THE TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL
“Is Mr. M'Clinton in?”
The clerk, in a species of rabbit hutch, glanced out curiously at the
young flying officer.
“Yes; but he's very busy. Have you an appointment?”
“No--I got leave unexpectedly. Just take him my card, will you?”
The clerk handed the card to another clerk, who passed it to an
office-boy, who disappeared with it behind a heavy oaken door. He came
back presently.
“Mr. M'Clinton will see you in ten minutes, if you can wait, sir.”
“I'll wait,” said Bob, sitting down upon a high stool. “Got a paper?”
“To-day's Times is here, sir.” He whisked off, to return in a moment
with the paper, neatly folded.
“You'll find a more comfortable seat behind the screen, sir.”
“Thanks,” said Bob, regarding him with interest--he was so dapper, so
alert, so all that an office-boy in a staid lawyer's establishment ought
to be. “How old might you be?”
“Fourteen, sir.”
“And are you going to grow into a lawyer?”
“I'm afraid I'll never do that, sir,” said the office-boy gravely. “I
may be head clerk, perhaps. But--” he stopped, confused.
“But what?”
“I'd rather fly, sir, than anything in the world!” He looked
worshippingly at Bob's uniform. “If the war had only not stopped before
I was old enough, I might have had a chance!”
“Oh, you'll have plenty of chances,” Bob told him consolingly. “In five
years' time you'll be taking Mr. M'Clinton's confidential papers across
to Paris in an aeroplane--and bringing him back a reply before lunch!”
“Do you think so, sir?” The office-boy's eyes danced. Suddenly he
resumed his professional gravity.
“I must get back to my work, sir.” He disappeared behind another
partition; the office seemed to Bob to be divided into water-tight
compartments, in each of which he imagined that a budding lawyer or head
clerk was being brought up by hand. It was all rather grim and solid and
forbidding. To Bob the law had always been full of mystery; this grey,
silent office, in the heart of the city, was a fitting place for it.
He felt a little chill at his heart, a foreboding that no comfort could
come of his mission there.
The inner door opened, after a little while, and a woman in black came
out. She passed hurriedly through the outer office, pulling down her
veil over a face that showed traces of tears. Bob looked after her
compassionately.
“Poor soul!” he thought. “She's had her gruel, evidently. Now I suppose
I'll get mine.”
A bell whirred sharply. The alert office-boy sprang to the summons,
returning immediately.
“Mr. M'Clinton can see you now, sir.”
Bob followed him through the oaken door, and along a narrow passage to a
room where a spare, grizzled man sat at a huge roll-top desk. He rose as
the boy shut the door behind his visitor.
“Well, Captain Rainham. How do you do?”
Bob gripped the lean hand offered him--it felt like a claw in his great
palm. Then he sat down and looked uncomfortably at the lawyer.
“I had thought to have seen you here before, Captain.”
“I suppose I should have shown up,” said Bob--concealing the fact that
the idea had never occurred to him. “But I've been very busy since I've
been back to England.”
“And what brings you now?”
“I'm all but demobilized,” Bob told him, “and I'm trying to get
employment.”
“What--in this office?”
“Heavens, no!” ejaculated Bob, and at once turned a fine red. “That
is--I beg your pardon, sir; but I'm afraid I'm not cut out for an
office. I want to get something to do in the country, where I can
support my sister.”
“Your sister? But does not your father support her? She is an inmate of
his house, is she not?”
“Very much so,” said Bob bitterly. “She's governess, and lady-help, and
a good many other things. You couldn't call it a home. Besides, we have
always been together. I want to take her away.”
“And what does your father say?”
“He says she mustn't go. At least, that's what my stepmother says, so my
father will certainly say it too.”
“Your sister is under age, I think?”
“She's just nineteen--I'm over twenty-two. Can my father prevent her
going with me, sir?”
“Mph,” said the lawyer, pondering. “Do I gather that the young lady is
unhappy?”
“If she isn't, it's because she has pluck enough for six people, and
because she always hopes to get away.”
“And do you consider that you could support her?”
“I don't know,” said Bob unhappily. “I would certainly have thought
I could, but there seems mighty little chance for a fellow whose only
qualification is that he's been fighting Huns for nearly five years.
I've answered advertisements and interviewed people until my brain
reels; but there's nothing in it, and I can't leave Tommy there.”
“Tommy?” queried the lawyer blankly.
Bob laughed.
“My sister, I mean, sir. Her name's Cecilia, but, of course, we've never
called her that. Even Aunt Margaret called her Tommy.”
Mr. M'Clinton made no reply. He thought deeply for a few moments. Then
he looked up, and there was a glint of kindness in his hard grey eyes.
