THE TELEGRAM
Raymond and Sabina spent a long afternoon at the house they had taken;
and while he was interested with the stables and garden, she occupied
herself indoors. She was very tired before they had finished, and
presently, returning to Bridport, they called at 'The Seven Stars' and
ordered tea.
The famous garden was dismantled now and Job Legg spent some daily hours
in digging there. To-morrow Job was to hear what Mrs. Northover had to
say concerning his proposal, and, meantime, the pending decision neither
unsettled him nor interfered with his usual placidity and enterprise.
Nelly Northover herself waited upon the engaged couple. She was somewhat
abstracted with her own thoughts, but so far banished them that she
could show and feel interest in the visitors. Raymond described the
house, and Sabina, glad to see Raymond in a cheerful mood, expatiated on
the charms of her future home.
They delayed somewhat longer than Mrs. Northover expected and she left
them presently, for she had an appointment bearing on the supreme
subject of her offer of marriage. Mrs. Northover was, in fact, going to
take another opinion. Such indecision seemed foreign to her character,
which seldom found her in two minds; but it happened that upon one
judgment she had often relied since her husband's death and, before the
great problem at present challenging Nelly, she believed another view
might largely assist her. That she could not decide herself, she felt
to be very significant. The fact made her cautious and anxious.
She put on her bonnet now, left a maid to settle with the customers and
presently stepped across the road to 'The Tiger,' for it was Richard
Gurd in whom Mrs. Northover put her trust. She designed to place Job's
offer before her friend and invite a candid and unprejudiced criticism.
For so doing more reasons than one may have existed; we seldom seek the
judgment of a friend without mixed motives; but, at any rate, Nelly
believed very thoroughly in her neighbour, and if, in reality, it was as
much a wish that he should know what had happened, as a desire to learn
his opinion upon it, she none the less felt that opinion would be
precious and probably decide her.
Richard was waiting in his office--a small apartment off the bar, to
which none had access save himself.
"Come in here and we shan't be disturbed," he said. "Of course, when you
tell me you want my advice on a matter of the greatest importance, all
else has to stand by. My old friend's wife has a right to come to me, I
should hope, and I'm glad you've done so. Sit here by the fire."
It did not take Mrs. Northover long to relate the situation, nor was Mr.
Gurd much puzzled to declare his view. In brief words she told him of
Job Legg's greatly increased prosperity and his proposal to wed. Having
made her statement, she advanced a few words for Job.
"In fairness and beyond all this, I must tell you, Richard, that he's a
very uncommon sort of man. That you know, of course, as well as I do.
But what you don't know is that when he was away, I badly missed him and
found out, for the first time, what an all-round, valuable creature he
has become at 'The Seven Stars.' When he was along with his dying
relation, I missed the man a thousand times in every twelve hours and I
felt properly astonished to find how he was the prop and stay of my
business. That may seem too much to say, seeing I'm a fairly clever
woman and know how to run 'The Seven Stars' in a pretty prosperous way;
but there is no doubt Legg is very much more than what he seems. He's a
very human man and I'll go so far as to say this: I like him. There's
great self-respect to him and you feel, under his level temper and
unfailing readiness to work at anything and everything, that he's a
power for good--in fact a man with high principles--so high as my own,
if not higher."
"Stop there, or you'll over-do it," said Richard. "Higher than yours his
principles won't take him and I refuse to hear you say so. You ask me in
plain words if you shall marry Job Legg, or if you shan't. And before I
speak, I may tell you that, as a man of the world, I shan't quarrel with
you if you don't take my advice. As a rule I have found that good advice
is more often given than taken and, whether or no, the giving of advice
nearly always means one thing. And that is that the giver loses a
friend. If the advice is bad, it is generally taken, and him that takes
it finds out in due course it was bad, and so the giver makes an enemy.
And if 'tis good, the same thing happens, for then 'tis not taken and,
looking back, the sufferer sees his mistake, and human nature works, and
instead of kicking himself, he feels like kicking the wise man that gave
him the good advice. But between me and you that won't happen, for
there's the ghost of William Northover to come between. You and me are
high spirited, and I dare say there are some people who would say we are
short tempered; but we know better."
"That's all true as gospel; and now you tell me if I ought to marry Job.
Or, if 'tis too great a question to decide in a minute, as I find it
myself, then leave it till to-morrow and I'll pop in again."
"No need to leave it. My mind is used to make itself up swift. First, as
to Legg. Legg's a very good man, indeed, and I'd be the first to praise
him. He's all you say--or nearly all--and I've often been very much
impressed by him. And if he was anybody's servant but yours, I dare say
I'd have tempted him to 'The Tiger' before now. But there are some that
shine in the lead, like you and me, and some that only show their full
worth when they've got to obey. Job can obey to perfection; but I'm not
so sure if he's fitted to command."
