He heard again the rumbling beside him. The chairman had gone crimson,
his mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue.
“Help me up,” he said.
The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless.
The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud,
broke an ominous hush:
“Never been so insulted in my life. My best services have been at your
disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success this
Company has attained. I am the oldest man here, and my experience of
shipping is, I hope, a little greater than that of the two gentlemen who
spoke last. I have done my best for you, ladies and gentlemen, and we
shall see whether you are going to endorse an indictment of my judgment
and of my honour, if I am to take the last speaker seriously. This
purchase is for your good. 'There is a tide in the affairs of men'--and
I for one am not content, never have been, to stagnate. If that is what
you want, however, by all means give your support to these gentlemen and
have done with it. I tell you freights will go up before the end of
the year; the purchase is a sound one, more than a sound one--I, at any
rate, stand or fall by it. Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do,
I shall resign.”
He sank back into his seat. The secretary, stealing a glance, thought
with a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo! Who'd have thought he could rally
his voice like that? A good touch, too, that about his honour! I believe
he's knocked them.
It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again;
the old chap can't work that stop a second time. 'Ah! here was 'old
Apple-pie' on his hind legs. That was all right!
“I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we
are, many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful to
me, and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him. If he is
old in body, he is young in mental vigour and courage. I wish we were
all as young. We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to stand by
him.” (“Hear, hear! Hear, hear!”) And the secretary thought: 'That's
done it!' And he felt a sudden odd emotion, watching the chairman
bobbing his body, like a wooden toy, at old Appleby; and old Appleby
bobbing back. Then, seeing a shareholder close to the door get
up, thought: 'Who's that? I know his face--Ah! yes; Ventnor, the
solicitor--he's one of the chairman's creditors that are coming again
this afternoon. What now?'
“I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our
judgment in this matter. The question is simply: How are our pockets
going to be affected? I came here with some misgivings, but the attitude
of the chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall support the
proposition.” The secretary thought: 'That's all right--only, he said it
rather queerly--rather queerly.'
Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said:
“I move the adoption of the report and accounts.”
“I second that.”
“Those in favour signify the same in the usual way. Contrary? Carried.”
The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and that Mr.
Westgate did not vote.
A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room
supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press. The passionless
fellow said: “Haythorp, with an 'a'. oh! an 'e'. he seems an old man.
Thank you. I may have the slips? Would you like to see a proof? With an
'.' you said--oh! an 'e.' Good afternoon!” And the secretary thought:
'.hose fellows, what does go on inside them? Fancy not knowing the old
chairman by now!'...
2
Back in the proper office of “The Island Navigation Company” old
Heythorp sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat. He was
dreaming a little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still
subtle, the wheat from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate--nothing in
that--professional discontent till they silenced him with a place on
the board--but not while he held the reins! That chap at the back--an
ill-conditioned fellow! “Something behind!” Suspicious brute! There was
something--but--hang it! they might think themselves lucky to get four
ships at that price, and all due to him! It was on the last speaker
that his mind dwelt with a doubt. That fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed
money--there had been something just a little queer about his tone--as
much as to say, “I smell a rat.” Well! one would see that at the
creditors' meeting in half an hour.
“Mr. Pillin, sir.”
“Show him in!”
In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
entered. It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his meagre
face between its slight grey whiskering. He said thinly:
“How are you, Sylvanus? Aren't you perished in this cold?”
“Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat.”
“Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. So-so
it's gone through?”
Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit,
scrutinised the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a low
voice:
“It's a great sacrifice.”
Old Heythorp smiled.
“Have you signed the deed poll?”
Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with
caution to disclose his signature, and said:
“I don't like it--it's irrevocable.”
A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
“As death.”
Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.
“I can't bear irrevocable things. I consider you stampeded me, playing
on my nerves.”
Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:
“Tell your lawyer to lock it up. He must think you a sad dog, Joe.”
“Ah! Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!”
“She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already.”
Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin
noise. He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.
“Well,” he said, “you've got your way; you always do. Who is this Mrs.
Larne? You oughtn't to keep me in the dark. It seems my boy met her at
your house. You told me she didn't come there.”