“I think you had better tell me all about it, Captain Rainham. Would it
assist you to smoke?”
“Thanks awfully, sir,” said Bob, accepting the proffered cigarette.
He plunged into his story; and if at times it was a trifle incoherent,
principally from honest wrath, yet on the whole Cecilia's case
lost nothing in the telling. The lawyer nodded from time to time,
comprehendingly.
“Aye,” he said at last, when Bob paused. “Just so, just so. And why did
you come to me, Captain?”
“I want your advice, sir,” Bob answered. “And I should like to know
something about my aunt's property--if I can hope for any help from that
source. I should have more chance of success if I had a little capital
to start with. But I understand that most of it was lost. My father
seemed very disappointed over the small amount she left.” He hesitated.
“But apart from money, I should like to know if I am within the law in
taking my sister away.”
Mr. M'Clinton thought deeply before replying.
“I had better speak frankly to you, Captain Rainham,” he said. “Your
aunt, as you probably know, did not like your father. I am not sure that
she actually distrusted him. But she considered him weak and indolent,
and she recognized that he was completely under the thumb of his second
wife. Your late aunt, my old friend, had an abhorrence for that lady
that was quaint, considering that she had scarcely ever seen her.” He
permitted himself the ghost of a smile. “She was deeply afraid of any of
her property coming under the control of your father--and through him,
of his wife. And so she tied up her money very carefully. She left
direct to you and your sister certain assets. The rest of her property
she left, in trust, to me.”
“To you, sir?”
“Aye. Very carefully tied up, too,” said Mr. M'Clinton, with a twinkle.
“I can't make ducks and drakes of it, no matter how much I may wish to.
It is tied up until your sister comes of age. Then my trust ceases.”
“By Jove!” Bob stared at him. “Then--do we get something?”
“Certainly. Unfortunately, many of your aunt's investments were very
hard hit through the war. Certain stocks which paid large dividends
ceased to pay altogether; others fell to very little. The sum left to
you and your sister for immediate use should have been very much larger,
but all that is left of it is the small allowance paid to you both.
I imagine that a smart young officer like yourself found it scarcely
sufficient for tobacco.”
“I've saved it all,” said Bob simply. “A bit more, too.”
“Saved it!” said the lawyer in blank amazement. “Do you tell me, now?
You lived on your pay?”
“Flying pay's pretty good,” said Bob. “And there was always Tommy to
think of, you know, sir. I had to put something away for her, in case I
crashed.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. M'Clinton. “Your aunt had great confidence in you
as a boy, and it seems she was justified. I'm very glad to hear this,
Captain, for it enables me to do with a clear conscience something which
I have the power to do. There is a discretionary clause in your aunt's
will, which gives me power to realize a certain sum of money, should you
need it. I could hand you over about three thousand pounds.”
“Three thousand!” Bob stared at him blankly.
“Aye. And I see no reason why I should not do it--provided I am
satisfied as to the use you will make of it. As a matter of form I
should like a letter from your commanding officer, testifying to your
general character.”
“That's easy enough,” said Bob. “But--three thousand! My hat, what a
difference it will make to Tommy and me! Poor old Aunt Margaret--I might
have known she'd look after us.”
“She loved you very dearly. And now, Captain, about your sister.”
“She's the big thing,” said Bob. “Can I kidnap her?”
“It's rather difficult to say just how your father might act. Left
to himself, I do not believe he would do anything. But urged by your
stepmother, he might make trouble. And the good lady is more likely
to make trouble if she suspects that there is any money coming to your
sister.”
“That's very certain,” Bob remarked. “I wish to goodness I could get her
right out of England, sir. How about Canada?”
The lawyer pondered.
“Do you know any one there?”
“Not a soul. But I suppose one could get introductions. And one can
always get Government expert advice there, I believe, to prevent one
chucking away one's money foolishly.”
Mr. M'Clinton nodded approvingly.
“I don't know, but you might do worse,” he said. “I believe in these
new countries for young people; the old ones are getting overcrowded
and worn out. And your relations are likely to give trouble if you
are within their reach. A terrible woman, that stepmother of yours; a
terrible woman. She came to see me with your father; he said nothing,
but she talked like a mill-race. Miss Tommy has my full sympathy.
A brawling woman in a wide house, as the Scripture says. I reproach
myself, Captain, that I did not inquire personally into Miss Tommy's
well-being. She told you nothing of her trials, you say, during the
war?”
“Not a word. Wrote as if life were a howling joke always. I only found
out for myself by accident a few months ago.”
“A brave lassie. Well, I'll do what I can to help you, Captain.
