HER FIRST FRIEND
The chief of Churchill & Son suffered no social disadvantage from being
in trade, and enjoyed many satisfactions that are unknown to the wealthy
who have nothing to do. His mind was alert and keen, his large,
wholesome-looking body a picture of well-being and contentment, his
attitude towards the world and things in general one of consistent
self-respect. He was one of that numerous band of perfectly-dressed and
exquisitely clean old gentlemen who pervade the city-wending tram-cars
of a morning between 9 and 10 o'clock, and are a delight to the eyes of
all true lovers of their country, as comprising the solid base of its
material prosperity. Solid in every sense was Mr. Nicholas Churchill, a
sound, just man, whose word was his bond, and whose signature was good
for six figures at the bank; a man who had succeeded in life and
commerce without cheating anybody, and was esteemed according to his
deserts, as we all are--though we don't always think so.
He walked into the breakfast-room of his little palace at Toorak, on a
certain spring morning, and, having kissed his children and shaken hands
with the governess, sat down to table and propped his newspaper before
him. His wife, a smart young lady in a long-tailed lace-frilled gown,
poured out his coffee, and his married daughter helped him to fish; for
it was a rule of the house to save him all trouble of helping himself or
others at this end of the day. The married daughter, Mrs. Oxenham, was
rather older than his wife, and was not now a member of the household,
but a visitor from a large station in the north-eastern hills; she had
come down to meet the mail which was bringing out her brother, Mr.
Churchill's eldest son, from home, and the arrival of which at
Adelaide had been telegraphed the day before. She was a tall,
distinguished-looking woman, a source of great pride and enjoyment to
her father, who addressed to her the most of what little conversation he
had time for.
"This is curious," he remarked, between two mouthfuls of buttered
toast. "Look here, Mary--poor old Liddon's wife, I'll bet you anything.
Read this."
She leaned over to him, and looked at the newspaper where he had fixed
it to the table with a broad thumb. After a short silence she
ejaculated, "Oh, _poor_ things!" It was her comment upon the following
advertisement:--
"TO LADIES SHOPPING. Quiet room, with good tea and scones. Open
from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. MRS. LIDDON, No. ----, Little Collins
Street, W."
"Well," said Mr. Churchill, "it is not our fault. We were ready and
willing to assist them."
"As was only right," Mrs. Oxenham murmured, "seeing how long he was with
the firm."
"And as good a servant as it ever had. Yes, I felt that it was our duty
to do something for the widow and children, and I sent them a little
sum--a cheque for a hundred it was--thinking it might be acceptable.
You'd have thought so, wouldn't you? I've done it before, dozens of
times, and always found 'em grateful. But here--well, they just sent it
back by return of post."
"Oh!" A faint flush overspread his daughter's face. "Did you put it
nicely, do you think?"
"_I_ didn't put it at all, but it was a very proper letter--I read it
before I signed it--speaking most highly of the old fellow's character
and services, and all that sort of thing. In fact, they thanked us for
what we said of him, and didn't seem to feel insulted--it was a nice
little note enough----"
"Whose?"
"Janet Liddon was the name--his daughter, writing on her mother's
behalf. But the money they wouldn't touch with a pair of tongs. Too
proud, of course."
"Of course. Oh, I do like to hear of that kind of pride! I was afraid it
had died right out in these sordid times."
"So was I. I can tell you it struck me uncommonly; I thought about it a
good deal; it was so unusual. I spoke to the young fellow, and he said
it was his mother and sister--his sister chiefly--who wouldn't have it.
And now they've opened this little place--it is they, I am convinced--to
keep themselves. I'll tell you what it is, Mary, they're fine women,
that mother and daughter--fine women, my dear. I'd like to look them
up--sort of apologise for offering alms, as it were--eh? They'll want
custom for their tea-room. Maude--I say, Maude"--the young lady of the
house was so deep in talk with the governess about house decorations for
a party that it was difficult to gain her ear--"Maude, my child, can't
you take some of your friends to tea there, and give them a start?"
Mrs. Churchill's vague eye roamed for a moment, and she said,
"What--where--I wasn't listening," like one in a dream.
