"My dear old bird! I never had a chance. I was saddled with rank an'
bridled by circumstance. I'm a rumbustious error of judgment, a livin'
mark of interrogation against the Wisdom of Providence!"
Let no man think that Tuppy was a fool; he was a poet. His play was in
blank verse. Nor accuse him of improvidence: he was a philosopher who
scorned the conventional obligations of life. He never paid his bills
because he never had the money to pay. If he had possessed the means, he
would have discharged his liabilities, for he was an honest man. It has
been argued that in his circumstances it was wholly wrong to contract
such liabilities, but Tuppy had an answer to such a twiddling splitting
of hairs.
"Dear old feller," he was wont to say, "you talk like a foolish one.
Must I forgo my last shreds of faith in human nature and the mysterious
workin's of providence? Must I, because of temp'ray misfortune, refuse
to recognize the illimitable possibilities of the future? I have three
cousins each with pots of money, and one at least coopered up with
asthma--it runs in the family--who might pop off at any minute."
Thus Tuppy justified his optimism.
If Tuppy had a failing it was his antipathy to his father's second wife.
To the dowager he ascribed all his misfortunes, in every piece of bad
luck he saw the dowager's hand.
She, poor soul, was a mild colourless lady with a weakness for bridge,
who spent her life in a vain attempt to restrict her requirements to the
circumscribed limits of a small annuity payable quarterly.
Tuppy rented a flat in Charles Street, W. He was at breakfast when Hal's
letter arrived, and the young man's interesting communication might well
have gone unread, for Tuppy's man was handling the morning post.
"Bill from Roderer's, m'lord."
"Chuck it in the fire."
"Letter from the lawyers about Colgate's account."
"Chuck it in the fire."
"Letter E.C.--no name on the back."
"Let me look at that, Bolt--um--typewritten--posted at 6.30 p.m. That's
the time all bills are posted; chuck it in the fire."
"Better open it, m'lord--might be a director's fee."
Tuppy shook his head sadly.
"Not likely--still open it."
So Hal's proposal came before his lordship.
"Dear Tuppy," read the man.
"Who the devil 'Tuppies' me on a typewriter?" demanded the peer.
The servant turned to the signature.
"Hal Tailor," he read.
"Tanneur," corrected Tuppy, "he's the sort of cove who _would_ Tuppy me
on a typewriter--go on."
"DEAR TUPPY,--
"I've got a great scheme for you. The governor will let you have a
house rent free--"
"I'll bet there's something wrong with the house," said Tuppy
uncharitably.
"--if you don't mind living in Suburbia."
Tuppy sat bolt upright.
"Where," he asked.
"In Suburbia," repeated Bolt.
Tuppy rose and pushed back his chair.
"Bolt," he said solemnly, "it's a shade of odds on this being a scheme
of dowager's to get me out of the country. Bolt--I'll not go. I'll see
this Tanner man to the devil before I expatriate myself!"
"Beg pardon m'lord----"
But Tuppy stopped him with an uncompromising hand.
"It's no bet, Bolt. Here we are and here we'll stay. Blessed
gracious!" he swore fiercely. "I would sooner pay my rent _here_!"
"I was going to say, m'lord," said the patient Bolt, "that he means the
suburbs. Brixton an' Clapham an' Tootin' Bec an' that sort of thing."
Tuppy looked at him suspiciously.
"Where is Tooting Bec and that sort of thing?" he demanded.
"Near Wandsworth Prison," began Bolt.
"What! Then I won't go--I _won't_ go, Bolt." Tuppy was considerably
agitated. "It's a rotten idea; a house rent free, d'ye see, Bolt? it's
this demmed Tanneur person's gentle hint ... a paltry matter of three
hundred pounds"--he paced the room furiously--"that's the scheme--the
dowager is behind all this--oh woman, woman!"
He apostrophized the ceiling.
"Better finish the letter, m'lord."
"Chuck it in the fire, Bolt; chuck it in!"
Bolt quickly skimmed the letter and mastered its contents.
"It's in Brockley, m'lord," he said quickly.
"Chuck it in the fire--where's Brockley."
"On the main road to Folkestone," said the diplomatic Bolt.
"Main road to Folkestone is half-way to the Continent," said Tuppy
explosively, "chuck it in the fire!"
"He said he'll allow you L500 for upkeep, m'lord."
"Eh."
Tuppy stopped in his stride.
"Five hundred," he hesitated, "that's a lot of money--there'll be some
shootin'."
"Certain to be, m'lord."
"An' people?"
"Yes, m'lord."
Tuppy shook his head doubtingly.
"I've never heard of anybody livin' at Brockley--I knew a chap who lived
at Harrogate, poor chap with one lung."
Tuppy thought.
"Five hundred _and_ shooting--any fishin'?"
"The river's close by, m'lord--there's Greenwich----" Tuppy brightened
up.
"Greenwich! of course, whitebait. Must be devilish amusin' fishin' for
whitebait: you eat 'em with brown bread, you know, like oysters----"
He wrote to Hal that day, tentatively accepting the offer. Hal made an
appointment for his lordly tenant, and fumed for three hours in his city
office until Tuppy turned up.
"I say!" said the aggrieved Hal ostentatiously displaying his watch; "I
say, Tuppy, old man, dash it! You said eleven and it's two! Hang it
all!"
"Don't be peevish," begged the peer, "if I'd said two it would have been
five."
"Time is money," complained Hal.