I'll keep a lookout for a likely land investment for your money, and
endeavour to prepare a good legal statement to frighten Mrs. Rainham
if she objects to your taking your sister away. Much may be done by
bluffing, especially if you do it very solemnly and quietly. So keep a
good heart, and come and see me next time you're in London. Miss Tommy
will be in any day, I presume, after the telegram you told me about?”
“Sure to be,” said Bob. “She'll be anxious for her letters. I'm leaving
one for her, if you don't mind, and I'll write to her again to-night.”
He got up, holding out his hand. “Good-bye--and I don't know how to
thank you, sir.”
“Bless the boy--you've nothing to thank me for,” said the lawyer. “Just
send me that letter from your commanding officer, and remember that
there's no wild hurry about plans--Miss Tommy can stand for a few weeks
longer what she has borne for two years.”
“I suppose she can--but I don't want her to,” Bob said.
The brisk office-boy showed him out, and he marched down the grey
streets near Lincoln's Inn with his chin well up. Life had taken a
sudden and magical turn for the better. Three thousand pounds!--surely
that meant no roughing it for Tommy, but a comfortable home and a
chance of success in life. It seemed a sum of enormous possibilities.
Everything was very vague still, but at least the money was certain--it
seemed like fairy gold. He felt a sudden desire to get away somewhere,
with Tommy, away from crowded England to a country where a man could
breathe; his heart rejoiced at the idea, just as he had often exulted
when his aeroplane had lifted him away from the crowded, buzzing camp,
into the wide, free places of the air. Canada called to him temptingly.
His brain was seething with plans to go there when, waiting for a chance
to cross a crowded thoroughfare, he heard his own name.
“Asleep, Rainham?”
Bob looked up with a start. General Harran, the Australian, was beside
him, also waiting for a break in the crawling string of motor-buses and
taxi-cabs. He was smiling under his close-clipped moustache.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” stammered the boy, coming to the salute
stiffly. “I was in a brown study, I believe.”
“You looked it. I spoke to you twice before you heard me. What is
it?--demobilization problems?”
“Just that, sir,” said Bob, grinning. “Most of us have got them, I
suppose--fellows of my age, anyhow. It's a bit difficult to come down to
earth again, after years spent in the air.”
“Very difficult,” Harran agreed gravely. He glanced down with interest
at the alert face and square-built figure of the boy beside him. There
were so many of them, these boys who had played with Death for years.
They have saved their country from horror and ruin, and now it seemed
very doubtful if their country wanted them. They were in every town in
England, looking for work; their pitiful, plucky advertisements greeted
the eye in every newspaper. The problem of their future interested
General Harran keenly. He liked his boys; their freshness and pluck and
unspoiled enthusiasm had been a tonic to him during the long years of
war. Now it hurt him that they should be looking for the right to live.
“I'm just going to lunch, Rainham,” he said. “Would you care to come
with me?”
Bob lifted a quaintly astonished face.
“Thanks, awfully, sir,” he stammered.
“Then jump on this 'bus, and we'll go to my club,” said the General,
swinging his lean, athletic body up the stairs of a passing motor-'bus
as he spoke. Bob followed, and they sped, rocking, through the packed
traffic until the General, who had sat in silence, jumped up, threaded
his way downstairs, and dropped to the ground again from the footboard
of the hurrying 'bus--with a brief shake of the head to the conductor,
who was prepared to check the speed of his craft to accommodate a
passenger with such distinguished badges of rank. Bob was on the ground
almost as quickly, and they turned out of the crowded street into
a quieter one that presently led them into a silent square, where
dignified grey houses looked out upon green trees, and the only traffic
was that of gliding motors. General Harran led the way into one of the
grey houses, up the steps of which officers were constantly coming
and going. A grizzled porter in uniform, with the Crimean medal on his
tunic, swung the door open and came smartly to attention as they passed
through. The General greeted him kindly.
“How are you, O'Shea? The rheumatism better?”
“It is, sir, thank you.” They passed on, through a great hall lined with
oil-paintings of famous soldiers, and trophies of big game from all
over the world; for this was a Service club, bearing a proud record of
soldier and sailor members for a hundred years. Presently they were in
the dining-room, already crowded. The waiter found them a little table
in a quiet corner.
There was a sprinkling of men whom Bob already knew; he caught several
friendly nods of recognition us he glanced round. Then General Harran
pointed out others to him--Generals, whose names were household words in
England--a notable Admiral, and a Captain with the V.C. ribbon--earned
at Zeebrugge. He seemed to know every one, and once or twice he left his
seat to speak to a friend--during which absence Bob's friends shot him
amazed glances, with eyebrows raised in astonishment that he should be
lunching with a real Major-General. Bob was somewhat tongue-tied with
bewilderment over the fact himself. But when their cold beef came,
General Harran soon put him at his ease, leading him to talk of himself
and his plans with quiet tact. Before Bob fairly realized it he had
unfolded all his little story--even to Tommy and her hardships. The
General listened with interest.
