OLD MAC EXPRESSES HIS OPINION OF MR. GLOVER.
The only person to whom I spoke of my interview with Jessie was my
mother, and even to her I did not relate all that had passed.
'Is she coming to see us, my dear?' my mother asked.
I answered that she had given no hint of any such intention.
'Perhaps,' said my mother, 'Mr. Glover being by restrained her.'
'Perhaps,' I replied curtly.
As the tone in which I spoke denoted that I did not wish to continue
the conversation, my mother said nothing more. Not that she had grown
indifferent to the subject upon which we were conversing, but that she
studied my moods more closely than ever. Her heart had never been
stirred by such tender love for me as during this time; it showed
itself in a thousand little undemonstrative ways, and with a delicate
cunning which I am sure has never been excelled, she said and did
precisely the things which were most comforting to me. I have only her
to thank that my sorrow did not make a cynic of me.
My thoughts ran so much upon Mr. Glover, that I dreamt of him
frequently in connection with some singular fancies. The principal
persons who played parts in these dreams were we two and Jessie. In
one of my dreams he was standing on a height, with his fingers to his
mouth, curling his moustache into it as usual; I stood below, at a
great distance from him; and Jessie was midway between us. He was
beckoning to Jessie, saying in a boastful tone that he was a gentleman
and a man of honour, and Jessie was walking towards him. In another of
my dreams he was standing over me, preaching the same text. In
another, Turk was very seriously impressing upon me the fact that Mr.
Glover came from a highly-respectable family, and that it _was_ a
thing to be proud of. This was the leading idea of all my dreams.
I did not go again to see Jessie at the rehearsals. I knew I had no
right to be in the theatre on those occasions, and I did not intend to
give Mr. Glover a chance of placing me in an unpleasant position. I
had scarcely a hope of seeing Jessie at our house; my mother thought
differently, saying that in certain things she was seldom mistaken,
and this was one of them. It was known to me that she had never ceased
making inquiries for uncle Bryan, and that she had taken many and many
a journey about London in the hope of finding him. I did not question
her as to the result of these inquiries, and she herself was silent on
the subject.
'Oh,' said Josey West to me, a couple of days after I had seen Jessie,
'so you've seen her.'
'Yes, Josey,' I replied, 'I have seen her.'
'And never told me!' she exclaimed.
'Why should I tell you, Josey? You have kept things from me which I
think you might have told me, without doing any great harm.'
'Do you, my sweet child? How wise we are, to be sure! But I don't
blame you. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I tell
you what, Chris! On the first night that Jessie plays, you and I will
go arm-in-arm to the theatre.'
'No, we will not.'
'Why, my sweet child?' she inquired, not in the least disturbed by my
abrupt tone.
'Because I have not made up my mind whether I shall be there.'
'Oh, indeed!' she said, with a little laugh.
I was not ingenuous in my reply, for I had quite resolved to go, and
to go early. During the days that intervened between my meeting with
Jessie and her announced first appearance I was very busy with
important work. This kept me close to my bench, and I did not have
time even to visit Turk, but it did not prevent me from thinking
constantly of Jessie. What would be the result if she made a great
success? Would she grow into a fine lady, and would her picture be in
all the shop-windows? What was the nature of the connection between
her and Mr. Glover? What were her feelings now towards her father? I
found a hundred different answers to these questions, not one of which
brought any satisfaction or consolation to me. But I could not
relinquish the consideration of them, and, in the usual way, I
extracted from them as much unhappiness as they would fairly yield.
'My mother knew where I was going when I prepared myself on the
evening that Jessie was to make her first appearance before the
public, and as she kissed me she said she did not expect me home very
early. I nodded, and left her. I could not trust myself to speak, for
I felt as though my own fate were about to be definitely decided by
the issue of this night's events. I arrived at the theatre before the
time announced for the opening of the doors, and to my surprise,
instead of finding, as I expected, a great mass of people pressing
towards the entrances, I found a few scores of persons standing
loosely about the closed doors, grumbling and wondering at notices
which were pasted on the walls to the effect that in consequence of
the indisposition of the new actress the opening of the theatre was
postponed. The disappointment to those assembled was the greater
because the play in which Jessie was to appear was the first dramatic
work of a new author, who, although his name was not given on the
bills, it was said was a nobleman well known in fashionable circles.
While I was reading the notice, and tormenting myself with the idea
that Jessie must be seriously ill, Turk accosted me.
'Hallo, Chris,' he said, hooking his arm in mine; 'this is a surprise,
isn't it?'
'Is Jessie very ill, Turk?' I asked anxiously.
He looked at me inquiringly, seemingly in doubt as to whether I was in
earnest in asking the question. I repeated it.
'I do not think so,' he replied.
'Have you seen her lately, Turk?'