Old Heythorp said with relish:
“Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; her
children are my grandchildren. You've provided for them. Best thing you
ever did.”
“I don't know--I don't know. I'm sorry you told me. It makes it all
the more doubtful. As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get away
abroad. This cold's killing me. I wish you'd give me your recipe for
keeping warm.”
“Get a new inside.”
Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning. “And yet,”
he said, “I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life hangs by a
thread, doesn't it?”
“A stout one, my boy”
“Well, good-bye, Sylvanus. You're a Job's comforter; I must be getting
home.” He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed out into the
corridor. On the stairs he met a man who said:
“How do you do, Mr. Pillin? I know your son. Been' seeing the chairman?
I see your sale's gone through all right. I hope that'll do us some
good, but I suppose you think the other way?”
Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said:
“Mr. Ventnor, I think? Thank you! It's very cold, isn't it?” And, with
that cautious remark, he passed on down.
Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George! What a wavering,
quavering, thread paper of a fellow! What misery life must be to a
chap like that! He walks in fear--he wallows in it. Poor devil!' And a
curious feeling swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness such as
he had not known for years. Those two young things were safe now from
penury-safe! After dealing with those infernal creditors of his he would
go round and have a look at the children. With a hundred and twenty a
year the boy could go into the Army--best place for a young scamp like
that. The girl would go off like hot cakes, of course, but she needn't
take the first calf that came along. As for their mother, she must look
after herself; nothing under two thousand a year would keep her out
of debt. But trust her for wheedling and bluffing her way out of any
scrape! Watching his cigar-smoke curl and disperse he was conscious of
the strain he had been under these last six weeks, aware suddenly of how
greatly he had baulked at thought of to-day's general meeting. Yes!
It might have turned out nasty. He knew well enough the forces on the
Board, and off, who would be only too glad to shelve him. If he were
shelved here his other two Companies would be sure to follow suit, and
bang would go every penny of his income--he would be a pauper dependant
on that holy woman. Well! Safe now for another year if he could stave
off these sharks once more. It might be a harder job this time, but he
was in luck--in luck, and it must hold. And taking a luxurious pull at
his cigar, he rang the handbell.
“Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney. And let me have a cup of China tea as
strong as you can make it.”
“Yes, sir. Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you leave
it to me?”
“To you.”
“Yes, sir. It was a good meeting, wasn't it?”
Old Heythorp nodded.
“Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment. I was
afraid things were going to be difficult. The insult did it, I think. It
was a monstrous thing to say. I could have punched his head.”
Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine blue
eyes, he repeated: “Bring 'em in.”
The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the
thought: 'So that's how it struck him! Short shrift I should get if it
came out.'
The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor,
evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an old
man who kept them out of their money. Then, the secretary reappearing
with a cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor drank it. The
feat was tremulous. Would he get through without spilling it all down
his front, or choking? To those unaccustomed to his private life it was
slightly miraculous. He put the cup down empty, tremblingly removed some
yellow drops from the little white tuft below his lip, refit his cigar,
and said:
“No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen
hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a
penny more. If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and get
about sixpence in the pound. My qualifying shares will fetch a couple of
thousand at market price. I own nothing else. The house I live in, and
everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my cigars, belong
to my daughter under a settlement fifteen years old. My solicitors
and bankers will give you every information. That's the position in a
nutshell.”
In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was only
partially concealed. A man who owed them so much would naturally say
he owned nothing, but would he refer them to his solicitors and bankers
unless he were telling the truth? Then Mr. Ventnor said:
“Will you submit your pass books?”
“No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my
receipts for the last five years--longer, if you like.”
The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board
table had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being
overheard, but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling round
was summed up at last by Mr. Brownbee.
“We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable you
to set aside for us a larger sum. Sixteen hundred, in fact, is what
we think you should give us yearly. Representing, as we do, sixteen
thousand pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope you have some
good years before you yet. We understand your income to be two thousand
pounds.”
Old Heythorp shook his head. “Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in a
good year. Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me not as
active as I was. Can't do on less than five hundred pounds. Fourteen
hundred's all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of two hundred
pounds. That's my last word.”
The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor.
“And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied. If these other gentlemen
accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what I can do on
my own account.”