“And was it Tommy I saw you with on Saturday?”
“Yes, sir. She was awfully interested because it was you,” blurted Bob.
“You see, she and I have always been pals. I'm jolly keen to get some
place to take her to.”
“And you think of Canada. Why?”
“Well--I really don't know, except that it would be out of reach of
England and unpleasantness,” Bob answered. “And my money would go a lot
further there than here, wouldn't it, sir? Three thousand won't buy much
of a place in England--not to make one's living by, I mean.”
“That's true. I advise every youngster to get out to one of the new
countries, and, of course, a man with a little capital has a far greater
chance. But why Canada? Why not Australia?”
“There's no reason why not,” said Bob laughing. “Only it seems further
away. I don't know more of one country than the other--except the sort
of vague idea we all have that Canada is all cold and Australia all
heat!”
General Harran laughed.
“Yes--the average Englishman's ideas about the new countries are pretty
sketchy,” he said. “People always talk to me about the fearfully hot
climate of Australia, and seem mildly surprised if I remark that we have
about a dozen different climates, and that we have snow and ice, and
very decent winter sports, in Victoria. I don't think they believe me,
either. But seriously, Rainham, if you have no more leaning towards one
country than the other, why not think of Australia? I could help you
there, if you like.”
“You, sir!” Bob stammered.
“Well, I can pull strings. I dare say I could manage a passage out for
you and your sister--you see, you were serving with the Australians,
and you're both desirable immigrants--young and energetic people with
a little capital. That would be all right, I think, especially now that
the first rush is over. And I could give you plenty of introductions in
Australia to the right sort of people. You ought to see something of the
country, and what the life and work are, before investing your money.
It would be easy enough to get you on to a station or big farm--you to
learn the business, and your sister to teach or help in the house. She
wouldn't mind that for about a year, with nice people, would she?”
“Not she!” said Bob. “It was her own idea, in fact; only I didn't want
to let her work. But I can see that it might be best. Only I don't know
how to thank you, sir--I never imagined--”
General Harran cut him short.
“Don't worry about that. If I can help you, or any of the flying boys,
out of a difficulty, and at the same time get the right type of settlers
for Australia--she needs them badly--then I'm doing a double-barrelled
job that I like. But see here--do I understand that what you really
want to do is to take your sister without giving your father warning? To
kidnap her, in short?”
“I don't see anything else to do, sir. I spoke to him a while ago about
taking her away, and he only hummed and hawed and said he'd consult Mrs.
Rainham. And my stepmother will never let her go as long as she can keep
her as a drudge. We owe them nothing--he's never been a father to us,
and as for my stepmother--well, she should owe Tommy for two years' hard
work. But honestly, to all intents and purposes, they are strangers
to us--it seems absolutely ridiculous that we should be controlled by
them.”
“You say your aunt's family lawyer approves?”
“Yes, or he wouldn't let me have the money. I could get him to see you,
sir, if you like; though I don't see why you should be bothered about
us,” said Bob flushing.
“Give me his address--I'll look in on him next time I'm in Lincoln's
Inn,” said the General. “Your own, too. Now, if I get you and your
sister passages on a troopship, can you start at short notice--say
forty-eight hours?”
Bob gasped, but recovered himself. After all, his training in the air
had taught him to make swift decisions.
“Any time after the fifteenth, sir. I'll be demobilized then, and a free
agent. I'll get my kit beforehand.”
“Don't get much,” counselled the General. “You can travel in
uniform--take flannels for the tropics; everything you need in Australia
you can get just as well, or better, out there. Most fellows who go out
take tons of unnecessary stuff. Come into the smoking-room and give me a
few more details.”
They came out upon the steps of the club a little later. Bob's head was
whirling. He tried to stammer out more thanks and was cut short, kindly
but decisively.
“That's all right, my boy. I'll send you letters of introduction to
various people who will help you, and a bit of advice about where to go
when you land. Tell your sister not to be nervous--she isn't going to a
wild country, and the people there are much the same as anywhere else.
Now, good-bye, and good luck”; and Bob found himself walking across the
Square in a kind of solemn amazement.
“This morning I was thinking of getting taken on as a farm hand in
Devonshire, with Tommy somewhere handy in a labourer's cottage,” he
pondered. “And now I'm a bloated capitalist, and Tommy and I are going
across the world to Australia as calmly as if we were off to Margate
for the day! Well, I suppose it's only a dream, and I'll wake up soon.
I guess I'd better go back and tell Mr. M'Clinton; and I've got to see
Tommy somehow.” He bent his brows over the problem as he turned towards
Lincoln's Inn.