Mr. Gibbs's errand was not a pleasant one. He came to speak to his chief
of complaints that had reached the office as to lost and missing
letters. The most serious case was that of a man living in the
neighbourhood of Duckwell, who complained that a money letter had never
reached him, although it had been posted in Bristol three weeks back.
Some inquiries had previously been made, but without result. And now the
Duckwell man declared he would make a fine fuss, and bring the matter
before the very highest authorities, if his letter were not forthcoming.
"What does the bumpkin mean, Gibbs?" asked Algernon, impatiently tapping
with his fingers on the desk before him.
"I'm afraid he'll give us a deal of bother, sir," returned Mr. Gibbs
slowly. "And I can't understand what has come of the letter. It's very
awkward."
"Very awkward for him, if he really has lost his money. But I should not
be surprised to learn that it never was posted at all."
"Humph! I don't know. He swears that the sender at Bristol can prove
that it was posted."
"And why the deuce do people go on sending bank-notes by post, without
the least care or precaution? One must have been connected with a
post-office in order fully to appreciate the imbecility of one's
fellow-creatures!"
"I don't know that it was bank-notes, sir. It may have been a cheque."
"Oh, depend upon it, it was whatever was stupidest to send, and most
calculated to give trouble; if it was sent, that is to say! If it was
sent!"
"I can't call to mind such a thing happening for twenty years back; not
in this office. But lately there seems to be no end to things going
wrong."
"Well, don't distress yourself about it, Gibbs. I have full reliance on
you in every way."
"Oh no, sir! It is unpleasant, but I don't know that I specially need
distress myself about it."
"Only because you have had the uncontrolled management of the office,
Gibbs. And it is too bad, when one has worked so conscientiously as you
have, to be worried by blundering bumpkins. I assure you, Gibbs, I am
constantly singing your praises to Lord Seely. I tell him frankly, that
if it were not for you, I don't know in the least how I should fulfil my
onerous duties here! When I'm removed from this place, the powers that
be won't have far to look for my successor."
This was the most explicit word that had yet fallen from Mr. Errington
on the subject of his subordinate's promotion. And it decidedly
gratified Mr. Obadiah Gibbs. Nevertheless, that steady individual was
not so elated by the prospect held out to him as to dismiss from his
mind the business he had come to speak about. "It is the most
unaccountable thing!" said he. "Three or four cases of the kind within
two months! And up to that time no office in the kingdom bore a better
character than Whitford. I hope the thing may be cleared up. But it is
next to impossible to trace a stolen letter. The Duckwell man--Heath,
his name is; Roger Heath--says he is determined to complain to the
Postmaster-General. I suppose we shall be having the surveyor coming to
look after us. You see, it isn't like a solitary case. That's the worst
of it. There's what you may term an accumulation, sir."
Whilst Mr. Gibbs poured forth his troubled mind in these and many more
slow sentences, Algernon rose, took his hat, brushed it lightly with his
glove, put it on, and was evidently about to depart. Gibbs ventured to
lay his hand on his coat-sleeve to detain him. The clerk was not
satisfied that the matter should be dismissed so lightly. It might not
be possible to do anything, truly; but (in common with a great many
other people) Mr. Obadiah Gibbs felt that, where efficacious action was
impracticable, it was all the more desirable to mark the gravity of an
unpleasant circumstance by copious talking of it. Life would become, in
some sort, too frivolous and easy if, when a matter clearly could not be
remedied, every one agreed to say no more about it! A vast deal of sage
eloquence would thus be choked and dammed up. And Mr. Gibbs, for his
special part, was conscious of having some reputation amongst his fellow
Wesleyans for a gift of utterance.
"I really don't know, sir, what to say to Roger Heath," he persisted.
"Oh--tell him inquiries will be made in the proper quarters."
"That, sir, has been said already. He has been here twice or thrice."
"Then tell him to go to the devil!" said Algernon, sharply jerking his
arm away from the clerk's grasp, and walking off.
The pious and respectable Mr. Gibbs shook his head disapprovingly at
this profane speech, and went back to his stool in the outer office with
a lowering brow.
Algernon walked along the High Street, and turned down a narrow lane
leading towards the river, and past one corner of the Grammar School.
The boys were just coming out of school with the usual shrill babble and
rush. A party of Dr. Bodkin's private scholars were on their way to Whit
Meadow.
"Good day, Ingleby," said Algernon, addressing the eldest of them, the
same lad who had been Rhoda's squire in the tea-room on the night of
Mrs. Algernon Errington's _début_ in Whitford society. "Where are you
off to?"
"We're going to have a row. I've got a boat, and we're going up the
river as far as Duckwell Reach. We have leave from the doctor. Deuce of
a job to get it, though!"
"Why?"
"Oh, because he's nervous about the river; thinks it dangerous, and all
that."
"Well, you know, Ingleby," said a younger boy, with much eagerness,
"lots of people have been drowned in that bit of the river between here
and Duckwell Reach."
"Lots of people! Gammon!"
"Well, two since I've been here!"
"Oh, I daresay. Well, if you funk it you needn't come. There's plenty
without you."
"You know I don't funk it for myself, Ingleby. I can swim."
"Yes, my friend. You wouldn't get into my boat if you couldn't. I'm on
honour with the doctor to take none but swimmers," said Ingleby, turning
to Algernon; "and of course that settles the matter. But, for my part, I
should have thought anybody but the quite small boys might walk out of
the Whit if they tumbled into it." "Oh no! You do our noble river
injustice. You are not a Whitfordian or you would know better than that.
There are some very ugly places between here and Duckwell Reach; places
where I wouldn't give much for your chance of getting out if once you
fell in, swimmer though you are. Good-bye. A pleasant row to you."
The boys pursued their way to the boat, and Algernon, turning off at
right angles when he reached the bottom of the lane, got into Whit
Meadow through a turnstile at the foot of the Grammar School playground.
There was a footpath through the meadow, and some fields beyond, which
made a pleasant walk enough in fine summer weather, and was then a good
deal frequented. But at this season it was damp, muddy, and lonely. The
day was fine, but the ground had been saturated by previous rains, and
that part of the meadow nearest to the margin of the river was almost a
swamp. The path continued to skirt the Whit for some miles, running in
the direction of Duckwell, and as Algernon walked along it he saw the
windings of the river shining in the sun, and presently there appeared
on it the boat full of schoolboys. One of them wore a scarlet cap, and
thus made a bright spot of colour in the landscape. The sound of their
young voices was carried across the water to Algernon's ears.
He stood for a minute or so at the gate of his own garden, which ran
down behind the house to the river path, and watched them. The thought
crossed his mind that, if any accident should occur to the boat at that
spot, there would be little chance of assistance reaching it quickly.
Ivy Lodge was the last house on that side of the river between Whitford
and Duckwell Reach. And on the willow-fringed shore opposite not a
living creature was to be seen, except some cattle grazing in the plashy
fields.
The whole scene--the vivid green of the marsh grass, the grey willows,
the boat with its wet oars flashing at regular intervals, the red-capped
boy, and the sound of the fresh, shrill laughter of the crew, all fixed
themselves on his mind with that vividness of impression which trivial
external things so often make upon a brain labouring with some inward
trouble.