Master Cacklin was perched upon a high stool, eagerly devouring a
report of the match between Teddy Sneffler and The Midget, for the
Bantam championship, when a succession of soft squeaky footsteps fell
on his ear. As they ascended the stairs he turned his head. The paper
was quickly thrust into his desk, and the Cacklin pen began to move
with marvellous rapidity.
A bell rang, loudly and impatiently.
"Who's that?" said William Budd, appearing from an obscure corner.
"Guvnor," said Cacklin. "Upstairs--sharp!"
"Who said the guvnor was here?" inquired Busby, coming forward and
looking at the clock, which pointed to a quarter past nine.
"It's right enough," said Cacklin; "just come in. Something on the
board, I expect."
William Budd entered the upstairs room with that feeling of suppressed
excitement which always arises when the "guvnor" appears in the office
an hour before his usual time.
"I want Mr. Gray," said George, sharply.
"Yes, sir." The boy disappeared.
In five minutes he reappeared. "Mr. Gray's out, sir."
"Say I want him as soon as he comes in."
"Yes, sir."
George fingered the letters on his desk, looked at the post-marks, and
put them down without opening any. He walked to the window and stood
for five minutes looking at the traffic outside. His usual
imperturbability had deserted him to-day, chased away by the events of
the previous evening. He walked up and down the big office, lit a
cigarette, and paused at intervals to look in the mirror over the
mantelshelf.
"Lucky thing I got that information last night," he said presently.
"That ass Gray is sure to make a fool of himself unless I take him in
hand--sure to do it. And that old idiot, too! 'Legacies revert to his
daughter's husband.' Never heard of such rot in my life."
He touched the bell again, and again the surprised Budd appeared.
"Mr. Gray," said George.
"Not come back, sir," said the boy.
"Find him--find him!" said the new master.
"When did he go out--how long ago?"
"Dunno, sir," said the boy.
"Find out. Be sharp!"
The offices below were aroused into activity by the peremptory orders
to find Gray. William Budd's version of his brief interview created
some excitement. He described George Early as walking up and down the
office with arms waving, and eyes starting from his head. He ordered
Gray to be found, dead or alive. Budd was not sure that he didn't see a
revolver lying on the desk.
Ten o'clock struck, but no Gray appeared. Office-boys and junior clerks
had spurted east and west. Nobody knew where Gray had gone, and there
appeared to be no reason why he should leave the office. He might have
gone out on the firm's business, but if so nobody knew of it. Wild were
the conjectures as to what was in store for him when he returned, and
why he had disappeared.
At lunch-time Gray was still absent, and the latest news in the
counting-house was that the "guvnor" had gone out to lunch with a slow,
firm step, and a Napoleonic sternness of brow.
While this excitement was rife in Upper Thames Street, Mrs. Gray was
busy with her work in the little Leytonstone house. If her husband had
important business of his own to transact, it was clear she did not
know it. She had just put up a pair of clean curtains to the front
window, and lovingly caressed a pink bow that held one of them back,
when a sharp knock came at the front door.
Mrs. Gray opened it, and started back in surprise, "Well, I never! This
is a surprise! How do you do, Mr. Early? Won't you come in?"
George Early did go in. Moreover, he shook hands, and said that it was
a pleasure to him to find Mrs. Gray looking so well. His smile was
perhaps not so brilliant as of yore, but Mrs. Gray put that down to the
worries of managing a large business, and the severity necessary to his
position.
Mrs. Gray thought it very kind of her old lodger not to forget his
landlady. She hoped Mrs. Early was well. George was pleased to say that
Mrs. Early was in excellent health and spirits.
"And how are you getting on now?" said George, when he had passed as
lightly as possible over his change of position. "You have another
lodger, I suppose?"
Mrs. Gray was sorry to say that she hadn't. Jimmy was very well, but
some horrid person had accused him of drinking, and he had lost the
secretaryship of the club.
"It's a shame!" said George. "But, between ourselves, I'm afraid
there's some truth in it."
"Truth in what?" said Mrs. Gray, fearfully.
"He drinks," said George, solemnly. "Now, what did he have this
morning?"
"Nothing but his breakfast," cried Mrs. Gray. "He had his breakfast and
went off as usual."
"Good," thought George; "then he isn't here?"
"The fact is," he said, "I came down especially to see you about this.
He must be got to sign the pledge, and we must keep the closest watch
upon him to see that he never takes anything."
"Is it so bad as that?" said Mrs. Gray, with wide-open eyes.
"It is," said George, mysteriously, "for you."
"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Gray.
"He has always been a friend of mine," said George, absently, "and I'll
never let it be said that I haven't stretched out a hand to help him.
Besides, he doesn't do it of his own accord, as you may say. And it
isn't as if you weren't a good wife to him, because I know that you
are."
"Whatever is the matter?" cried Mrs. Gray, clasping her hands
frantically.
"He must sign the pledge," said George again. "You're a good wife to
him, and he doesn't do it willingly."
"Doesn't do what?"--wildly.
George laid one hand upon Mrs. Gray's sleeve, and looked steadily into
her eyes.
"Does he ever talk in his sleep?" he asked.
"I don't think so--not much. I haven't noticed."
"Never mentions the name Flora, Alice, or May, I suppose?"
"I don't think--you don't mean to say----"
"Never speaks of Christabel--Chrissy, does he?"
Mrs. Gray burst into tears. George sighed, and tried to comfort her by
little pats on the shoulder.