"Wise old bird," said Tuppy earnestly, "your interestin' and perfectly
original apothegm merely elucidates my position. It's the habit of
years to overdraw my account."
Hal who had no soul for subtle reasoning, plunged into the object of the
meeting.
"The fact is, Tuppy," he said, leaning back in his padded chair, and
cocking one leg on to the desk before him, "the fact is," he repeated,
"there's a man, a Duke man, that the governor's anxious to run out of
Brockley."
"Dear, dear!" commented Tuppy with polite interest.
"He's not one of our dukes: he's a French Duke from America, and he's
been acting the goat and getting upsides with the governor and
blithering generally--do you understand."
"Very pithily put," murmured Tuppy, "the whole situation is revealed in
one illuminatin' flash."
"Very good," said Hal complacently. "Well, being in the suburbs--the
Duke--and the suburbs being----"
"In the suburbs," suggested the helpful Tuppy as Hal paused for an
illustration.
"Exactly .... It stands to reason that a lot of these bounders have gone
in for a sort of hero-worship. See?" Tuppy nodded slowly.
"The fact being," explained Hal, "that these suburban people are such
absolute rotters and--and----"
"Pifflers?" suggested Tuppy.
"And pifflers and outsiders--that was the word I wanted--that they
really don't know the genuine article from the spurious."
"Very natural," Tuppy agreed.
"So the governor and I (it was really my idea but you know what sort of
chap the governor is for adopting other people's ideas as his own), we
thought a good idea would be, to plant one of the genuine article right
in their midst, so that they could see for themselves the sort of Johnny
the other chap was."
"I see," said Tuppy thoughtfully, "sort of look on this
picture-an'-look-on-that, compare the genuine goods before patronizin'
rival establishments?"
"Tuppy," said Hal with solemn admiration, "you've got the whole thing in
a nut-shell."
Tuppy picked up his hat and examined it intently.
"No bet," he said.
"Eh?"
Hal could hardly believe his ears.
"No bet," said Tuppy with decision, "awfully obliged to you for the
offer and all that; but no bet."
"Why not--you get a house rent free; the governor furnishes it from
Baring's, you get five hundred----"
"The five hundred is badly wanted," admitted Tuppy sadly, "an' if
anything would tempt me, it would be five hundred of the brightest and
best, but, Tanny, old chick, it can't be done."
"But why not?" protested Hal.
Tuppy was still examining his hat.
"Dignity, old friend," said Tuppy categorically. "House of Lords, family
traditions, pride of birth, ancient lineage--the whole damn thing's
wrong. Besides, it would get into the papers, 'Noble Lord caretaker in
the suburbs: Tuppy's latest!' ugh!"
He shuddered.
"An' again," he went on. "Where is Brockley, what is Brockley, who has
ever lived in Brockley: what part has Brockley played in the stirrin'
story of our national life? Is there a Lord Brockley, or a Bishop of
Brockley or a Lord of the Manor. Yes, there is a 'Lord of the Manor,'"
he amended bitterly. "It's the name of a public-house. It's no go, dear
old boy, it can't be done. I've looked it up, found it on a map, an'
read about it in the _A.B.C. Time Table_. It's all back-gardens an'
workman's trains, an' stipendiary magistrates, an' within walkin'
distance of the County Court."
He shook his head so vigorously that his eyeglass fell out.
He replaced it carefully and pulled on his gloves.
"Now look here, Tuppy," said Hal impatiently, "for heaven's sake, don't
be a raving ass!"
"Neatly put," commended Tuppy.
"You get this house free; you get the money--cash down; you get what you
haven't got now--unlimited credit."
"Pardon, pardon," corrected Tuppy carefully, "my credit is exceptionally
good, if the tradesmen only knew it; it's the rotten conservatism of
English business methods that is paralysin' my budget, an' the
socialistic tendencies of the tradin' classes that is interferin' with
my economic adjustments. Tanny, old sparrow, it's no go."
He shook his head.
"No shootin' except cats; no fishin' except with worms--I particularly
loath worms and spiders--no society."
"There is the Duke."
Tuppy had forgotten the Duke, and Hal's sarcasm was effective. "Duke?"
Tuppy frowned. "The Duke--of course."
"Now what on earth is the Duke doin' there?" he burst forth in a tone of
extreme annoyance, "an' what duke is it?"
"I've told you a dozen times," said the exasperated Hal, "he's an
obscure foreign duke--"
"Name?"
"De Montvillier--quite an unknown----"
"Steady the Buffs," warned Tuppy, "de Montvillier? Best house in
France. Tanny, my impulsive soul, the Montvilliers are devils of chaps.
Obscure! Phew."
He looked at Hal reproachfully.
Then he shook his head for the fourteenth time.
"Five hundred pounds an' a back garden," he considered, "an' the Duke.
He's pretty sure to play _picquet_. By the blessed shades of the
original Smith, I've a good mind----"
He pondered sucking his index finger.
"I dare say we'd get on well together----"
"Look here, Tuppy!"
Hal was pardonably indignant.
"You don't think we want you to go down to Brockley to keep the Duke
amused, do you? We want you to cut him out, make him look like a tallow
candle by the side of a searchlight.
"Oh, I'll cut him out all right," said Tuppy with confidence, "there are
few chaps who can beat me at piquet."
Hal protesting, Tuppy serenely indifferent to the requirement of the
other contracting parties, but obligingly agreeing with all their
conditions, it was arranged that from September 16 No. 62. should be for
the nonce the London house of Baron Tupping of Clarilaw in the county of
Wigsmouth.