"Remember," she said, "that if I say 'no' to the man, I lose him. He
can't be my right hand no more then, because he'd leave. And my heart
sinks at the thought of another potman at my age."
"When you say 'potman' you come to the root of the matter, and your age
has nothing to do with it," answered Richard. "The natural instinct at
such times is to advise against, and when man or woman asks a fellow
creature as to the wisdom of marrying, they'll always pull a long face
and find fifty good reasons why not. But I'm taking this in a larger
spirit. There's no reason why you shouldn't marry again, and you'd make
another as happy as you did your first, no doubt. But Job Legg is a
potman; he's been a potman for a generation; he thinks like a potman,
and his outlook in life is naturally the potman outlook. Mind, I'm not
saying anything against him as a man when I tell you so; I'm only
looking at him now as a husband for you. He's got religion and a good
temper, and dollops of sense, and I'll even go so far as to say, seeing
that he is now a man of money, that he was within his right to offer, if
he did it in a modest manner. But I won't say more than that. He's
simple and faithful and a servant worthy of all respect, but that man
haven't the parts to rise to mastership. A good stick, but if he was
your crutch, he'd fail you. For my part, I'm very sure that people of
much greater importance than him would offer for you if they knew you
were for a husband."
"I wouldn't say I was for a husband, Richard. The idea never came into
my mind till Job Legg put it there."
"Just your modesty. There's no more reason why you shouldn't wed than
why I shouldn't. You're a comely and highly marriageable person still,
and nobody knows it better than what I do."
"You advise against, then?"
"In that quarter, yes. I'm thinking of you, and only you, and I don't
believe Job is quite man enough for the part. Leave it, however, for
twenty-four hours."
"He was to have his answer, to-morrow."
"He's used to waiting. Tell him you're coming to it and won't keep him
much longer. It's too big a thing to be quite sure about, and you were
right when you said so. I'll come across and see you in the morning."
"I'm obliged to you, Richard. And if you'll turn it over, I'll thank
you. I wouldn't have come to any other than you, bachelor though you
are."
"I'll weigh it," he promised, "but I warn you I'm very unlikely to see
it different. What you've told me have put other side issues into my
head. You'll hunt a rabbit and flush a game bird, sometimes. In fact,
great things often come out of little ones."
"I know you'll be fair and not let anything influence your judgment,"
she said.
He promised, but with secret uneasiness, for already it seemed that his
judgment was being influenced. For that reason he had postponed a final
decision until the following day. Mrs. Northover departed with grateful
thanks and left behind her, though she guessed it not, problems far more
tremendous than any she had brought.
Meantime Raymond and Sabina, on their way to Miss Ironsyde, were met by
Mr. Neddy Motyer. Neddy had not seen his friend for some time and now
saluted and stopped. It was nearly dark and they stood under a
lamp-post.
"Cheero!" said Mr. Motyer. "Haven't cast an eye on you for a month of
Sundays, Ironsyde."
Raymond introduced Sabina and Neddy was gallant and reminded her they
had met before at the Mill. Then, desiring a little masculine society,
Sabina's betrothed proposed that she should go on and report that he was
coming.
"Aunt Jenny will expect us to stop for dinner, so there's no hurry. I'll
be up in half an hour."
She left them and Neddy suggested drinking.
"You might as well be dead and buried for all the boys see of you
nowadays," he said, as they entered 'The Bull' Hotel.
"I'm busy."
"I know, but I hope you'll have a big night off before the deed is done
and you take leave of freedom--what?"
"I'm not taking leave of freedom. You godless bachelors don't know
you're born."
"Bluff--bluff!" declared Neddy. "You can't deceive me, old sport."
"You wait till you find the right one."
"I shall," promised Neddy. "And very well content to wait. Nothing is
easier than not to be married."
"Nothing is harder, my dear chap, if you're in love with the right
girl."
Neddy felt the ground delicate. He knew that Raymond had knocked down a
man for insulting him a week before, so he changed the subject.
"I thought you'd be at the fight," he said. "It was a pretty
spar--interesting all through. Jack Buckler won. Blades practically let
him. Not because he wanted to, but because Solly Blades has got a streak
of softness in his make-up. That's fatal in a fighter. If you've got a
gentle heart, it don't matter how clever you are: you can't take full
advantage of your skill and use the opening when you've won it. Blades
didn't punish Buckler's stupidity, or weakness just when he could have
done it. So he lost, because he gave Jack time to get strong again; and
when Blades in his turn went weak, Buckler got it over and outed him."
"Your heart often robs you of what your head won," said another man in
the bar. "Life's like prize-fighting in that respect. If you don't hit
other people when you can, the time will probably come when they'll hit
you."