'Not since Saturday, Chris; then she appeared to be well. That notice
is only put up as an excuse. There's a hitch with the author, or the
lessee, or the man who advances the money, I expect.'
'I should like to know if Jessie is really well,' I said.
'Go round to my shop, then; here's the key. I'll make inquiries and
come to you soon.'
I went to the shop, and unlocked the door, and as it was dark inside,
I lit the gas. I had not been in the place many minutes before old Mac
poked in his head.
'I saw a light,' he said, entering, and closing the door behind him.
'Ah, Chris, my son; it's you, is it? This is a rum go, isn't it?
Where's Turk?'
'He'll be here presently. You mean about the theatre, don't you?'
'I do, my son. So our fair friend doesn't make her appearance after
all. Well, the loss is the public's. The stage is going to the dogs.
Going! Gone, I should say. Not conducted on straight principles, my
son. Elements introduced into the management of theatrical matters
which have no business there at all. Where's your school for acting
nowadays, I should like to know. How do men and women come to be
actors and actresses? Where's the education for the profession? Once
upon a time--ah, well, no matter. Drown dull care. Anything to drink
about?' He looked around for the desired bottle. I could not assist
him in his search, and did not desire to do so, for it seemed to me
that he had already had a glass too much. 'Closed through the
indisposition of the new actress!' he continued. 'That's the way the
public is gulled. There are more things in heaven and earth than are
dreamt of in their philosophy. Look here, my son. A word in your ear.'
This word in my ear was a whispered request for a trifling loan of two
shillings and sevenpence. He always asked for loans in a whisper, even
when there was no third person near. It was not the first time I had
lent old Mac small sums of money, and I pulled three shillings from my
pocket, not having the coins for the exact sum. He gravely gave me
fivepence change.
'Thank you, my son,' he said, 'and now, a word to the wise. On a
certain morning you and I went to the Rialto--no, to a rehearsal in
which our fair friend took part.'
'Yes.'
'You confided your woes to me, not in words perhaps, but in look,
accent, manner. Old Mac knows the signs. The liquid eye, the tremulous
tone, the sighs that come unbidden. I saw them all, my son, and my
sympathising breast received them as a sacred deposit. You remember
the lines I quoted: "Her lips to mine how often did she join!" But I
see that you are impatient, my son. You said to me then that you
believed that I was your friend. I answered in suitable terms. The
word to the action, the action to the word. Shake hands, my son.' By
this time I had fully made up my mind that old Mac was tipsy, although
he was as steady as a rock; it was only his voice that betrayed him.
'To continue. You drew my attention to two persons who shall be
nameless, one of whom was paying attentions to the other, and you
asked what it meant. I replied in general terms, and after warning you
to beware of the green-eyed monster, I said that I would find out, in
a quiet way, what those intentions meant, and that I would let you
know, in a quiet way. Am I correct, and do you follow me?'
I said that he was quite correct, and that I was following his words.
'I placed myself at once in communication with our fair friend----'
I was surprised into an exclamation by this information. In no way
disturbed, old Mac went on.
'I did. I placed myself at once in communication with our fair
friend----'
'You did not mention my name, I hope,' I could not help saying.
'Was I born yesterday, do you think, my son, or the day before? I had
some slight acquaintance with our fair friend, as you know, and I
threw myself in her way. That is what I mean when I say I placed
myself in communication with her. I read her part for her, and gave
her a hint or two, which she received and thanked me for in a manner
very different from some lady stars I could mention, who think
themselves above tuition because they have pretty faces, and because
they happen to have made a third- or a fourth-rate success. They come
to grief in the long-run, my son, these clever ladies. They shine for
a little while, with much outside pushing and puffing, and then, Out,
out, brief candle! Our fair friend is a different kind of creature.
She is amiability, sweetness, and modesty combined, and when the old
actor ventured to throw out a hint or two as to emphasis in certain
places, as to appropriate action, as to where and how a point could be
made, she received them with gratitude and deference. Damme, my son!
the old actor could not help wishing he was a thirty years younger
man; and then again he was glad he wasn't, because it might have
interfered with the chances of a young friend of his, whom he sees
before him now. But if I don't hurry on with my story, you will be
applying to me Hamlet's words to Polonius, "These tedious old fools!"
