The concluding sentences of Horace's long letter, particularly those
which referred to his mother's poor health and the straitened
circumstances of the little household, were sufficiently unwelcome to
eclipse in Reginald's mind the other exciting news the letter had
contained. They brought on a fit of the blues which lasted more than
one day.
For now that he had neither companion nor occupation (for the business
of the Select Agency Corporation had fallen off completely) there was
nothing to prevent his indulgence in low spirits.
He began to chafe at his imprisonment, and still more at his
helplessness even were he at liberty to do anything. Christmas was
still a fortnight off, and till then what could he do on thirteen
shillings a week? He might cut down his commissariat certainly, to,
say, a shilling a day, and send home the rest. But then, what about
coals and postage-stamps and other incidental expenses, which had to be
met in Mr Medlock's absence out of his own pocket? The weather was
very cold--he could hardly do without coals, and he was bound in the
interests of the Corporation to keep stamps enough in the place to cover
the necessary correspondence.
When all was said, two shillings seemed to be the utmost he could save
out of his weekly pittance, and this he sent home by the very next post,
with a long, would-be cheerful, but really dismal letter, stoutly
denying that he was either miserable or disappointed with his new work,
and anticipating with pleasure the possibility of being able to run up
at Christmas and bring with him the welcome funds which would clear the
family of debt and give it a good start for the New Year.
When he had finished his letter home he wrote to Mr Medlock, very
respectfully suggesting that as he had been working pretty hard and for
the last few days single-handed, Mr Medlock might not object to advance
him at any rate part of the salary due in a fortnight, as he was rather
in need of money. And he ventured to ask, as Christmas Day fell on a
Thursday, and no business was likely to be done between that day and the
following Monday, might he take the _two_ or three days' holiday,
undertaking, of course, to be back at his post on the Monday morning?
He enclosed a few post-office orders which had come to hand since he
last wrote, and hoped he should soon have the pleasure of seeing Mr
Medlock--"or anybody," he added to himself as he closed the letter and
looked wearily round the gaunt, empty room.
Now, if Reginald had been a believer in fairies he would hardly have
started as much as he did when, almost as the words escaped his lips,
the door opened, and a female marched into the room.
A little prim female it was, with stiff curls down on her forehead and a
very sharp nose and very thin lips and fidgety fingers that seemed not
to know whether to cling to one another for support or fly at the
countenance of somebody else.
This formidable visitor spared Reginald the trouble of inquiring to what
fortunate circumstance he was indebted for the honour of so unlooked-for
a visit.
"Now, sir!" said she, panting a little, after her ascent of the stairs,
but very emphatic, all the same.
The observation was not one which left much scope for argument, and
Reginald did not exactly know what to reply. At last, however, he
summoned up resolution enough to say politely,--
"Now, madam, can I be of any service?"
Inoffensive as the observation was, it had the effect of greatly
irritating the lady.
"None of your sauce, young gentleman," said she, putting down her bag
and umbrella, and folding her arms defiantly. "I've not come here to
take any of your impertinence."
Reginald's impertinence! He had never been rude to a lady in all his
life except once, and the penance he had paid for that sin had been
bitter enough, as the reader can testify.
"You needn't pretend not to know what I've come here for," continued the
lady, taking a hasty glance round the room, as if mentally calculating
from what door or window her victim would be most likely to attempt to
escape.
"Perhaps she's Love's mother!" gasped Reginald, to himself.--"Oh, but
what a Venus!"
This classical reflection he prudently kept to himself, and waited for
his visitor to explain her errand further.
"You know who I am," she said, walking up to him.
"No, indeed," said Reginald, hardly liking to retreat, but not quite
comfortable to be standing still. "Unless--unless your name is Love."
"Love!" screamed the outraged "Venus."
"I'll Love you, young gentleman, before I've done with you. Love,
indeed, you impudent sauce-box, you!"
"I beg your pardon," began Reginald.
"Love, indeed! I'd like to scratch you, so I would!" cried the lady,
with a gesture so ominously like suiting the action to the word, that
Reginald fairly deserted his post and retreated two full paces.