"Never mind," said Mrs. Oxenham, "I will. I am to have some dresses
fitted this morning----"
"Oh, are you going to Mrs. Earl?" cried her stepmother, suddenly alert
and glowing. "Oh, Mary, dear, _would_ you take a message for me? Tell
her I must, I simply _must_ have my pink gown to-morrow." To look at
her, one would have imagined it a matter of life and death.
Half an hour later her husband and stepdaughter, two highly-finished,
perfectly-tailored figures, sober and stately, severely unpretentious,
yet breathing wealth and consequence at every point, set forth together
through spacious gardens to the road and the tram--which appeared to the
minute, as it always does for men of the Churchill stamp, who are never
too soon or too late for anything. They rode together to Collins Street,
and there separated and went east and west, the daughter to have her Cup
dresses tried on at one end of that thoroughfare, and the father to
resume command of his commercial kingdom at the other.
He had not been in his office many minutes before he sent for Joseph
Liddon. When the young man appeared, neat and spruce, as became a clerk
of the great house, Mr. Churchill held out the _Argus_, folded, and
pointed to the advertisement of the tea-room.
"I wanted to ask you, Liddon, if this is your mother?" he said, in his
quick, business way.
Joey did not need to look, but dropped his eyes to the paper, and
crimsoned to the roots of his hair. For a dreadful moment he was in
danger of saying, "No, sir," but was mercifully spared from the
perpetration of what would have been to him and his a most disastrous
lie. Then he was on the point of saying he didn't know, but had the
sense to perceive that such an evasion would but make the inevitable
disclosure worse; and finally braced himself to the agony of confession.
He had implored the relentless Jenny not to allow their name to appear
in connection with her undertaking, and lo, here it was, published to
the world of supercilious fellow-clerks and magnificent proprietors. He
was ready to sink into the ground with shame.
"I'm sorry to say it is, sir," he mumbled, cringing and quivering.
"Quite against my wishes--I've had nothing to do with it. It's my
sister--she would do it--she's a very odd girl----"
"It was your sister who insisted on returning our cheque, was it not? I
remember she wrote the note that enclosed it."
"Yes, sir. She's the eldest. She's--she's very odd."
"She _is_ odd," said the merchant, keenly smiling. "And I should like
very much to have the honour of her acquaintance."
Joey stared, doubtful whether this was joke or earnest. And the clerk
who now occupied his father's place coming in with papers, the chief
bade him good-morning, and he retired, much puzzled as to how that
potentate had really taken the news of his (Joey's) social downfall. And
his mind resumed its effort to concoct suitable explanations for his
office colleagues, when they should come and ask him whether that Mrs.
Liddon was his mother--from which the summons of "the boss" had
disturbed him.
Mr. Churchill's mind, bent, as it supposed, upon business, did not turn
out Miss Liddon as easily as it had dismissed her brother. It was taken
with the idea of a girl who would not receive money, and dared to risk
her little conventional title to be a lady for the sake of making an
honest living; his own business rectitude and high-mindedness qualified
him to appreciate a woman of that sort--so different from the swarm of
idle damsels with whom he was in daily contact, who lived for nothing
but their own pleasures, and on anybody who would keep them, with no
sense whatever of any responsibility in life, whose frivolities he was
always denouncing, more or less, in a good-natured way, though his own
dear wife was one of them. So greatly was he interested in this
exception to the rule that he presently conceived the wish to go and
see her, to see what she was like. He looked at the advertisement again;
the place was quite close by. He looked at his watch; it was eleven
o'clock. Tea and scones were about the last things he could desire at
that hour, but he might try them. She had announced that they would be
good, and he did not think she was the person to make a vain boast. And
Mary would probably be there, to keep him in countenance. The invitation
was addressed to "ladies shopping," but gentlemen were not prohibited;
if there should be any difficulty on the ground of his sex he could say
he had called for his daughter. No, he would tell Miss Liddon and her
mother who he was, and give them the encouragement of his good wishes in
their plucky enterprise. Taking down his smart brown hat, which matched
his smart heather-brown suit, he stole across to Little Collins Street
in search of the tea-room.