The old actor doesn't mind giving himself a rub, you see. Well, having
fairly established himself in the sweet graces of the young lady, old
Mac, from his point of observation, kept one eye steadily fixed upon a
certain gentleman whose name commences with G, and who seems to have a
habit of biting his nails--a sign of ill-temper, my son. Old Mac was
on the watch, my son--"On the Watch," a fine title for a drama, and I
wish I had time to write it. This gentleman whose name commences with
G did not appear to relish the observation of the old actor, which was
not, for that reason, relaxed, depend upon it. And now, old Mac has
but few words to add. If, having reason to suspect the honesty of the
intentions of this gentleman whose name commences with a G, the old
actor sounded him artfully, and learnt enough to convince him that his
suspicions were correct, and if, being thus satisfied or dissatisfied,
the old actor gradually and delicately opened a certain young lady's
eyes to the true state of affairs, you may depend that he did it
partly out of the friendship he entertains for a fine young
fellow--shake hands, my son--partly out of his contempt for a certain
person whose fingers are always playing with his moustache, but
chiefly out of his admiration for a young lady whose beauty, grace,
virtue, and modesty are unparalleled in the experience of an old
fellow who has seen the world, and knows the stuff that men and women
are made of.'
Ambiguous as this speech was--and old Mac seemed to make it purposely
mysterious, and to enjoy it--I thoroughly understood it, and I thanked
the speaker cordially. My heart felt lighter after it, and when Turk
returned--old Mac being gone--I met him with a smile on my face.
'Has any one been here, Chris?' he asked, as he entered.
'Only old Mac; it is scarcely two minutes since he left.'
'No one else?'
'No, Turk. Have you found out about Jessie?'
'I have reason to believe she is quite well,' replied Turk, and that
the notice is only a blind. I thought Mr. Glover might have called.'
'No; he has not been here. Did you expect to see him?'
Turk, without replying to my question, commenced to walk up and down
his shop, which unusual proceeding on his part caused me to observe
him more closely. A strange expression of trouble and perplexity was
on his face, and I questioned him concerning it.
'I asked you once,' he said, somewhat awkwardly, 'if you were in
trouble. You will remember it--on the anniversary of Jessie's
birthday.'
'I remember, Turk.'
'Yours, you said, was not a money trouble.'
'But yours is, Turk?'
'Yes; chiefly. Partly my own, partly another person's. Chris, if I
speak vaguely, it is because I am on my parole; I mustn't break my
word. Now we can trust one another, I think?'
'I am sure I can trust you, Turk.'
'And that is just what I want,' he said, with a perplexed look.
'What is?
'Trust. It is a tremendous misfortune, sometimes, to be a poor hard-up
devil, not to be able to lay one's hand on a five-pound note.
Generally, it doesn't matter; as a rule, I am happy enough with half a
crown in my pocket, and owing no man anything. Chris, I want a large
sum of money. Can you tell me where to borrow it on my word of
honour?'
'How much, Turk?'
'Eighty pounds.'
I had more than that saved out of my earnings.
'I can lend it to you, Turk,' I said quite gladly.
'You, Chris! Your own money?'
'My own money--money that I have saved.'
'And you will lend it to me on _that_ security?'
'What better do I want from you, Turk?'
He resumed his walk, and was silent for a few moments. When he paused
before me, there was a soft bright light in his eyes.
'It's good to have a friend. But, first, let me tell you. Only twenty
pounds of the eighty are for myself. I want that sum to pay off my
debt to Mr. Glover. The other sixty is for another person; and I shall
be quite twelve months in paying you back.'
'I am satisfied, and more so, because you will be free, and out of Mr.
Glover's clutches. I can give you the money to-night. Mother has it.'
'Is it all you have saved, Chris?'
'No; I shall have a little left.'
'Then, when I've paid Mr. Glover, I can give you a bill of sale over
my stock.' He looked round upon his wigs and other theatrical
property. 'It is worth the money.'
'I can't lend to you upon that security, Turk. The first you mentioned
is the only security I can accept.'
He laughed a little huskily.
'All right, Chris, my boy. I'll borrow the money on those terms. This
may be a good night's work for all of us. I never thought that Turk
West's word would be good for eighty pounds. But stranger things than
that might occur, eh, Chris?'
I acquiesced, although I had not the slightest idea of his meaning.
'If you knew,' he continued, 'the relief it will be to me to get out
of Mr. Glover's clutches, as you called it, you would be surprised.'
I was sufficiently surprised at the change that was apparent in his
tone concerning Mr. Glover, whom he had hitherto extolled so highly.
'Curse all professional moneylenders, I say!' he exclaimed excitedly.
'And if ever I believe again in a man with a handle on the top of his
head, my name's not Turk West.'
I could not help laughing at these singular words.
'Ah, you may laugh, Chris; but when he sat in that chair--the very one
you are sitting in now, Chris, my boy--for the first time last week,
and asked me to shampoo him, and I felt the knob, it made me curious.
I thought he had been fighting, or had knocked his head against
something, but he told me he was born with it. That sort of thing runs
in families, I should say. If he had it, his father must have had it
before him. Look here, Chris; you are good at figures--I never was.
See how I stand with him.'
