the Wee Laddie, after a pause.
"So can I," agreed Jack Herring. "Keep where you are, all of you.
'Twould be a pity to fool it."
The Autolycus Club waited. Jack Herring re-entered the room.
"One of the saddest stories I have ever heard in all my life," explained
Jack Herring in a whisper. "Poor girl left Derbyshire this morning to
come and see her brother; found him out--hasn't been seen at his lodgings
since three o'clock; fears something may have happened to him. Landlady
gone to Romford to see her mother; strange woman in charge, won't let her
in to wait for him."
"How sad it is when trouble overtakes the innocent and helpless!"
murmured Somerville the Briefless.
"That's not the worst of it," continued Jack. "The dear girl has been
robbed of everything she possesses, even of her umbrella, and hasn't got
a _sou_; hasn't had any dinner, and doesn't know where to sleep."
"Sounds a bit elaborate," thought Porson.
"I think I can understand it," said the Briefless one. "What has
happened is this. He's dressed up thinking to have a bit of fun with us,
and has come out, forgetting to put any money or his latchkey in his
pocket. His landlady may have gone to Romford or may not. In any case,
he would have to knock at the door and enter into explanations. What
does he suggest--the loan of a sovereign?"
"The loan of two," replied Jack Herring.
"To buy himself a suit of clothes. Don't you do it, Jack. Providence
has imposed this upon us. Our duty is to show him the folly of indulging
in senseless escapades."
"I think we might give him a dinner," thought the stout and sympathetic
Porson.
"What I propose to do," grinned Jack, "is to take him round to Mrs.
Postwhistle's. She's under a sort of obligation to me. It was I who got
her the post office. We'll leave him there for a night, with
instructions to Mrs. P. to keep a motherly eye on him. To-morrow he
shall have his 'bit of fun,' and I guess he'll be the first to get tired
of the joke."
It looked a promising plot. Seven members of the Autolycus Club
gallantly undertook to accompany "Miss Bulstrode" to her lodgings. Jack
Herring excited jealousy by securing the privilege of carrying her
reticule. "Miss Bulstrode" was given to understand that anything any of
the seven could do for her, each and every would be delighted to do, if
only for the sake of her brother, one of the dearest boys that ever
breathed--a bit of an ass, though that, of course, he could not help.
"Miss Bulstrode" was not as grateful as perhaps she should have been. Her
idea still was that if one of them would lend her a couple of sovereigns,
the rest need not worry themselves further. This, purely in her own
interests, they declined to do. She had suffered one extensive robbery
that day already, as Jack reminded her. London was a city of danger to
the young and inexperienced. Far better that they should watch over her
and provide for her simple wants. Painful as it was to refuse a lady, a
beloved companion's sister's welfare was yet dearer to them. "Miss
Bulstrode's" only desire was not to waste their time. Jack Herring's
opinion was that there existed no true Englishman who would grudge time
spent upon succouring a beautiful maiden in distress.
Arrived at the little grocer's shop in Rolls Court, Jack Herring drew
Mrs. Postwhistle aside.
"She's the sister of a very dear friend of ours," explained Jack Herring.
"A fine-looking girl," commented Mrs. Postwhistle.
"I shall be round again in the morning. Don't let her out of your sight,
and, above all, don't lend her any money," directed Jack Herring.
"I understand," replied Mrs. Postwhistle.
"Miss Bulstrode" having despatched an excellent supper of cold mutton and
bottled beer, leant back in her chair and crossed her legs.
"I have often wondered," remarked Miss Bulstrode, her eyes fixed upon the
ceiling, "what a cigarette would taste like."
"Taste nasty, I should say, the first time," thought Mrs. Postwhistle,
who was knitting.
"Some girls, so I have heard," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "smoke
cigarettes."
"Not nice girls," thought Mrs. Postwhistle.
"One of the nicest girls I ever knew," remarked Miss Bulstrode, "always
smoked a cigarette after supper. Said it soothed her nerves."
"Wouldn't 'ave thought so if I'd 'ad charge of 'er," said Mrs.
Postwhistle.
"I think," said Miss Bulstrode, who seemed restless, "I think I shall go
for a little walk before turning in."
"Perhaps it would do us good," agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, laying down her
knitting.
"Don't you trouble to come," urged the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode. "You
look tired."
"Not at all," replied Mrs. Postwhistle. "Feel I should like it."