"There, there; you mustn't blame him," he said. "It isn't his fault,
you know."
Mrs. Gray cried louder, and her little form shook with emotion.
"He--he goes with other girls. I k-know he does!" she cried. "Oh! oh!
oh!"
"'Tisn't Jimmy," said George, soothingly. "It's the whisky."
"Oh! oh!" cried Mrs. Gray. "He--he goes with other girls!"
"He doesn't," said George, boldly. "I won't hear it. You shan't blame
him. It isn't fair!"
Mrs. Gray grew calmer, but still continued to sob. She was always
prepared to back up the opinions of George, whom she held to be a man
of excellent qualities, with an idolatrous affection for her husband.
"It isn't fair that you should go against him when he is not to blame,"
said George. "You should save him from them."
Mrs. Gray wiped her eyes meekly.
"What you must do," said George, "is to insist on his signing the
pledge. That's the only way. And you must make him promise you never to
touch another drop of drink. When he's had a glass he's a different
man, and isn't responsible for his actions."
"Does it--does it make him look at other girls?" asked Mrs. Gray,
tremblingly.
"It does," said George. "You've guessed it at once. It makes him
terribly affectionate, too. Why, when Alice--you see, it's a very
peculiar disease, very common in Turkey. As soon as you begin to drink,
you get an idea that every girl's in love with you. And the worst of it
is that a man might propose without knowing it. Now, Flora--well, the
only thing for him to do is to sign the pledge and keep it."
"He shall sign it to-morrow," said Mrs. Gray, firmly.
"I shouldn't let him know that I've been here," said George. "He'll
only worry himself, thinking there's something wrong with his work."
"Who's Flora?" asked Mrs. Gray, the fierce light of jealousy kindling
in her eye.
"Don't you bother about her. She won't come down here."
"She'd better not," said Mrs. Gray, with compressed lips. "I'd give her
Flora--or May--or Chrissy, if she came here!"
"I believe you would," said George, with admiration.
"I'll smash every whisky-bottle in the place," said Mrs. Gray, whose
indignation was now rising to fever pitch. "Not another drop shall he
touch if I know it! I'll soon see about Flora!"
George prepared to depart, perfectly satisfied that his mission had
been a success. He took the hand of his old landlady, and said, with
some emotion--
"Don't be too hard on him. You don't know how--how it cuts me to the
heart to see him do wrong. But remember that he's my old chum. Together
we'll drag him away from this curse. He's my chum and your husband--the
best fellow that ever lived. Let us save him, and be gentle to him at
the same time. Goodbye, good-bye!"
George wrung her hand, and hurried off, to all appearances only just in
time to prevent the tears coming.
Mrs. Gray looked after him down the street, and felt her heart glow.
"Ah, Jimmy," she murmured, shaking her head, "you don't realize how
much that friend has done for you!"
George travelled back to the office, and reached it just as the office
staff was preparing to give up work for the day.
"I suppose Gray's here," he said, summoning a junior clerk. "What time
did he get back?"
The clerk coughed discreetly. "'Fraid he hasn't come back yet, sir," he
said.
"Send Mr. Busby to me."
The youth departed.
"Not back yet!" said George, looking hard at the fireplace. "I wonder
what he's up to. If the lunatic is out drinking, they'll be on his
track, as sure as Fate. Busby," he said, as the cashier entered, "what
has become of Gray?"
Busby could give no solution to the problem. "He put on his hat and
went off about half-past eight," he said. "I didn't notice anything
peculiar about him, except that he swore rather more than usual. I
noticed that he looked several times at a blue paper he got by this
morning's post, and----"
"What!" yelled the master, springing out of his chair.
"A blue paper," repeated Busby, dodging behind the desk in alarm.
George grasped him by the collar fiercely. "You say he got a blue paper
this morning!" he cried.
"Y-yes," said Busby, promptly putting himself in the defensive.
George cast him off. "Enough!" he said. "Go!"
"It was a blue envelope," said Busby, "and when he opened it----"
"Go, will you!"
"There was a long blue paper inside," said the cashier, moving across
the carpet. "So I----"
George picked up a heavy bill file and flung it just as Busby skipped
out of the door.
"He's done it!--the silly, stupid idiot has done it, and it's on me!
And I've been down to his house and made a fool of myself!"
On arriving at Brunswick Terrace George Early's fears were confirmed by
the sight of a formidable blue envelope addressed to himself. A
document inside set forth the fact, in legal phraseology, that James
Gray had forfeited his claim to the Fairbrother's annuity, and that the
said annuity had now fallen to Mr. George Early, husband of Ellen
Fairbrother. The said George Early was duly warned of the terrible
issues at stake, consequent upon his not observing the rules of the
legacy, the aforesaid issues leading to the ultimate forfeiture of the
Fairbrother estates by the said George Early's wife.
"Well, I'm a teetotaler now," said George, resignedly. "There's no
getting out of it."
"It's better for you," said Aunt Phoebe. "I never did believe in
drink."
"Nobody asked you to," said her nephew. "I don't believe in it. I take
it for my health."
Nevertheless, he interviewed the smart young lawyer at Dibbs and Dubbs,
who confirmed everything that had been said on the forfeiture of the
estate.
"We shall watch you closely," he said brightly to George, rubbing
his hands. "On behalf of the trustees of the 'Very Dark African
Mission,' who will benefit by the estate, I am directed to
watch--you--very--closely."
"That's right," said George. "You keep your eye on me. I wish you
luck!"