It would be difficult to say exactly how Fairbrothers' took the news of
George Early's engagement to its chief, for it did not burst upon the
staff in an official proclamation, but leaked out, and was generally
credited as a mere rumour. That Miss Fairbrother should be absent from
the office for ten days was not considered an extraordinary
circumstance in the light of recent events, nor was it anything
extraordinary for George Early to assume a tone of importance in
affairs of the firm; but among the bright youths who copied the
Fairbrother letters and handled the Fairbrother ledgers there were some
detective spirits that did not fail to notice certain irregularities in
the speech of the new manager.
More than one pair of eyebrows in the counting-house were lifted
noticeably when the unusual "I" supplanted the usual "we," and certain
dark and prophetic allusions by the manager as to what he would do
about some particular affair "in a few weeks," brought the heads of the
staff together at times when business was of more importance than
desultory conversation.
In spite of rumours, the staff would probably have remained in the dark
until the official announcement, had Miss Fairbrother not paid a flying
visit to Upper Thames Street and come under the eagle eye of William
Budd. That precocious youth singled out the engagement ring in a
twinkling, and by lunch-time the whole office knew that Miss
Fairbrother had found a husband. With one accord they fixed upon George
Early as the lucky man. The office enjoyed its secret for one whole
day; on the next Parrott was summoned to Brunswick Terrace, and
instructed to take over the affairs of the firm while Miss Fairbrother
changed her name to Early, and took a fortnight's holiday for the
purpose of getting used to it.
It was only fitting that her Aunt Phoebe should hold a formal
conversation with the prospective husband, and to this interview George
Early went with the confident feeling that it would end amicably. It
was not exactly the sort of interview that he expected, yet he could
not say that he was any the less pleased at the prospect before him.
Aunt Phoebe shook hands, and intimated that her niece had gone out for
the afternoon.
"You have had my congratulations," she said, "and I have only to repeat
to begin with that you are a very lucky man."
George beamed and murmured his thanks.
"I don't hold with any of her nonsense about you being a hero, you
know," she went on; "it's time enough to praise you when I've found
that you're a good husband. And for my part I'm inclined to hope that
you're a much more ordinary man, for I've no faith in heroes as
husbands."
George coughed, and put his hat on the table.
"Before you marry," said Aunt Phoebe, practically, "it's just as well
that you should know your prospects. If you have any idea of taking the
Fairbrother fortune in your own hands, you'll be disappointed, for that
is to remain entirely at the disposal of my niece, who is guided by me
in her business affairs. I may as well say that I have some control
over her and the property that will not be affected by her marriage.
You need not fear that she will not be generous to you. Your position
will be formally that of head of the firm; and, so far as income is
concerned, nobody will guess that you are not the owner entirely."
"If it's all the same to you," said George, "I'd rather not hear any
more on the subject."
"Indeed?" said Aunt Phoebe, coldly.
"I've got to call on a tailor at four o'clock, and it's now half-past
three."
"This is a time to be serious," said Aunt Phoebe, severely.
"It isn't," said George; "it's a time to be married. That's quite
enough for me just at present."
"I want you to understand about the property."
"I don't want to know. Do what you like with it. I'll leave it to you."
Aunt Phoebe promptly vacated her seat, and impatiently rang the bell
and ordered tea. George thereupon, for the twenty-fifth time that day,
consulted a note-book in which a confused mass of scribble spread
itself over many pages. He was obliged to confess to himself that for
the first time within his remembrance his brain was in a chaotic state.
On confiding this intelligence to Aunt Phoebe, her ruffled feelings
became smooth, for the most unintelligent person would have seen at
once that this simple fact had revealed in George the common failing of
the ordinary man.
* * * * *
George Early and Miss Fairbrother were married, and it is sufficient
for our purpose to say that they went on the Continent for a fortnight,
and met with the usual discomforts familiar to other travellers, and
faced them with the heroic fortitude common in other honeymoon couples.
If George was in any way different from another man in a similar
position, it lay in the fact of his not waking up and wondering if his
good fortune were a dream. George Early always met windfalls with a
familiar nod, and took them as a matter of course; which is, after all,
not a bad idea, if you can bring yourself to it, and if you happen to
be one who runs in the way of good fortune. He did not, as may be
supposed, allow his thoughts to run immediately on the prospect before
him, nor form any notions of having "a high old time when he got his
hands on the cash." You can never tell how marriage and good fortune
will affect a man, and I don't suppose there was a person in Upper
Thames Street who could give a near guess as to how it would affect
George Early. Nobody, not even George himself, could have told you,
though he could probably have guessed nearer than other people. But
that it changed his fortunes and those of other members of the firm,
will be seen as the history progresses. Some evidences of change in
Upper Thames Street were already apparent, even before Mr. and Mrs.
Early had returned from the honeymoon.
