IN WHICH I BRING TOGETHER THREE MEN WHO WERE DUE TO MEET, AND A NOVEL
AND BENEFICIAL SCHEME IS DECIDED UPON
Heaven, I am glad to say, has been pleased to remove Mr. Wiles's
adopted daughter from this transitory sphere. She was sickly when
she came, and she never rallied, in spite of the most assiduous care
on his part, in which he was more or less assisted by a loyal wife.
"Wiles does nothing but mope," Mrs. Wiles told Naomi. "At first,
after he found it was no good and the creature was bound to die, he
was a little excited and above himself with a scheme he had for
getting it Christian burial. I don't know what's come over the
man--he never used to have such ideas--but he actually thought of
trying to smuggle it into a cemetery as though it was a real child.
Went about peering in undertakers' windows and wondering which looked
most like helping him. But I put a stop to all that. It wasn't fair
to the real people buried there, I said. A pretty thing to pay money
for a nice grave or comfortable family vault, and then have a heathen
ape laid near you! Wiles came round to my way of thinking, but he's
never recovered his spirits. In the end, he paid good money to have
it buried in the dogs' cemetery in the Bayswater Road, and he let me
have the scullery new whitewashed without saying a word. If he
doesn't get something to do soon I don't know what will happen. But
I'm afraid of the drink and the Stock Exchange, both, for he's begun
to be interested in tin mines and things like that. If only Mr.
Falconer could find him an occupation!"
The good woman's concern about her husband had long made me want to
help, and after Mrs. Duckie's statement that the head waiter of the
"Golden Horn" had saved enough to start an eating-house of his own,
the finger of Providence seemed to be in it, pointing directly at the
homely features of Mordecai Wiles, late of the New Ape House.
It is amusing to be able to help a little, but a mistake to
congratulate oneself upon the feat. For two reasons, of which one is
that one is only an instrument of fate or chance, and the other that
most deeds which at first wear the guise of assistance have a way of
turning into mischief. The Spaniards, whose proverbs are the best,
say that he who would tell the truth should have one foot in the
stirrup; and similarly I would advise most self-conscious benefactors
of their neighbours to be all ready to run. For otherwise they are
in danger of the wrong kind of thanks.
In the present case, however, no harm has yet come to me. The
victims of my experiment in busybodydom--or helpfulness, if you
like--are not only Mr. Wiles and Mr. Duckie, but (such strange
bedfellows can an active altruist bring together) Mr. Lacey. Mr.
Duckie for the reasons given; Mr. Wiles also for the reasons given;
and Mr. Lacey, because he had told me of his wonderful chop-house
scheme. It was a simple duty to unite them; and we met at Mr.
Wiles's for the purpose--the time and the place and the interested
ones all together.
The weight of the interview fell upon Mr. Lacey, but he enjoyed it.
He had to convince Mr. Wiles that there was money in an eating-house
at all; and Mr. Duckie, that to limit the food so severely was
practicable; and both, that (as I had told them, but men are
stubbornly sceptical in such matters) he was an enthusiast and not a
company promoter. One can so easily be misunderstood on this point.
He outlined his scheme, I must admit, with a persuasiveness that no
company promoter could exceed, and a poor observer might easily have
confused him with that _bête noire_; but neither of his hearers
kindled perceptibly. Mr. Wiles has had so many affable gentlemen
endeavouring, as Farrar's phrase has it, to bite his ear, that he has
come to adopt an apathetic mien as second nature; while Mr. Duckie
was obviously pained and startled by the revolutionary character of
Mr. Lacey's proposal.
"Hot chops, of course, gentlemen like," said Mr. Duckie, "but not for
ever. Cold chops I've never heard of. That is to say, chops cold on
purpose."
Mr. Lacey admitted that it was an experiment. Possibly there might
not be many customers who would come every day, but there ought to be
enough regular customers for every other day, and plenty of strangers
in a hurry, always. It would be, frankly, a house for hasty lunches.
That would be stated. There should be no disguise about it; the
outside would convey the intimation that within you could have a cold
chop and salad in one minute, or a hot chop and hot buttered toast in
ten minutes, and nothing else. "This world," said Mr. Lacey, "would
be a vastly easier place if everyone announced his business in plain
language. There's no diplomacy like frankness."
The idea was a novel one to Mr. Duckie, who had served for so many
years in a restaurant where the bill of fare spelt new potatoes and
new peas in capital letters right into August, and prefixed the word
fresh to its coffee all the year round.
"People don't like to be told that they can't get nothing else," he
said. "The words are not hospitable, if I may say so."
Mr. Lacey pointed out that in the long run the plain dealer won.
That is, if his quality was equal to his candour.
Mr. Duckie, however, was a very old dog to learn such unwonted tricks.
"But what about the people who want roast beef?" he asked at length.
"They must go elsewhere," said Mr. Lacey. "We have nothing for them."
"Yes," said Mr. Duckie, "but roast beef's such a popular dish."
"It can't be helped," said Mr. Lacey. "We must specialize."