In some respects Mrs. Postwhistle proved an admirable companion. She
asked no questions, and only spoke when spoken to, which, during that
walk, was not often. At the end of half an hour, Miss Bulstrode pleaded
a headache and thought she would return home and go to bed. Mrs.
Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea.
"Well, it's better than tramping the streets," muttered Johnny, as the
bedroom door was closed behind him, "and that's all one can say for it.
Must get hold of a smoke to-morrow, if I have to rob the till. What's
that?" Johnny stole across on, tiptoe. "Confound it!" said Johnny, "if
she hasn't locked the door!"
Johnny sat down upon the bed and took stock of his position. "It doesn't
seem to me," thought Johnny, "that I'm ever going to get out of this
mess." Johnny, still muttering, unfastened his stays. "Thank God,
that's off!" ejaculated Johnny piously, as he watched his form slowly
expanding. "Suppose I'll be used to them before I've finished with
them."
Johnny had a night of dreams.
For the whole of next day, which was Friday, Johnny remained "Miss
Bulstrode," hoping against hope to find an opportunity to escape from his
predicament without confession. The entire Autolycus Club appeared to
have fallen in love with him.
"Thought I was a bit of a fool myself," mused Johnny, "where a petticoat
was concerned. Don't believe these blithering idiots have ever seen a
girl before."
They came in ones, they came in little parties, and tendered him
devotion. Even Mrs. Postwhistle, accustomed to regard human phenomena
without comment, remarked upon it.
"When you are all tired of it," said Mrs. Postwhistle to Jack Herring,
"let me know."
"The moment we find her brother," explained Jack Herring, "of course we
shall take her to him."
"Nothing like looking in the right place for a thing when you've finished
looking in the others," observed Mrs. Postwhistle.
"What do you mean?" demanded Jack.
"Just what I say," answered Mrs. Postwhistle.
Jack Herring looked at Mrs. Postwhistle. But Mrs. Postwhistle's face was
not of the expressive order.
"Post office still going strong?" asked Jack Herring.
"The post office 'as been a great 'elp to me," admitted Mrs. Postwhistle;
"and I'm not forgetting that I owe it to you."
"Don't mention it," murmured Jack Herring.
They brought her presents--nothing very expensive, more as tokens of
regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple flowers, bottles of
scent. To Somerville "Miss Bulstrode" hinted that if he really did
desire to please her, and wasn't merely talking through his hat--Miss
Bulstrode apologised for the slang, which, she feared, she must have
picked up from her brother--he might give her a box of Messani's
cigarettes, size No. 2. The suggestion pained him. Somerville the
Briefless was perhaps old-fashioned. Miss Bulstrode cut him short by
agreeing that he was, and seemed disinclined for further conversation.
They took her to Madame Tussaud's. They took her up the Monument. They
took her to the Tower of London. In the evening they took her to the
Polytechnic to see Pepper's Ghost. They made a merry party wherever they
went.
"Seem to be enjoying themselves!" remarked other sightseers, surprised
and envious.
"Girl seems to be a bit out of it," remarked others, more observant.
"Sulky-looking bit o' goods, I call her," remarked some of the ladies.
The fortitude with which Miss Bulstrode bore the mysterious disappearance
of her brother excited admiration.
"Hadn't we better telegraph to your people in Derbyshire?" suggested Jack
Herring.
"Don't do it," vehemently protested the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode; "it
might alarm them. The best plan is for you to lend me a couple of
sovereigns and let me return home quietly."
"You might be robbed again," feared Jack Herring. "I'll go down with
you."
"Perhaps he'll turn up to-morrow," thought Miss Bulstrode. "Expect he's
gone on a visit."
"He ought not to have done it," thought Jack Herring, "knowing you were
coming."
"Oh! he's like that," explained Miss Bulstrode.
"If I had a young and beautiful sister--" said Jack Herring.
"Oh! let's talk of something else," suggested Miss Bulstrode. "You make
me tired."
With Jack Herring, in particular, Johnny was beginning to lose patience.
That "Miss Bulstrode's" charms had evidently struck Jack Herring all of a
heap, as the saying is, had in the beginning amused Master Johnny.
