Mr. Trew, off duty, and carrying his whip, came to Praed Street late on
a Saturday night, and his look of anxiety disappeared at once when he
saw that Mrs. Mills and her niece were on excellent terms with each
other. He explained that there was no time to spare, because his old
landlady had a hot supper ready, and it was not wise, on these
occasions, to keep her or the meal waiting. He delivered his news.
Pleasant, elderly gent on the front seat started conversation by
talking about prison life, and Trew gave some particulars of a case
with which he was acquainted. One subject leading to another, the gent
said, as the omnibus was crossing Oxford Street, "Driver, do you ever
go to the Zoological Gardens on a Sunday afternoon?" and thereupon
handed over the two tickets, expressing a hope that the visit would be
enjoyed by the other and his wife.
"And me being nothing more than a lonely bachelor," said Trew, "I
thought perhaps the little missy here might favour me with her company."
"It'll do her the world of good," declared Mrs. Mills.
They met the next day near the West Entrance at half-past three. Mr.
Trew, arriving early, had been listening to oratory at different
groups, and he mentioned to Gertie that in his opinion some of the
speakers might well be transferred to the Gardens, and kept in a cage;
what he failed to understand was why people could not set to and make
the best of the world, instead of pretending it was all bad. They went
through the turnstiles, and divided attention between animals and
visitors; the former could be identified with the help of labels. Mr.
Trew said, in regard to the people, that it was difficult to tell which
were housemaids, and which were ladies of title.
"Oddly enough," remarked Gertie, "I was intending to be here this
afternoon, in any case."
"Trust me," he said, self-reproach fully, "for coming in second. Never
actually won a race in my life yet. Is it the same young feller?"
"I'm not one to chop and change."
"When we run across him, I'll make myself scarce."
"You'll do nothing of the kind, Mr. Trew."
He pointed out, in the crocodile house, one or two regular customers of
the Baker Street to Victoria route, and when they recognized him he
became purple with content. A short youth was making notes near a tank
in the corner. Mr. Trew, nudging Gertie, went to him and, in a gruff
voice, asked what the deuce he was doing there; the youth turned to
give a retort.
"I've got your young lady cousin with me," explained Mr. Trew. "Come
along, and help with the task of looking after her."
Clarence Mills was pleased to meet Gertie, and, as the three went
towards the red-bricked lions' house, mentioned that he proposed to
write a dialogue sketch of the Zoo; up to the present little worth
recording had been overheard, and he expected he would, as usual, be
compelled to invent the conversations.
"I read all of yours, Clarence, that appear in the newspapers," said
Gertie.
"That doesn't take up a great deal of your time," he remarked.
"But you're getting on, aren't you?"
"I think of going in for the boot-black business," he said. "I believe
I could make a reputation there."
"Don't you go losing 'eart," advised Mr. Trew. "I shouldn't be in the
position I occupy now if I hadn't made up my mind, from the start, not
to get low-spirited. If any disappointments come your way, simply
laugh at 'em. They can stand anything but that. Who is this I see on
the far horizon?"
"Don't let him catch sight of us just yet," begged the girl
apprehensively. "He seems to have ladies with him."
Henry's companions entered the house, as the roaring within became
insistent, and he looked up and down eagerly. Gertie gave a whistle.
"You and I have met before," he said smilingly to Mr. Trew.
"I was a Boy Messenger then, sir."
Gertie introduced her cousin with a touch of pride.
"I am trying to think," said Clarence, "where I saw your name to-day."
"Haven't made a name yet," remarked Henry. "Only been at it for about
eighteen months. I say! We don't want to go into that enormous crowd.
We'll stroll round and see how the penguins are getting on. They
sometimes look as though they were thinking of giving me a commission
to draw up plans for new Law Courts."
At one of the open windows the two ladies were standing, watching over
many heads the high tea that was being served to the impatient animals.
The younger one happened to turn as Gertie and her friends went by; she
raised her eyebrows.
"Everybody one knows appears to be here," said Henry Douglass. "I wish
you had agreed instead to run out with me from Baker Street Station
into the country."
"Can't do that yet," she answered definitely. "Not until we know each
other a great deal better."
"Your rules of conduct are precise."
"You'll like me all the better later on," said Gertie, "because of
that. Always supposing," she continued, "that you do go on liking me."
"So far as I can gather," he remarked good-temperedly, "I am _persona
grata_ now at Praed Street."
"I don't know what that means," she said; "but aunt has quite taken to
you. Just look at this! Isn't it extr'ordinary?--Clarence," she
called over her shoulder to her cousin, "here is most likely where you
saw the name this afternoon."
She examined the inscription framed on the bars. "Presented to the
Society by Sir Mark Douglass."
"No," said Clarence Mills. "That wasn't it. My sluggish memory will
arouse presently, and then I shall be able to exhibit signs of
intelligence."
