THE incident revealed to Erb the fact that the men's support and
confidence had something of a tidal nature. He had watched, sometimes
with amusement, always with interest, the state of other leaders--from
high water, when they could swim luxuriously, to low water, when they
were left stranded ludicrously on the beach; it had not before occurred
to him that he himself might encounter a similar experience; he
determined now to make his position as secure as possible. In this
effort he relied a good deal on the new journal he was preparing, the
first number of which was to bear on the front page the words, "Edited by
Herbert C. Barnes." Lady Frances had written on the subject of labour--
"Oh horny-handed sons of toil,
Who spin and weave and dig in mines."
Erb, summoned to Eaton Square to take charge of this (the risk of loss in
the post being too great to endure), had ventured to point out to the
poetess, with, of course, great respect, that it would have been more
appropriate to introduce something about kindness to horses and the
difficulties occasioned by the stress and turmoil of traffic; Lady
Frances, listening with a slight frown on her young forehead, answered
that she was much obliged, that she thought she saw her way to another
poem to be called "Sturm and Drang," but she felt it would be unwise to
touch the first effort; good poetry was always dashed off on the impulse
of the moment.
"I didn't know that," remarked Erb, with deference.
So poem Number One was to go in, please, exactly as she had written it,
and on the day the paper came out would Erb oblige her very much by
coming to dinner at Eaton Square.
"Dinner?" echoed Erb amazedly.
Coming to dinner at Eaton Square, and bringing with him one, or perhaps
more, copies.
"What about an evening suit, Lady Frances?"
The managerial young woman had thought of that; her uncle and a few more
men would be present, and, to make the dinner quite informal, they would
wear morning dress. No, no, please, no excuses of any kind. Lady
Frances was going to see her tailor in Maddox Street, and she could give
Erb a lift so far. The tall maid (who was Miss Luker of the dance) being
rung for, brought in hat and cloak, and helped her young mistress with
them, giving no glance towards Erb, and the two went downstairs together.
Seated at the side of Lady Frances, he was watched curiously by the
drivers of one or two railway vans, who, in their anxiety to verify what
appeared to be a dream, looked round by the side, allowing thus their
blinkered horses to peer into omnibuses and nibble at conductors' hats,
necessitating a swift exchange of the kind of repartee in which the
London driver is a past master. When Erb stepped out at Maddox Street
and raising his hat started back to a point whence he could walk to his
office at Bermondsey, Erb noticed that Lady Frances had a look on her
face that might come to one who advanced the cause of millions and, by an
act of her own, had made a whole world glad. It would be quite unfair to
suggest that at this period Erb was by way of becoming a snob, but it
would be untrue to say that he had any objection to the soft, pleasant
scent, the well-bred air, the gracious manner that he found with Lady
Frances. It is also right to say that directly he had left her he began
to think of Rosalind and of his work. At this period sometimes one came
first, sometimes the other.
"Dinner!" he said to himself.
"_Me_ at dinner at Eaton Square. 'Pon my life, this is the funniest
world I ever saw."
He retained his old habit of talking as he went along the London streets,
and people in a hurry stopped on noticing this, and delivered themselves
of an opinion in regard to his sanity. In this way he often had long
talks with Rosalind of an extremely fervent nature; Rosalind helping him
with a few coy questions, all in a way that had never yet found
realisation; his fluency in these rehearsals astonished him sometimes as
much as his inexcusable awkwardness when he called at Camberwell.
"I'm a bit of a muddler," he confessed in Waterloo Place, "where women
are concerned. In other matters, now-- Look where you're coming,
stupid!"
Spanswick, red faced, short necked, and pimpled, addressed in this way,
was walking backwards in the inconvenient manner adopted by some on
crowded pavements who wish to review scenes that have passed; it was a
silken ankle stepping into a carriage that had clipped Spanswick's
attention.
"What ho!" cried Spanswick. "Still a lordin' it, Erb, old man? Kind of
a amphibious animal, ain't you?"
"I can swim!" said Erb.
"The best swimmers get drownded sometimes."
"Not more than once."
"Talking of which," said Spanswick cheerily, "are you going to stand us a
drink?"
"No," replied Erb.
"Ah, well," said Spanswick with an effort, "me and you can't afford to
quarrel. We've both got our axes to grind. Whereabouts is Pall Mall?"
"You're in it now. It runs up that way to the bottom of St. James's
Street."
"That's the best of 'aving been a parcels carman," sighed Spanswick
enviously. "I was never anything but a goods man, and I never had no
chances of getting amongst the aristocracy as you have. Otherwise I
should meet you on equal terms. How's the young woman?"