The old man stared at him, and answered:
“Oh! you will, sir; we shall see.”
The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the
table; old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated. The old man's
lower lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like bristles.
'.ou ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got something up your
sleeve. Well, do your worst!' The “ugly dog” rose abruptly and joined
the others. And old Heythorp closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still,
with his cigar, which had gone out, sticking up between his teeth. Mr.
Brownbee turning to voice the decision come to, cleared his throat.
“Mr. Heythorp,” he said, “if your bankers and solicitors bear out your
statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in consideration
of your--” but meeting the old man's eyes, which said so very plainly:
“Blow your consideration!” he ended with a stammer: “Perhaps you will
kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke of?”
Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped
his hat to his breast and moved towards the door. The nine gentlemen
followed. Mr. Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back. But
the old man's eyes were already closed again.
The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-bell.
“Help me up, Mr. Farney. That Ventnor--what's his holding?”
“Quite small. Only ten shares, I think.”
“Ah! What time is it?”
“Quarter to four, sir.”
“Get me a taxi.”
After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more into
his cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas. A kind of
sleepy triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken by the cab's
rapid progress. So! He was free of those sharks now so long as he could
hold on to his Companies; and he would still have a hundred a year or
more to spare for Rosamund and her youngsters. He could live on four
hundred, or even three-fifty, without losing his independence, for there
would be no standing life in that holy woman's house unless he could pay
his own scot! A good day's work! The best for many a long month!
The cab stopped before the villa.
3
There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms
which seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund
Larne's--a sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone
who entered: 'Her taste? Well, you can see--cheerful and exuberant; her
habits--yes, she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown, smoking
cigarettes and dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet. Notice the
piano--it has a look of coming and going, according to the exchequer.
This very deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the water-colours
on the walls are safe, too--they're by herself. Mark the scent of
mimosa--she likes flowers, and likes them strong. No clock, of course.
Examine the bureau--she is obviously always ringing for “the drumstick,”
and saying: “Where's this, Ellen, and where's that? You naughty gairl,
you've been tidying.” Cast an eye on that pile of manuscript--she
has evidently a genius for composition; it flows off her pen--like
Shakespeare, she never blots a line. See how she's had the electric
light put in, instead of that horrid gas; but try and turn either of
them on--you can't; last quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an
oil lamp, you can tell that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will
not answer to the name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little
Djin, all prominent eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes,
Carmen looks as if she didn't know what was coming next; she's
right--it's a pet-and-slap-again life! Consider, too, the fittings of
the tea-tray, rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you
that no millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front
of the little house, preceded by the announcement “Mr. Aesop,” it was
resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing
the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short
intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on
the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob
Pillin muttering: “Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!” and gazing at Phyllis over
his collar. And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all
this noise, the little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes. At sight of
their visitor Jock blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the
sofa, placed his chin on its top, so that nothing but his round pink
unmoving face was visible; and the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind
cord.
Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the
gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the
sofa. It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock
emitted a hollow groan. Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence.
“How are you, sir? I hope it's gone through.”
Old Heythorp nodded. His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne
murmured:
“Guardy, you must try our new liqueur. Jock, you awful boy, get up and
bring Guardy a glass.”
The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his
eye and filled it rapidly.
“You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used.”
In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered:
“All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it,” and rapidly swallowing the
yellow liquor, took up another glass.
Mrs. Larne laughed.
“What am I to do with him?”
A loud shriek prevented a response. Phyllis, who had taken her brother
by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her injured
self.
Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man with
her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling:
“Aren't those children awful? He's such a nice fellow. We like him so
much, Guardy.”
The old man grinned. So she was making up to that young pup! Rosamund
Larne, watching him, murmured:
“Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock. He takes after you terribly. Look
at the shape of his head. Jock, come here!” The innocent boy approached;
with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his perfect mouth,
he stood before his mother like a large cherub. And suddenly he blew his
ocarina in a dreadful manner. Mrs. Larne launched a box at his ears, and
receiving the wind of it he fell prone.
“That's the way he behaves. Be off with you, you awful boy. I want to
talk to Guardy.”
The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged,
fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp. Mrs. Larne sighed.