Three men had watched the growing friendship of the two with absorbing
interest, and read the marriage announcement with some approval. They
did so from motives of selfishness. In this change of affairs they saw
relief from irritation that had tried their tempers and touched their
pockets.
Parrott watched his increasing hoard with miserly satisfaction, and had
already begun to weigh the merits of Streatham and Upper Tooting as
suburban retreats, where, in company with the economical wife of his
choice, he might enjoy the fruits of married life, and be free from the
harassing demands of the blackmailer. George Early single was a source
of increasing danger, but George Early married to a rich wife might be
put out of his reckoning.
Upon reflection, a man might well assume at this stage that Old
Fairbrother's legacies bid fair to effect the purpose for which they
were instituted. Here were three men who might have been led away from
faults that were eating into the soul of each, had not an impudent
blackmailer stepped in at the beginning and torn from their clutches
the healing medicine. Who knows but that they now might be well on the
way to reform; that Parrott might be cheerfully handing crisp
bank-notes to needy friends, Busby speaking the clarion voice of truth,
and Gray quaffing copious draughts of bright sparkling water in place
of the noxious intoxicant of his habit?
At the time of George Early's marriage, it must be admitted no evidence
of reform had appeared, although nearly a month had elapsed since the
hush-money had been asked for and paid. Parrott had successfully
resisted the appeals of those who sought to relieve him of sundry
half-crowns and pieces of gold; and Busby, as of yore, deceived all who
came in his way, with a tongue that had lost none of its cunning. If
the truth must be told, the head clerk had grown closer than ever, and
had gone so far as to turn a deaf ear to an urgent request for a
shilling.
Mrs. Gray noticed with regret that her husband's fondness for whisky
had suddenly revived, and sighed deeply as she thought of the splendid
lodger she had lost.
"So fond he was of you, too, Jimmy," she said.
"Who's fond of me?" asked Gray.
"Why, Mr. Early. You didn't drink so much of that horrid stuff when he
was here. He had such a good influence over you."
"I know he had," said Gray, filling his glass. "Now he's got somebody
who'll have an influence over him. Poor old George!"
"Oh, Jimmy! Do you think she'll be cruel to him? Why ever did he marry
her?"
"Couldn't help it, I suppose," said her husband. "Perhaps he's going to
reform her. Poor old George!"
"Jimmy," said Mrs. Gray, severely, "it's a shame for you to laugh. You
ought to have prevented the marriage, if she's a horrid creature who'll
worry his life out. You know he's been a good friend to you."
"Has he?" said Gray. "I'd forgotten that. Then I'll be a good friend to
him. I'll go and be his lodger. No, I won't; I'll go and tell Mrs.
Early that he's one of the best."
Gray helped himself to a further supply and toasted the new governor as
"one of the best," in which Mrs. Gray, although a temperate little
body, joined.
"When do you go to the club again, Jimmy?" said Mrs. Gray.
"Club? What club?" said Gray, who was arriving at that state when the
truth begins to leak out unawares.
"Why, your club, of course; you're the secretary."
"Am I? Hooray! Hooray for the secretary!"
"You are the secretary, aren't you, Jimmy?" said Mrs. Gray.
"Course I am. You just said so. Hooray for----"
"Jimmy!" Mrs. Gray clutched his arm and took the glass from his hand.
"Have you been deceiving me? Tell me if you belong to the club or not,
and if you're really the secretary? Oh, Jimmy!"
Mrs. Gray sat down and burst into tears.
If anything was calculated to bring Gray into a sober state, it was the
tears of his wife. He was not a model husband, but he had some
affection for the little woman who adored and cared for him, and the
sight of her weeping awoke him to the error he had made.
Gray had put his arm about her and lifted her up.
"I'm the secretary, little woman. Now don't cry any more. It's all
right. I'm the secretary."
"You're not," sobbed Mrs. Gray; "I know you're not. You've been
deceiving me, you wicked thing, and I--I won't forgive you. You don't
belong to the club at all--you know you don't."
"I tell you I'm the secretary, don't I?" persisted Gray.
"I don't--don't believe you. You've been tel--telling me stories,
Jimmy. It's a sha--shame to tell me stories. You oughtn't to do it."
"Look here," said Gray, taking her in his arms; "do you want me to
prove what I say? Do you?"
"Ye--yes," she sobbed.
"Then ask George. If you won't believe me, ask him."
Mrs. Gray's sobs ceased and she began to dry her eyes. Gray reached
over and helped himself to a little more whisky. "Ask him," he said,
taking a drink.
In a little while Mrs. Gray, very much ashamed of herself, put her arms
about her husband's neck and kissed him.
"I'm very sorry, Jimmy," she said, "I do believe you."
Mrs. Gray didn't ask George, and her husband continued in his dangerous
career of intemperance. It was a pity that he did so, for with the good
start as a teetotaler he had got during George Early's residence, he
might have reformed and prevented the trouble that came, as trouble
always does when you look for it.