This was getting critical. Either the lady was mad, or she had mistaken
Reginald for some one else. In either case he felt utterly powerless to
deal with the difficulty. So like a prudent man he decided to hold his
tongue and let the lady explain herself.
"Love, indeed!" said she, for the third time. "You saucy jackanapes,
you. No, sir, my name's Wrigley!"
She evidently supposed this announcement would fall like a thunderbolt
on the head of her victim, and it disconcerted her not a little when he
merely raised his eyebrows and inclined his head politely.
"Now do you know what I'm come about?" said she.
"No," replied he.
"Yes you do. You needn't think to deceive me, sir. It won't do, I can
tell you."
"I _really_ don't know," said poor Reginald. "Who are you?"
"I'm the lady who ordered the globe and blackboard, and sent two pounds
along with the order to you, Mr Cruden Reginald. There! _Now_ perhaps
you know what I've come for!"
If she had expected Reginald to fly out of the window, or seek refuge up
the chimney, at this announcement, the composure with which he received
the overpowering disclosure must have considerably astonished her.
"Eh?" she said. "Eh? Do you know me now?"
"I have no doubt you are right," said he. "We had more than a hundred
orders for the globes and boards, and expect they will be delivered this
week or next."
"Oh! then you have been imposing on more than me?" said the lady, who
till this moment had imagined she had been the only correspondent of the
Corporation on the subject.
"We've been imposing on no one," said Reginald warmly. "You have no
right to say that, Mrs Wrigley."
His honest indignation startled the good lady.
"Then why don't you send the things?" she demanded, in a milder tone.
"There are a great many orders to attend to, and they have to be taken
in order as we receive them. Probably yours came a good deal later than
others."
"No, it didn't. I wrote by return of post, and put an extra stamp on
too. You must have got mine one of the very first."
"In that case you will be one of the first to receive your globe and
board."
"I know that, young man," said she. "I'm going to take them with me
now!"
"I'm afraid you can't do that," said Reginald. "They are being sent off
from London."
The lady, who had somewhat moderated her wrath in the presence of the
secretary's unruffled politeness, fired up as fiercely as ever at this.
"There! I _knew_ it was a swindle! From London, indeed! Might as well
say New York at once! _I'm_ not going to believe your lies, you young
robber! Don't expect it!"
It was a considerable tax on Reginald's temper to be addressed in
language like this, even by a lady, and he could not help retorting
rather hotly, "I'm glad you are only a woman, Mrs Wrigley, for I
wouldn't stand being called a thief by a man, I assure you!"
"Oh, don't let that make any difference!" said she, fairly in a rage,
and advancing up to him. "Knock me down and welcome! You may just as
well murder a woman as rob her!"
"I can only tell you again your order is being executed in London."
"And I can tell you I don't believe a word you say, and I'll just have
my two pounds back, and have done with you! Come, you can't say you
never got _that_!"
"If you sent it, I certainly did," said Reginald.
"Then perhaps you'll hand it up this moment?"
"I would gladly do so if I had it, but--"
"I suppose it's gone to London too?" said she, with supernatural
calmness.
"It has been paid in with all the money to the bank," said Reginald.
"But if you wish it I will write to the managing director and ask him to
return it by next post."
"Will you?" said she, in tones that might have frozen any one less
heated than Reginald. "And you suppose I've come all the way from
Dorsetshire to get that for an answer, do you? You're mistaken, sir! I
don't leave this place till I get my money or my things! So now!"
"Then," said Reginald, feeling the case desperate, and pushing a chair
in her direction, "perhaps you'd better sit down."
She glared round at him indignantly. But perhaps it was the sight of
his haggard, troubled face, or the faint suspicion that he, after all,
might be more honest than his employers, or the reflection that she
could get her rights better out of the place than in it. Whatever the
reason was, she changed her mind.
"You shall hear of me again, sir!" said she; "mind that! Love, indeed!"
whereupon she bounced out of the office and slammed the door behind her.
Reginald sat with his eyes on the door for a full two minutes before he
could sufficiently collect his wits to know where he was or what had
happened.