“Things are worse and worse, Guardy. I'm at my wits' end to tide over
this quarter. You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new story? I'm
sure to get two for it in the end.”
The old man shook his head.
“I've done something for you and the children,” he said. “You'll get
notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions.”
“Oh! Guardy! Oh! you dear!” And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, leaning
over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
Old Heythorp snorted. “What are you cultivating that young gaby for? She
mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along.”
Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
“Of course, the dear gairl is much too young. Phyllis, come and talk to
Guardy!”
When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt that
little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he said:
“Been a good girl?”
She shook her head.
“Can't, when Jock's not at school. Mother can't pay for him this term.”
Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove
him from the room, and Phyllis went on:
“He's more awful than anything you can think of. Was my dad at all like
him, Guardy? Mother's always so mysterious about him. I suppose you knew
him well.”
Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion, answered stolidly:
“Not very.”
“Who was his father? I don't believe even mother knows.”
“Man about town in my day.”
“Oh! your day must have been jolly. Did you wear peg-top trousers, and
dundreary's?”
Old Heythorp nodded.
“What larks! And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera dancers
and gambling. The young men are all so good now.” Her eyes rested on Bob
Pillin. “That young man's a perfect stick of goodness.”
Old Heythorp grunted.
“You wouldn't know how good he was,” Phyllis went on musingly, “unless
you'd sat next him in a tunnel. The other day he had his waist squeezed
and he simply sat still and did nothing. And then when the tunnel ended,
it was Jock after all, not me. His face was--Oh! ah! ha! ha! Ah! ha!”
She threw back her head, displaying all her white, round throat. Then
edging near, she whispered:
“He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively. He's
promised to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards.
Won't it be scrummy! Only, I haven't anything to go in.”
Old Heythorp said: “What do you want? Irish poplin?”
Her mouth opened wide: “Oh! Guardy! Soft white satin!”
“How many yards'll go round you?”
“I should think about twelve. We could make it ourselves. You are a
chook!”
A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his
nose,--and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the
first sip of a special wine against his palate. This little house was
a rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky young
rascal, but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big house
which had been his wife's and was now his holy daughter's. And once more
he rejoiced at his day's work, and the success of his breach of trust,
which put some little ground beneath these young feet, in a hard and
unscrupulous world. Phyllis whispered in his ear:
“Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that. Isn't it awful--like a
boiled rabbit?”
Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might over
her shoulder at the girl. The young man was moonstruck, that was clear!
There was something almost touching in the stare of those puppy dog's
eyes. And he thought 'Young beggar--wish I were his age!' The utter
injustice of having an old and helpless body, when your desire for
enjoyment was as great as ever! They said a man was as old as he felt!
Fools! A man was as old as his legs and arms, and not a day younger. He
heard the girl beside him utter a discomfortable sound, and saw her
face cloud as if tears were not far off; she jumped up, and going to the
window, lifted the little dog and buried her face in its brown and white
fur. Old Heythorp thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using
her as a decoy.' But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its
eyes horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort
to escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched
like a cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space. Old
Heythorp said abruptly:
“Are you very fond of your mother?”
“Of course I am, Guardy. I adore her.”
“H'm! Listen to me. When you come of age or marry, you'll have a hundred
and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of. Don't ever be
persuaded into doing what you don't want. And remember: Your mother's a
sieve, no good giving her money; keep what you'll get for yourself--it's
only a pittance, and you'll want it all--every penny.”
Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had
taken in his words.
“Oh! Isn't money horrible, Guardy?”
“The want of it.”
“No, it's beastly altogether. If only we were like birds. Or if one
could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning to
use during the day.”
Old Heythorp sighed.
“There's only one thing in life that matters--independence. Lose that,
and you lose everything. That's the value of money. Help me up.”
Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her
back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
Once on his feet, old Heythorp said:
“Give me a kiss. You'll have your satin tomorrow.”
Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked:
“Going my way? I'll give you a lift.”
The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully:
“Tha-anks!” and they went out together to the taxi. In that draughtless
vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age for youth; and
youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's aspiration to his
granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old image had dragged him
away before he wished to go. Old Heythorp said at last:
“Well?”