They were looking down from the terrace at the white bear in his pit,
when a high voice came above the moderate tones of the crowd; Henry
took Gertie's arm, and began to talk rapidly of Nansen and the North
Pole, but this did not prevent her from glancing over her shoulder.
The people gave way to the owner of the insistent voice, and she, after
inspection through pince-nez, made bitter complaint of the clumsiness
of the bear, his murky appearance, the serious consequences of
indiscriminate feeding. Henry endeavoured to detach the members of his
party, but they appeared enthralled by the commanding tones.
"I thought we should meet again," said the younger woman, addressing
Henry.
"Miss Loriner," he said to Gertie, with signs of reluctance. "A friend
of my sister-in-law."
"I am Lady Douglass's companion," remarked Miss Loriner.
"She seems ratty about something," said Gertie.
"She has what they call the critical faculty," mentioned the other,
with a twinkle of the eye. "I happen to be aware of the fact."
Lady Douglass was looking around with the air of one searching for
fresh subjects; Henry led Gertie to her, and made the introductions.
Lady Douglass expressed the view that the Gardens were horribly tiring,
regretted her ill-luck in visiting on a crowded afternoon. "But no
misfortune," she added wearily, "seems to escape me!"
It was not until they descended the steps that the group had an
opportunity for forming itself. Miss Loriner, recognizing the girl's
perturbation of mind, took her ahead, thus foiling the intentions of
Lady Douglass; they could hear her talking of literature to Clarence
Mills in a patronizing way. Gertie's cousin said resolutely, "But
George Meredith never wrote a poem with that title. You are thinking
of Owen Meredith." Lady Douglass answered, with pride, that she never
troubled to remember the names of authors.
"Clarence is standing up to her," remarked Gertie.
"She gets so little contradiction," said Miss Loriner, "that it will
have all the charm of novelty. I daren't do it, of course."
"You're thinking of your bread and butter."
"That's about all I should have to eat if I lost this berth."
"Wouldn't care for the job myself."
"I can't do anything else," explained Miss Loriner. "Did you say your
cousin was a journalist? I wish I could do something like that. I
want to write a novel, badly."
"That's probably how you would write it. Why, even Clarence is finding
some trouble over the job. And he's got a brain."
"I suppose that is an advantage," admitted the other serenely. "How
long have you known Mr. Douglass?"
"Her husband must get precious tired of the sound of her voice."
"He does. He goes away a good deal. The war in South Africa was a
Godsend to him. Just now he is out somewhere--I forget where. How
long have you--"
"Any youngsters?"
"There are no children."
Gertie glanced back at Lady Douglass in a more friendly way. Clarence
had been dropped owing, apparently, to want of sympathy, and Trew was
selected as one more likely to agree with arguments.
"Mr. Douglass's mother is in town," mentioned Miss Loriner, "but she is
resting this afternoon."
"I wasn't aware he had a mother."
"Oh!" With illumination. "Then you haven't known him long. They are
very fond of each other. She is a dear soul. When matters go wrong
down at Ewelme, it is old Mrs. Douglass who puts everything right."
They were separated by a child who had been startled by a look from an
amiable dromedary. Henry came forward.
"I am going to ask my sister-in-law," he said deliberately, "to invite
you down to Morden Place. Thank her, won't you?"
"I'll thank her," replied Gertie, "but I shan't accept the invitation."
"I'd see that she was civil to you."
"And I shall see," said the girl obstinately, "that she doesn't get
many chances of being anything else. I'd no idea you had swell
relatives; otherwise I'd never have gone on with it."
He went back disappointedly, and Mr. Trew, making his escape with every
sign of relief, told Gertie that, with what he might term a vast and
considerable experience of womankind (including one specimen who, in
May of '99, gave him advice on the task of driving horses through
London streets), this particular one was, he declared, the limit. He
described himself as feeling bruised, black and blue, all over.
Without wishing to interfere in matters which did not concern him, he
ventured to suggest that Gertie might possibly be fortunate in her
young man, but she could scarcely claim to be called lucky in her young
man's relations.
"I'm going to chuck it," she replied desperately. "Chuck it
altogether. You were correct in what you said, that Sunday night,
about distances, and I was wrong."
Mr. Trew, flustered by this instant agreement, began to hedge. He did
not pretend, he said, to be always right; he could recollect many
occasions when he had been considerably wide of the mark. In fact, a
bigger blunderhead, excepting in regard to certain matters, of which
this was not one, probably did not exist. Trew begged to point out
that the middle-aged party walking along behind them was, after all,
only one middle-aged party, and there was no reason to assume that she
could knock out every opponent she encountered. At the finish of his
argument, Trew urged his young companion to put on the gloves, and show
what she could do.
"Think I had better not," she said, less definitely. "I shan't like
feeling myself beaten, but it's wiser to do that now than to leave it
till later."