Then a sense of indignation overpowered all his other feelings--not
against Mrs Wrigley, but against Mr Medlock, for leaving him in a
position where he could be, even in the remotest degree, open to so
unpleasant a charge as that he had just listened to.
Why could he not be trusted with sufficient money and control over the
operations of the Corporation to enable him to meet so unfounded a
charge? What would the Bishop of S-- or the other directors think if
they heard that a lady had come all the way from Dorsetshire to tell
them they were a set of swindlers and thieves? If he had had the
sending off of the orders to see to, he was confident he could have got
every one of them off by this time, even if he had made up every parcel
with his own hands.
What, in short, was the use of being called a secretary if he was armed
with no greater authority than a common junior clerk?
He opened the letter he had just written to Mr Medlock, and sat down to
write another, more aggrieved in its tone and more urgent in its request
that Mr Medlock would come down to Liverpool at once to arrange matters
on a more satisfactory footing. It was difficult to write a letter
which altogether pleased him; but at last he managed to do it, and for
fear his warmth should evaporate he went out to post it, locking the
office up behind him.
He took a walk before returning--the first he had taken for a week. It
was a beautiful crisp December day, when, even through the murky
atmosphere of Liverpool, the sun looked down joyously, and the blue sky,
flecked with little fleecy clouds, seemed to challenge the smoke and
steam of a thousand chimneys to touch its purity. Reginald's steps
turned away from the city, through a quiet suburb towards the country.
He would have to walk too far, he knew, to reach real open fields and
green lanes, but there was at least a suggestion of the country here
which to his weary mind was refreshing.
His walk took him past a large public school, in the playground of which
an exciting football match was in active progress. Like an old war
horse, Reginald gazed through the palings and snorted as the cry of
battle rose in the air.
"Hack it through, sir!" "Well run!" "Collar him there!"
As he heard those old familiar cries it seemed to him as if the old life
had come back to him with a sudden rush. He was no longer a poor baited
secretary, but a joyous school-boy, head of his form, lord and master of
half a dozen fags, and a caution and example to the whole junior school.
He had chums by the score; his study was always crowded with fellows
wanting him to do this or help them in that. How jolly to be popular!
How jolly, when the ball came out of the scrimmage, to hear every one
shout, "Let Cruden have it!" How jolly, as he snatched it up and
rushed, cleaving his way to the enemy's goal, to hear that roar behind
him, "Run indeed, sir!"
"Back him up!"
"Well played!" Yes, he heard them still, like music; and as he watched
the shifting fortunes of this game he felt the blood course through his
veins with a strange, familiar ardour.
Ah, here came the ball out of the scrimmage straight towards him! Oh,
the thrill of such a moment! Who does not know it? A second more and
he would have it--
Alas! poor Reginald awoke as suddenly as he had dreamed. A hideous
paling stood between him and the ball. He was not in the game at all.
Nothing but a lonely, friendless drudge, whom nobody wanted, nobody
cared about.
With a glistening in his eyes which he would have scornfully protested
was not a tear, he turned away and walked moodily back to Shy Street,
caring little if it were to be the last walk he should ever take.
He was not, however, to be allowed much time for indulging his gloomy
reflections on reaching his journey's end. A person was waiting outside
the office, pacing up and down the pavement to keep himself warm. The
stranger took a good look at Reginald as he entered and let himself in,
and then followed up the stairs and presented himself.
"Is Mr Reginald at home?" inquired he blandly.
Reginald noticed that he was a middle-aged person, dressed in a sort of
very shabby clerical costume, awkward in his manner, but not
unintelligent in face.
"That is my name," replied he.
"Thank you. I am glad to see you, Mr Reginald. You were kind enough
to send me a communication not long ago about--well, about a suit of
clothes."
His evident hesitation to mention anything that would call attention to
his own well-worn garb made Reginald feel quite sorry for him.
"Oh yes," said he, taking good care not to look at his visitor's toilet,
"we sent a good many of the circulars to clergymen."
"Very considerate," said the visitor. "I was away from home and have
only just received it."
And he took the circular out of his pocket, and seating himself on a
chair began to peruse it.