"What young woman?"
"Are there so many of 'em as all that? Seems to me," remarked Spanswick
thoughtfully, "that some of you lead a double life. You'll come a
cropper over it some day, mark my words."
"I'll mark your face," retorted Erb with a sudden burst of annoyance.
"I've put up with just about enough from you. I may be your secretary,
but I'm not your slave."
"Old man, don't let's go kicking up a common fracass here. You don't
understand my style of humour. This newspaper, or journal, or organ, or
whatever you like to call it--how's it going?"
"Well," said Erb, returning to good temper. "I find I'm having to do it
pretty nigh all myself. There's another column to do now before the
first number's ready."
"_I'm_ pretty 'andy with me pen," remarked the other. "I don't prefess
to be a literary man, of course, but-- I'll send you in a few items of
news."
"I shall be ever so much obliged to you. Make 'em smart and readable,
mind."
"_I'll_ make 'em smart," said Spanswick.
It seemed to Erb, on the day "The Carman" was to appear, that something
special of a less selfish character than the dinner in Eaton Square
should be arranged to mark the event. What he vaguely desired was to
give an outing to Louisa--the short sister had become too weak to take
public promenade, and the current young man had to shout to her of an
evening, gripping the railings in Page's Walk. Erb had some daring
thought of inviting Rosalind, and taking them both up the river. This
detail of the plan he accepted and rejected, and accepted and rejected
again; meeting Rosalind herself one evening in the strenuous fight for
trams on the Surrey side of Blackfriars Bridge, he, after protecting her
in the struggle up the steps, and allowing himself in the carrying out of
his duty to press the plump arm above the elbow, found himself in the
mood of accepting the detail, and he submitted the proposal in a way
meant to be deferential, which, however, came out quite brusque and
defiant. "Ever been to Battersea Park?" he asked gruffly. Rosalind had
never been to Battersea Park. "Care to go?" Rosalind was so busy that
she feared-- "I'm going to take Louisa." In that case (with a flush
that went partly over her face and then ran away), in that case Rosalind
would be very pleased. "Must be Wednesday next," said Erb shortly.
Wednesday was rather an awkward day, because there was a pupil at
half-past one, who came in her dinner hour, and another at three. "Put
her off," commanded Erb. Very well, then, the three o'clock pupil should
be off; Rosalind declared she would be thinking of the afternoon every
hour of the day until it arrived. "So shall I," said Erb shortly. Had
Erb seen Lady Frances lately? "We can't bear to be apart," said Erb, in
a tone meant to be jocular.
There were times when the one thing certain seemed to be that by no
possible chance could the first number of "The Carman" come out on the
day appointed. The printers did not place the importance of the
undertaking so high as Erb did; difficult to make them understand the
importance of producing it on the day fixed; the foreman of the noisy,
rattling printing establishment in Southwark said frankly that the world
having done without the journal for so long, no great hurt could be
occasioned if it should be a day or two late.
But on the day, their van drove up to the doorway of the office where Erb
and some of the committee were waiting, and a minute later each man had a
copy in his hands, his eyes fixed on the gratifying place where his own
name appeared. Erb had taken ingenious care to mention as many names as
possible, and, because of this, railway vans sent, say, from Paddington
to Haverstock Hill, made a slight detour and called at Bermondsey for
copies. There were some misprints, and one man, whose Christian name was
given as John instead of James, cancelled his subscription instantly, and
prophesied a gloomy future for the paper. Erb demanded opinions, and
discovered to his regret, that nearly every line in the small paper
received condemnation from somebody (personal paragraphs about high
officials in the railway world alone excepted), the fact being that the
readers of "The Carman" misapprehended the question, and assumed, when
asked for an opinion, that they were invited to give adverse judgment; a
thing that has happened with other critics in other circumstances.
But the particular copies presented to Louisa and to Rosalind extorted
from these young women, on their way slowly to Cherry Garden Pier,
unqualified approval. On the pier, where they waited for the steamer
coming up from Greenwich, the two ladies read again the printed
references to themselves.
"Yours," said Erb importantly, fanning himself with his straw hat, "yours
is what we newspaper people call a dummy ad."
"I can pay for mine," said Rosalind quickly.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," retorted Erb. "Read it out!"
She read it with a flush of gratification on her young face, Erb looking
over her shoulder. The scent of brown Windsor came to him.