It was an ugly philosophy and Raymond, looking within, applied to it
himself. Then he put his own thoughts away.
"And how are the gee-gees?" he asked.
"As a 'gentleman backer,' I can't say I'm going very strong," confessed
Neddy. "On the whole, I think it's a mug's game. Anyway, I shall chuck
it when flat racing comes again. My father's getting restive. I shall
have to do something pretty soon."
Raymond stayed for an hour and was again urged to give a bachelor-supper
before he married; but he declined.
"Shan't chuck away a tenner on a lot of wasters," he said. "Got
something better to do with it."
Several men promised to come to church and see the event, now near at
hand, but he told them that they might be disappointed.
"I'm not too sure about that," he said. "I may put my foot down on that
racket and be married at a registrar's. Anyway church is no certainty.
I've got no use for making a show of my private affairs."
On the way to Miss Ironsyde's he grew moody and gloom settled upon him.
A glimpse of the old free and easy life threw into darker colours the
new existence ahead. He remembered the sentiments of the strange man in
the bar--how weakness is always punished and the heart often robs the
head of victory. His heart was robbing his head of freedom; and that
meant victory also; for what sort of success can life offer to those who
begin it by flinging liberty to the winds? Yes, he had been "bluffing,"
as Neddy declared; and to bluff was foreign to his nature. Nobody was
deceived, for everybody knew the truth, and though none dared laugh at
him in public, secretly all his acquaintance were doubtless doing so.
Sabina saw that he was perturbed when presently he joined Miss
Ironsyde. He had drunk more than enough and proved irritable.
He was, however, silent at first, while his aunt discussed the wedding.
She took it for granted that it would be in church and reminded Raymond
of necessary steps.
"And certain people should be asked," she said. "Have you any friends
you particularly wish to be there? Mr. Churchouse is planning a wedding
breakfast--"
"No--none of my friends will be there if I can help it. They're not that
sort."
"Have you written to Daniel?"
"'Written to Daniel'! Good God, no! What should I write to Daniel, but
to tell him he's the biggest cur and hound on earth?"
"You've passed all that. You're not going back again, Raymond. You know
what you said last time when we talked about it."
"If he's ever to be more than a name to me, he must apologise for being
a low down brute, first. I've got plenty on my mind without thinking
about him. He's going to rue the day he treated me as he has done. I'll
bring him and Bridetown Mill to the gutter, yet."
"Don't, don't, please. I thought you felt last time we were talking
about him--"
"Drop him--don't mention his name to me--I won't hear it. If you want me
to go on with my life with self-respect, then keep his name out of my
life. I've cursed him to hell once and for all, so talk of something
else!"
Jenny Ironsyde saw that her nephew was in a dark temper, and while at
heart she felt indignant and ashamed, more for Sabina's sake than his
own, she humoured him, spoke of the future and strove to win him back
into a cheerful mind.
Then as they were going to dinner, at half-past seven o'clock, the maid
who announced the meal, brought with her a telegram. It was directed to
'Ironsyde' only, and, putting on her glasses, Jenny read it.
Daniel had been very seriously injured in a railway accident at York.
Remorse strikes the young with cruel bitterness. Raymond turned pale and
staggered. While he had been cursing his brother, the man lay smitten,
perhaps at the door of death. His aunt it was who steadied him and
turned to the time-table. Then she went to her store of ready money. In
an hour Raymond was on his way. It might be possible for him to catch a
midnight train for the North from London and reach York before morning.
When he had gone, Jenny turned to Sabina, who had spoken no word during
this scene.
"Much may come of this," she said. "God works in mysterious ways. I have
no fear that Raymond will fail in his duty to dear Daniel at such a
time. Come back early to-morrow, Sabina. I shall get a telegram, as soon
as Raymond can despatch it, and shall hold myself in readiness to go at
once and stop with Daniel. Tell Mister Churchouse what has happened."
The lady spent the night in packing. Her sufferings and anxieties were
allayed by occupation; but the long hours seemed unending.
She was ready to start at dawn, but not until ten o'clock came the news
from York. Mr. Churchouse was already with her when the telegram
arrived. He had driven from Bridetown with Sabina. Daniel Ironsyde was
dead and had passed many hours before Raymond reached him.
Sabina went home on hearing this news, and Ernest Churchouse remained
with Miss Ironsyde.
She was prostrated and, for a time, he could not comfort her. But the
practical nature of her mind asserted itself between gusts of grief. She
despatched a telegram to Raymond at York, and begged him to bring back
his brother's body as soon as it might be done. Concerning the future
she also spoke to Ernest.
"He has made no will," she said, "That I know, because when last we
were speaking of Raymond, he told me he felt it impossible at present to
do so."
"Then the whole estate belongs to Raymond, now?" he asked.
"Yes, everything is his."