He produced some papers and receipts, all of which bore reference to
the account he had with Mr. Glover. I examined them, and found that he
had paid Mr. Glover a large interest for the money he had borrowed. He
had already paid the full sum of seventy-five pounds advanced, and
there were still, as he himself had calculated, twenty pounds odd to
be paid before he could call himself free. I made out a clear
statement, and gave it to Turk.
'Mr. Glover has managed to make a large profit out of you, Turk.'
'Yes, and I don't know how it has been done. I was to pay ten
per cent for the money, I understood; but what with one thing and
another--lawyer's charges, drawing up of deeds that were not required,
I am sure, signing of printed papers, inquiry fees, and a dozen other
things--it has come to a deal more.'
'I see that you only received sixty-five pounds,' I said, busy over
another calculation.
'That is all.'
'So that,' I continued, having finished my calculation' which I handed
to Turk, when you pay the balance to-morrow, Mr. Glover will have
received at the rate of at least sixty per cent per annum for the
loan. Not much of a friend in that, Turk?'
'No, I should say not; I have only rightly understood this, and other
things in connection with Mr. Glover as well, within the last week.'
'Perhaps,' I ventured to say, 'you do not now think me so unreasonable
in the dislike I took to him.'
'It is I who was wrong, Chris, my boy. I see that now.'
'Do you know, Turk, it pleases me in some way to be convinced that he
is not the soul of honour, as you tried to make me believe.'
'There, there, Chris--let's say no more about him.'
'We'll be done with him presently. I don't know how it was, but I
suspected and disliked him from the first. That trick of his of
curling his moustache into his mouth--old Mac told me he bites his
nails----'
'I cannot tell what it was that made me pause suddenly here, but pause
I did, and the sentence was not concluded.
'Do you know where Jessie lives, Turk?'
'Yes, Chris, but you mustn't ask me to tell you. I am on my parole.'
He repeated this statement with a certain air of enjoyment.
'Very well,' I said. But can you tell me when Jessie is likely to make
her appearance----'
He interrupted me, and asked me as a favour to change the subject; and
as I saw that I made him uneasy by my questions, I discontinued them.
He walked home with me, and I gave him the money.
'I wonder,' he said, as he pocketed it, 'that you haven't asked me
what I wanted the other sixty pounds for.'
'I have been going to ask half a dozen times,' I replied, 'but I
thought it might be another of your secrets.'
'It is a secret,' he said with a smile. 'And if you had asked, I
shouldn't have told you.'
Certainly, Turk was playing a most mysterious part; but I trusted him
thoroughly, knowing what a good fellow he was.
My mother was surprised to see me home so early, and more so when she
heard what had taken place.
'I have a presentiment, my dear,' she said, 'that this is going to
turn out a fortunate night for us.'
We went to the shop in the course of the night, and there was Josey
West behind the counter, as busy as a bee, serving the customers, and
chattering away like any magpie. Uncle Bryan would scarcely have known
the shop. Josey had had it cleaned and painted, and the scales and
counter, and nests of drawers in which the spices and more valuable
commodities were kept, had been so smartened up that they looked like
new. You could see your face in every bit of brass about the place.
During a lull in the business, Josey came into the little parlour
where we were sitting.
It's wonderful,' she said; 'we've taken eleven shillings already for
pills and mixture. I'm beginning to get frightened. If an inspector of
something or other were to come in and analyse us, I should drop down
in a fit. Turk says there's nothing to be afraid of, but I'm not so
sure of that.' Presently, however, she derived consolation from the
reflection that, after all, the medicine could not possibly do any one
any harm.
'Have you been to the theatre, Josey?' I asked.
'If you ask no questions, my sweet child,' was her reply, 'you'll be
told no stories. Theatres! As if I haven't something a thousand times
more important to attend to!'
For all that, she found time to have a quiet chat with Turk, and when
he went away she called me into the shop, and saying she had something
very particular to whisper to me, kissed me instead of making any
communication; by which sign I knew that Turk had told her of the
money I had lent him. She shut up the shop earlier than usual, and we
had supper together. I had not had a meal in the little parlour for
many months, and my mind was filled with the memorable incidents in my
life with which the room was connected. It was just such a night as
that on which Jessie had tapped at the door, years ago, when uncle
Bryan was asleep, and my mother and I were sitting quietly together. I
remembered the story I was reading, _Picciola_, and during a silence I
raised my head to the door, with something of expectation in my mind.
I dismissed the fancy instantly, but it was not unpleasant to me to
think of what had occurred on that night--the conversation in the shop
between Jessie and my mother, the awaking of uncle Bryan, and the
first passage-at-arms between the child and the old man. My mother
must have divined the current in which my thoughts were running, for
she took my hand under the table, and held it fondly in hers.
'I can't help liking the little room after all, mother,' I said.