"'Miss Rosalind Danks,'" she read, "'Professor of Elocution, Declamation,
Gesture, et cetera, et cetera. Number so-and-so Southampton Street,
Camberwell, S.E. Schools attended. Private lessons given. Assisted by
Mr. Reginald C. Danks, formerly of the principal West End theatres. "We
shall never forget his Montgiron."--Vide Press.'"
"Now yours, Louisa."
A break in his short sister's voice betokened uncontrollable pride.
"'We are glad to say that Miss L. Barnes, younger sister of our
secretary, is slowly recovering from a rather serious illness.' First
time," said Louisa, waving the journal in the air, "the very first time
my name's ever been in print."
"May I suggest, Mr. Editor," said Rosalind, leading him to the iron chain
that protected the edge of the pier, "that it is a little clumsy to
express satisfaction at slow recovery? It wasn't what you meant."
"Don't let on to her about it," urged Erb distressed. "I haven't got
quite the hang of writing. Is there anything else you noticed?"
"Nothing of importance."
"Tell us," begged the anxious editor, "and get it over."
"These personal paragraphs, headed 'What we Want to Know.'"
"The men all liked them."
"A little spiteful," she said quietly. "Calculated to hurt somebody. I
shouldn't, if I were you. This one, for instance."
"We'll drop 'em in number two. Here's our boat coming."
Some particular people complain of the river steamers, but the "Flying
Arrow" that took charge of the three at London Bridge, and conveyed them
up under railway bridges, and past embankments, and by the terrace of the
House of Commons--Erb waved his straw hat to his friend the white-haired
labour member, and the labour member waved in return in such a friendly
manner that other passengers became at once interested in Erb, and
whispered (to Louisa's great satisfaction), "Who is he? Who is he,
eh?"--by the Tate Gallery, and between unattractive stores, Nine Elms
way, the "Flying Arrow," I say, for these three young people might have
been a gaily caparisoned barge lent by Cleopatra; the gramophone that
squeaked out songs in a ghostly, unnatural tone of voice, a selected
troupe from the Royal Italian Opera; and the changes that the atmosphere
took from inexpensive cigars and cheap tobaccos, the choicest perfumes
from Old Bond Street. The top note of satisfaction was reached when Erb,
invited to political debate by the self-confident captain, worsted that
uniformed official with the greatest possible ease, and sent him back
limp to the bridge, to resume a profession for which he was qualified.
Disappointing, perhaps, to find that people on the steamboat who studied
literature were not applying themselves to "The Carman," devoting their
minds, instead, to cheap journals, which offered German pictures
(second-hand), with American jokes underneath, not absolutely new. Erb
left two copies of "The Carman," one aft and one at the other end, and
the girls watched results; a lad with a bulgy forehead took up a copy and
read it with languid interest; he presently dropped it on the deck, and a
waiter in a bowler hat who came along at that moment threw it into the
river, where it drifted away helplessly. The other copy seemed likely to
taste more of success, for a woman seized it with every sign of delight;
when she proceeded to wrap up a pair of boots in the new journal Erb felt
annoyed. But it was not easy to remain in this state with a cheerful
young woman like Louisa, or with a more sedate but equally agreeable
person like Rosalind, and they presently had a great game of pretending
that they were royalty on a tour round the world, so that Nine Elms pier
became Gibraltar, and a few minutes later they were going through the
Suez Canal, which others called Battersea Bridge. On reaching Sydney
(which had no harbour to speak of, but possessed a wobbling pier marked
Battersea Park) they disembarked with most of the other voyagers, some of
whom had decided that the three were either theatrical people or not
quite right in their heads. As they went up the wooden gangway and
entered the Park, Louisa had colour in her white cheeks, and, declining
assistance of her companions, ordered them to give each other their arms.
Which they did for a moment only.
"Shan't go to that dinner this evening," said Erb.
"I think you will," remarked Rosalind.
"Catch you," said Louisa satirically, "catch you missing a chance like
that."
"I shan't go. I don't want anything better'n this."
"You'll have to," decided Louisa. "And come back and tell us all about
it. I'd give anything to see Alice's face when she hears you've been
upstairs."
"I'd forgot about Alice."
"She's forgot about us," retorted Louisa. "That's the worst of tall
people, they always look down on you. How'd it be if I sat down here for
a bit and let you two walk on and come back for me?"
"And leave you alone?" asked Rosalind.
"I can set here and laugh at the foreigners," she remarked.
Erb and Rosalind made Louisa comfortable on a chair, and left her
applying herself once more to the intellectual delight of again reading
through "The Carman," with special attention to the paragraph that
concerned herself. Just before they went out of sight of her, in going
round the circle where bicycles were swishing along, they turned and
waved their hands: she unpinned her straw hat and lifted it in a
gentlemanly way.