Indeed--as in the seclusion of his bedchamber over the little grocer's
shop he told himself with bitter self-reproach--he had undoubtedly
encouraged the man. From admiration Jack had rapidly passed to
infatuation, from infatuation to apparent imbecility. Had Johnny's mind
been less intent upon his own troubles, he might have been suspicious. As
it was, and after all that had happened, nothing now could astonish
Johnny. "Thank Heaven," murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, "this
Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman."
Now, about the same time that Johnny's head was falling thus upon his
pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for their next day's
entertainment.
"I think," said Jack Herring, "the Crystal Palace in the morning when
it's nice and quiet."
"To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the afternoon," suggested
Somerville.
"Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the evening," thought
Porson.
"Hardly the place for the young person," feared Jack Herring. "Some of
the jokes--"
"Mr. Brandram gives a reading of _Julius Caesar_ at St. George's Hall,"
the Wee Laddie informed them for their guidance.
"Hallo!" said Alexander the Poet, entering at the moment. "What are you
all talking about?"
"We were discussing where to take Miss Bulstrode to-morrow evening,"
informed him Jack Herring.
"Miss Bulstrode," repeated the Poet in a tone of some surprise. "Do you
mean Johnny Bulstrode's sister?"
"That's the lady," answered Jack. "But how do you come to know about
her? Thought you were in Yorkshire."
"Came up yesterday," explained the Poet. "Travelled up with her."
"Travelled up with her?"
"From Matlock Bath. What's the matter with you all?" demanded the Poet.
"You all of you look--"
"Sit down," said the Briefless one to the Poet. "Let's talk this matter
over quietly."
Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down.
"You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss Bulstrode. You
are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?"
"Sure!" retorted the Poet. "Why, I've known her ever since she was a
baby."
"About what time did you reach London?"
"Three-thirty."
"And what became of her? Where did she say she was going?"
"I never asked her. The last I saw of her she was getting into a cab. I
had an appointment myself, and was--I say, what's the matter with
Herring?"
Herring had risen and was walking about with his head between his hands.
"Never mind him. Miss Bulstrode is a lady of about--how old?"
"Eighteen--no, nineteen last birthday."
"A tall, handsome sort of girl?"
"Yes. I say, has anything happened to her?"
"Nothing has happened to her," assured him Somerville. "_She's_ all
right. Been having rather a good time, on the whole."
The Poet was relieved to hear it.
"I asked her an hour ago," said Jack Herring, who was still holding his
head between his hands as if to make sure it was there, "if she thought
she could ever learn to love me. Would you say that could be construed
into an offer of marriage?"
The remainder of the Club was unanimously of opinion that, practically
speaking, it was a proposal.
"I don't see it," argued Jack Herring. "It was merely in the nature of a
remark."
The Club was of opinion that such quibbling was unworthy of a gentleman.
It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring sat down and
then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, care of Mrs.
Postwhistle.
"But what I don't understand--" said Alexander the Poet.
"Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, someone," moaned Jack Herring.
"How can I think with all this chatter going on?"
"But why did Bennett--" whispered Porson.
"Where is Bennett?" demanded half a dozen fierce voices.
Harry Bennett had not been seen all day.
Jack's letter was delivered to "Miss Bulstrode" the next morning at
breakfast-time. Having perused it, Miss Bulstrode rose and requested of
Mrs. Postwhistle the loan of half a crown.
"Mr. Herring's particular instructions were," explained Mrs. Postwhistle,
"that, above all things, I was not to lend you any money."
"When you have read that," replied Miss Bulstrode, handing her the
letter, "perhaps you will agree with me that Herring is--an ass."
Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the half-crown.
"Better get a shave with part of it," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. "That
is, if you are going to play the fool much longer."
"Miss Bulstrode" opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with her
breakfast.
"Don't tell them," said Johnny; "not just for a little while, at all
events."
"Nothing to do with me," replied Mrs. Postwhistle.
Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to her aunt in
Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in an envelope, the
following hastily scrawled note:--
"Want to speak to you at once--_alone_. Don't yell when you see me.
It's all right. Can explain in two ticks.--Your loving brother,
JOHNNY."
It took longer than two ticks; but at last the Babe came to an end of it.
"When you have done laughing," said the Babe.
"But you look so ridiculous," said his sister.
"_They_ didn't think so," retorted the Babe. "I took them in all right.
Guess you've never had as much attention, all in one day."
"Are you sure you took them in?" queried his sister.