Mr. Trew became reproachful, almost sarcastic. This, then, was the
stuff that his little friend, niece of his old friend, was made of, was
it? Crumpling up at the first signs of opposition; stepping out of the
ring directly her opponent held up fists! If Gertie represented the
young woman of to-day, give Mr. Trew the young woman of thirty years
ago. He had changed his mind recently on an important subject--a thing
he rarely did--and half decided to extend the power of voting to the
other sex, but the present case induced him to believe first thoughts
were best.
"I'll have another go then," announced Gertie Higham; "but I don't
guarantee I shall win."
"If I hadn't rather a lot of money out just now," he declared
encouragingly, "I'd put every penny of it on you."
They stopped near to the semicircular cage where the condors, in
evening dress and white boa around the neck, surveyed the garden with
the aloof manner of the higher aristocracy. Gertie waited for an
advance; this did not come. Miss Loriner, at the command of Lady
Douglass, furnished the hour, and a scream of dismay was given,
followed by the issuing of orders. Henry must conduct them out of this
dreadful Park; Henry must find a hansom with a reliable horse, and a
driver of good reputation. Also Henry must come on to see his mother,
and take her on to a tea appointment at Cadogan Gardens, thus saving
trouble to Lady Douglass, who was really so fagged and wearied by this
exhausting afternoon that rest, in a partially darkened room, was
nothing short of imperative.
"Yes," said Gertie, answering Henry's questioning look; "you go!"
Lady Douglass remembered to give a word of farewell when she was a
distance of about ten yards away. "So pleased to have met you!" she
said casually. Henry, near the gates, turned and waved his hand, and
Gertie responded cheerfully.
"Now I want to scream!" she said.
Clarence Mills declared his intention of providing tea, and Trew
admitted a cup or so would not be likely to prove injurious to the
system; might, indeed, have a soothing effect on the mind. They found
an enamelled table on the lawn, and directly Gertie took the handle of
the teapot she was able to announce that she felt considerably improved
in temper. Her cousin gave an imitation of Lady Douglass's speech and
manner, and Gertie imitated the imitation. Mr. Trew had a difficulty
in deciding which was the more admirable, but asserted either was to be
preferred to the original, and during the progress of the shilling meal
they affected to be distinguished members of society, to the great
astonishment of folk at neighbouring tables, and to the diversion of an
interested waiter. Completely restored now to her normal mood, Gertie
mentioned a number of alert repartees which she would have made if
Henry's sister-in-law had given suitable openings.
"I suppose," remarked Mr. Trew, emptying his cup by giving it a jerk
over his shoulder, "that, after all, she isn't nearly so bad as she's
painted. She certainly did look to me somewhat made-up; it's a custom
amongst her set, I believe. Often wonder whether it takes anybody in."
"He said she was going to invite me to her house in the country, but
she didn't. Wouldn't mind meeting Henry's mother, just once, to find
out what she is like."
"It was something on the tape," mentioned her cousin, again
endeavouring to arouse memory. "That was where I saw the name. If you
two care to come along to my club, I'll run in, and make sure."
"We can get a Waterloo omnibus from the York and Albany corner," said
Mr. Trew.
He warned them, in ascending the steps, that he was going to have a
rare lark with the driver, whose face, it appeared, was new on the
road. They took seats in front, and Mr. Trew, adopting a rustic
accent, inquired of the driver whether the canal below represented the
river Thames; in regard to Trinity Church, near Portland Road Station,
he asked if he was right in assuming this to be St. Paul's; at Peter
Robinson's he put another question, and, information given, demanded
whether Oxford Circus was being run by Barnum. These and other
inquiries were courteously replied to; and when the three alighted near
the fountain and Trew, looking up, thanked the new driver for his
kindness, the driver said, "Ta-ta, old True till Death," whipping the
omnibus on the near side to call the conductor's attention to an
approaching customer.
Mr. Trew, depressed by the failure of his elaborate scheme, walked
behind the young people, grumbling self-reproachfully. "Him
recognizing me all along, and calling me by my nickname at the finish!"
Clarence Mills ran up the staircase of his club, and the two walked
inside the railings of the square, inspected the bust of Shakespeare at
the centre. A few people were sitting about. The palatial houses of
amusement on the northern and the western side enjoyed their day of
rest, but gave hints of startling attractions for the coming week. Mr.
Trew considered Shakespeare a well-meaning writer, but somewhat old
fashioned in methods, and was surprised to find that Gertie had
thoroughly enjoyed "The Tempest" at His Majesty's.
"Was you alone?"
"No. Mr. Douglass took me."
"That accounts for it," he said knowingly.
Clarence Mills came looking for them with anxiety. The two hurried
forward and met him at the gate; his forehead remained contracted.
"Her husband's yacht," he announced, "has been seized by natives. All
on board put to death." They gazed at each other.
"So that turns her," remarked Trew slowly, "into a widow woman.
There's no family, as I understand; consequently, it makes a bit of
diff'rence to Gertie's young man."
The girl sighed.
"I'm sorry for her," she said. "Very sorry indeed. And it means that
my path won't be none the easier!"