"I wonder," said Erb thoughtfully, "whether she's going to make old
bones."
"I shouldn't let her go again to that work of hers."
"If anything serious happened," he said slowly, "I'd make such a stir
about the business that they'd have to shut up the factory."
"That wouldn't bring her back," remarked Rosalind.
"Back?" Erb stopped affrighted. "Why you don't think--you don't fancy
for a moment, do you, that she's going to--" They walked on quickly for
a while. "My goodness," he cried excitedly, "I'd tear the place down for
them! There shouldn't be a stone left! I'd get questions asked about
the business in Parliament! I'd organise meetings. I'd make London get
white hot about it! I'd never let 'em rest. I'd set every society at
'em. We'd get up demonstrations in the streets. We'd--"
"Don't let's get cross about anything," said Rosalind. "I want to look
back on to-day when I get into my dull moments."
"_You_ never get dull."
"I suppose nobody's life is perfectly happy."
"I say," said Erb, walking nearer to her and speaking in an undertone.
"You never worry about that chap Railton, do you?"
"Not--not very often."
"That's right," he said. "You know there's no man in this world that is
worth a single tear from your eyes."
"Don't talk about me as though I were perfect."
"You wouldn't be perfect," said Erb, "if it wasn't for your faults."
They talked of Louisa, and reckoned up amusedly her long list of
engagements. From this Erb went on to a short lecture on the time that
some wasted over affairs of the heart, urging that there were other
matters of equal or greater interest in life, such as the joy of getting
on better than other people, and thus extorting the open envy, the
cloaked admiration of colleagues. He succeeded at last in minimising the
value of love to such a small amount that his companion ceased to give
any consenting words, and, noticing her silence, he recognised that he
was outrunning her approval; he had to hark back to the point where her
silence had commenced to hint at want of agreement. They read the wooden
labels on preposterous-looking trees, and invented names of like manner
for themselves: Erb delivered a brief address from the banks of the lake
to the swans on the water, urging them to form a society of their own and
to fight to the last feather for their rights: they found a long broad
avenue under trees that leaned across at the top, and a perfectly new
Rosalind offered, in a sportive way that amazed Erb and gratified him, to
race him as far as a mail-cart, and Erb starting, took no trouble over
what appeared an easy task, with the result that he reached the
winning-post badly beaten by the limping girl by several yards, and
forced to endure from the baby occupant of a mail-cart a sneer of
contempt. They rested after this, and, whilst Erb fanned her with his
copy of "The Carman," Rosalind talked of her father, and, instead of
becoming serious as usual when the old Professor occupied her thoughts,
told with great enjoyment the story of a great week once at Littlehampton
when they were playing "East Lynne" with a fit-up company to such
imperfectly filled houses that it became certain there would be not only
no money with which to pay the excellent landlady on Sunday morning, but
scarce a penny to buy food on Saturday. Of aforesaid excellent landlady
coming in on the Saturday night and making one of eight people in the
pit, and being so affected by the performance by Rosalind as little
Willy, and moved to such anguish of tears by the scene, that she bustled
out between the last acts, purchased a sheep's head at the butcher's, had
a fragrant, gorgeous supper ready for the Professor and Rosalind on their
hungry return, and came in after the meal, when the two had searched once
more for an emergency exit from the situation, with formal announcement
to the effect that she knew quite well that they hadn't a shilling to
bless themselves with, that her native town in regard to appreciation of
the dramatic art was past praying for; that Rosalind was a little dear,
and that, for her part, if she touched a copper of their non-existent
money she would never again know a moment's peace: the landlady begged
two favours, and two favours only--first, that she might give the little
girl a good hug; second, that she might be permitted to stay up and bake
them a meat and potato pie that would keep their bodies and souls
together on to-morrow's journey.
They remembered Louisa presently, and went back to the white-faced girl,
who had found company in a penny novelette left on the seat by someone
tired of literature, and who made them go away again until she
ascertained whether the young woman in the story married the brilliant
young journalist or the middle-aged Peer. When justice had been done by
presentation of the prize to brains, and the House of Lords, resigning
itself without a murmur, had given its blessing and a cheque, she called
them back, and the three held council in regard to the dinner in Eaton
Square. Erb was still inclined to be obstinate, but the two young women
were equally determined, and they took him across the bridge into King's
Road, where the committee purchased for him a new neck-tie, the while
they sent him away to wash his face and hands. They left him presently
at Sloane Square, and went home to Bermondsey, because Louisa was now
forced to confess that she had become tired; Rosalind having the evening
free, and being anxious to hear the report of Erb's experience in Eaton
Square, offered to read to her in Page's Walk.