"I see that," said Mr. Duckie, "but wouldn't it be better to
specialize in beef rather than mutton? Gentlemen are so partial to
beef. Hot beef, cabbage, and potatoes, or cold beef and salad."
Mr. Lacey pointed out the difference between the two schemes. "If
you want beef and vegetables you want an oven and a totally different
arrangement of kitchens. The difficulty about potatoes is, they are
never hot; cabbage is not always in season; and joints of beef mean a
certain amount of waste. Chops and toast can be cooked at the grill,
and there is no waste. The place would need plenty of grill
accommodation and two or three of the best grillers to be obtained.
Also the best chops, butter, and salad oil. Could anything be
simpler? The salad oil should come from Italy direct; the house
should become famous for it. Tarragon vinegar too--very little
dearer than the other and much more memorable."
What a wonderful man, I thought, as he went on, kindling as he spoke,
and thinking as he spoke, for he is a born improviser; business men
in every walk of life ought to pay him ten guineas an hour just to
make him talk on their own affairs. But business men have always a
horror of men with ideas.
Mr. Duckie, I noticed, began to kindle too, but very cautiously. He
still had beef on his mind.
"Very true," he said; "but what I mean about roast beef is, that
gentlemen seem to expect it. When they're in a hurry they always ask
if there's any cold beef."
Mr. Lacey told him again about the big notice outside the chop-house.
No one could come in under false pretences.
"But, sir," said Mr. Duckie, "you don't know them. It doesn't matter
what you say outside, they'll come in and ask for roast beef. People
who're hungry have no reason."
"Very well, then, let them ask; they won't get it," said Mr. Lacey.
"But it's such a mistake in a restaurant not to have what people
want," said Mr. Duckie.
Poor Lacey, his quick mind was in despair.
I relieved his agony by asking Mr. Wiles how it all struck him.
"I think it is a good scheme," he said. "I believe in finding a good
food and sticking to it. That's what we do with our apes, and after
all they're not so wonderfully different from city men. We find what
suits them best and keep them on it, with a grape or two or slice of
apple when they've done a trick, of course. I'm all for cold mutton
myself. It's nourishing and it's clean. You can cut it with a
pocket knife, like whittling a stick, and eat it all. But what I've
been wondering is, what about drink?"
"Beer," said Mr. Lacey, "and whisky and soda, and coffee. Nothing
else. But the best of each."
Mr. Duckie had been very thoughtful. "Supposing," he said, at last,
"we were to have three beef days a week and three mutton?"
Mr. Lacey would not hear of it. "But," he said, "look here. This is
what I'll do. The scheme's mine, and if you take it up I'll help you
with advice about a site and furnishing and so forth, and you shall
give me ten per cent. of the profits after each of you has drawn ten
per cent., and nothing if you don't draw that. That's all I ask, and
I ask that only if you stick to my idea. But if you decide to do
something else, then I make you a present of the whole thing and
retire at once. It interests me only as a whole."
Mr. Duckie admitted that this was more than fair, and looked at Mr.
Wiles.
Mr. Wiles said that for his part he would go into it and find capital
to run it for three years at a reasonable loss, with Mr. Duckie as
manager and partner, on a definite understanding--but only if I
approved and Mr. Lacey had control. "But," he said, "of course I
must ask my wife's opinion," and Mrs. Wiles was called in.
The good woman, after asking my views and finding that I supported
the scheme, pronounced in its favour, speaking both as a cook and a
speculator. "And all I can say," she ended, "is, that I hope you'll
arrange to keep Wiles busy. For I'm tired of him mooning about the
house. And now, sir, if you've finished your talk, I wish you'd come
and see my Annie."
She drew me from the room, and with her finger on her lips and
tiptoeing along, led me to a bedroom, where, in a cot, I saw a little
girl asleep.
"That's our Annie," she said proudly. "She only came to-day. I want
Mrs. Falconer to see her to-morrow, if she will, because, of course,
Annie was her idea."
Lenient as thoughts of Lavender had made me to all small creatures, I
cannot say that I viewed Annie with any active satisfaction, she was
so poor and stunted a little Cockney. But, of course, it is best
that the good woman should lavish herself on a weakling than on a
robust child. The robust grow up anyway, but the others want
attention. I asked Annie's history.
"It's very sad," said Mrs. Wiles. "She is an only child, and the
mother and father died within a few days of each other. The mother
died of pneumonia, which in a kind of way gives Wiles a special
interest in Annie, he having seen so much of it; while the father was
knocked down and killed by a motor-bus only last week. So the child
was taken to the St. Pancras Workhouse, and we heard of it through
one of Wiles's friends, and applied for her, and here she is. But I
shall never think quite the same about motor-buses any more. Talk
about blessings in disguise--I mean, of course, to Wiles and me; but
what a disguise!"
Upon rejoining the others, Lacey and I came away, leaving Mr. Duckie
as the Wiles's guest for supper. The last words I heard him say were
to his hostess, to the effect that, for some reason or other,
gentlemen seemed to like beef best.