"If you will come to the Club at eight o'clock this evening," said the
Babe, "I'll prove it to you. Perhaps I'll take you on to a theatre
afterwards--if you're good."
The Babe himself walked into the Autolycus Club a few minutes before
eight and encountered an atmosphere of restraint.
"Thought you were lost," remarked Somerville coldly.
"Called away suddenly--very important business," explained the Babe.
"Awfully much obliged to all you fellows for all you have been doing for
my sister. She's just been telling me."
"Don't mention it," said two or three.
"Awfully good of you, I'm sure," persisted the Babe. "Don't know what
she would have done without you."
A mere nothing, the Club assured him. The blushing modesty of the
Autolycus Club at hearing of their own good deeds was touching. Left to
themselves, they would have talked of quite other things. As a matter of
fact, they tried to.
"Never heard her speak so enthusiastically of anyone as she does of you,
Jack," said the Babe, turning to Jack Herring.
"Of course, you know, dear boy," explained Jack Herring, "anything I
could do for a sister of yours--"
"I know, dear boy," replied the Babe; "I always felt it."
"Say no more about it," urged Jack Herring.
"She couldn't quite make out that letter of yours this morning,"
continued the Babe, ignoring Jack's request. "She's afraid you think her
ungrateful."
"It seemed to me, on reflection," explained Jack Herring, "that on one or
two little matters she may have misunderstood me. As I wrote her, there
are days when I don't seem altogether to quite know what I'm doing."
"Rather awkward," thought the Babe.
"It is," agreed Jack Herring. "Yesterday was one of them."
"She tells me you were most kind to her," the Babe reassured him. "She
thought at first it was a little uncivil, your refusing to lend her any
money. But as I put it to her--"
"It was silly of me," interrupted Jack. "I see that now. I went round
this morning meaning to make it all right. But she was gone, and Mrs.
Postwhistle seemed to think I had better leave things as they were. I
blame myself exceedingly."
"My dear boy, don't blame yourself for anything. You acted nobly," the
Babe told him. "She's coming here to call for me this evening on purpose
to thank you."
"I'd rather not," said Jack Herring.
"Nonsense," said the Babe.
"You must excuse me," insisted Jack Herring. "I don't mean it rudely,
but really I'd rather not see her."
"But here she is," said the Babe, taking at that moment the card from old
Goslin's hand. "She will think it so strange."
"I'd really rather not," repeated poor Jack.
"It seems discourteous," suggested Somerville.
"You go," suggested Jack.
"She doesn't want to see me," explained Somerville.
"Yes she does," corrected him the Babe.
"I'd forgotten, she wants to see you both."
"If I go," said Jack, "I shall tell her the plain truth."
"Do you know," said Somerville, "I'm thinking that will be the shortest
way."
Miss Bulstrode was seated in the hall. Jack Herring and Somerville both
thought her present quieter style of dress suited her much better.
"Here he is," announced the Babe, in triumph. "Here's Jack Herring and
here's Somerville. Do you know, I could hardly persuade them to come out
and see you. Dear old Jack, he always was so shy."
Miss Bulstrode rose. She said she could never thank them sufficiently
for all their goodness to her. Miss Bulstrode seemed quite overcome. Her
voice trembled with emotion.
"Before we go further, Miss Bulstrode," said Jack Herring, "it will be
best to tell you that all along we thought you were your brother, dressed
up as a girl."
"Oh!" said the Babe, "so that's the explanation, is it? If I had only
known--" Then the Babe stopped, and wished he hadn't spoken.
Somerville seized him by the shoulders and, with a sudden jerk, stood him
beside his sister under the gas-jet.
"You little brute!" said Somerville. "It was you all along." And the
Babe, seeing the game was up, and glad that the joke had not been
entirely on one side, confessed.
Jack Herring and Somerville the Briefless went that night with Johnny and
his sister to the theatre--and on other nights. Miss Bulstrode thought
Jack Herring very nice, and told her brother so. But she thought
Somerville the Briefless even nicer, and later, under cross-examination,
when Somerville was no longer briefless, told Somerville so himself.
But that has nothing to do with this particular story, the end of which
is that Miss Bulstrode kept the appointment made for Monday afternoon
between "Miss Montgomery" and Mr. Jowett, and secured thereby the Marble
Soap advertisement for the back page of _Good Humour_ for six months, at
twenty-five pounds a week.