Events progressed in Page's Walk to the point of a cozy chat, where
Louisa defied sleep in order to recite to Rosalind in their due order the
circumstances of the many engagements from the respective starts to the
individual finishes, with imitations of the voice of each suitor, and
occasionally a parody of the gait. It was in the middle of a diverting
account of Number Five--who had at least one defect in that he had no
roof to his mouth--that Erb returned. The two surrounded him, firing
questions.
"One at a time," said Erb, good humoured, because of the unexpected joy
of seeing Rosalind again. "One at a time. There were small things
first, sardines and what not--"
"Hors d'oeuvres," said Rosalind.
"I daresay. Anyhow, after that, soup."
"Can't stand soup," remarked Louisa. "There's no stay in soup. Go on,
Erb."
"Now comes what I may term," said Erb, "the gist or point of this
anecdote. The lady with the shoulders next to me--"
"I should faint if I found myself going out like that," declared Louisa,
interrupting again. "How anyone can do it beats me. It's like being
caught in your disables."
"The lady with the shoulders next to me turned and asked me something
that I didn't exactly catch, and I turned round rather suddenly and said,
'Beg pardon?' Knocked the arm of the girl who was serving the fish, and
as near upset the plate that she held in her hand as didn't matter. I
jumps up, and then for the first time I recognised it was Alice."
"Wasn't she took aback?"
"Not half so much as I was," said Erb. "I suppose being rather a large
dinner party they'd laid her on extra. Of course, I shook hands with her
and said, 'Hullo, Alice, how's the world using you?'"
"Well, you are," said Louisa with horror, "absolutely the biggest juggins
I ever come across."
"But what was I to do?"
"Do?" echoed the short sister. "Do? I could have soon shown you what to
do. All you'd got to do was to take no notice of her. Ignore her! Look
past her! Pretend she wasn't there! You'll never get asked again,
that's a very sure thing."
"I don't care," answered Erb. "I'm an awkward chap in these West End
circles. When I'm not in 'em I want to be there, and once I'm there I
look round directly for an open door to slip out of."
"And what did Miss Alice have to say for herself?" asked Louisa, coming
back to the incident with relish.
"Oh, she kept very cool, and she just whispered, 'Sit down, Erb, and
behave.'"
"That's her all over."
"They stared at me naturally enough, and young Lady Frances seemed a bit
upset just for a moment, and nobody spoke for a bit, but after a while
they were all chatting away again, and the party with the shoulders next
to me began asking me what I thought of the new woman at Covent Garden.
Then I put me foot in it again," said Erb amusedly. "I thought she meant
the market."
"How they'd pull you to pieces after you left," remarked Louisa sighing.
"I can 'ear 'em saying things."
"I can't," said Erb contentedly. "And if I did I shouldn't care. What
would you have done," he appealed to Rosalind, "what would you have done,
now, in similar circumstances?"
Rosalind, as she put on her gloves, considered for a moment before
replying. Then she leaned towards him and touched Erb's knee lightly.
"I should have done," she said, "exactly as you did."
There were several reasons why Erb should not take her by the arms; all
these reasons jumped up before him as he rose and made a step forward.
He stopped himself with an effort, and preceded her to the door. They
went downstairs, and he walked bareheaded as far as the "Lord Nelson."
"You were never nearer being kissed," he said to her ear, "in all your
life."
"Please, please," she said reprovingly.
Erb went back to Page's Walk checked and cooled by this reproof. The
prospect that he had had momentarily in his mind of the small house close
to Wandsworth Common, with a billiard table lawn at the back, at a time
when he, perhaps, would be in the House, unique among all labour members
by reason of having a wife who could be introduced with confidence, was
dismissed with a caution.
"Letter for you, Erb, on the mantel," cried Louisa from her room. "It's
just been sent over. Good-night!"
A portentous envelope, addressed to the Editor of "The Carman." Erb
sliced it with his penknife. The large letter paper was folded in three.
"SIR,
"We have been consulted by our client, Sir William Durmin, with
reference to the libellous statement which appears in No. I of 'The
Carman.'
"Our client cannot allow such statements to be made, and our
instructions are to issue a writ without further notice.
"If you wish to avoid personal service, please supply us by return of
post with the name of your solicitor who will accept service on your
behalf.
"Yours faithfully."
"Now," said Erb, "the band's beginning to play."