Indeed it was Mr. Omee whom the Company censured--Mr. Omee who had been
inhuman enough to banish a worthless performance from his theatre.
"Never," said Miss Jinman, "in all her experience had she known artists
to be so grossly insulted." Mr. Quisby's position might be ambiguous,
Mr. Quisby might be shirking his responsibilities; not to put too fine
a point upon it, Mr. Quisby might be a rogue. But he had paid them
compliments--and Mr. Omee had shut his doors against them. Mr. Omee
was the innocent person whom they execrated and reviled.
In the quarter where the "professional apartments" of Blithepoint are
most numerous, the landladies looked anxious in the morning. On every
doorstep in Corporation Road, and half way down Alfreton Terrace, the
news was known by nine o'clock. The lodgers were obliged to fence with
searching questions at breakfast, and many of the houris heating
curling-tongs in the parlour-fire were told that it would "save trouble
if they got in their dinner themselves."
Towards midday the Company straggled off the pier with baskets and
parcels, and the baggageman was busy collecting the clothes-hampers.
The boards of _Little Miss Kiss-and-Tell_ had gone from the turnstiles,
and later, bill-stickers came along and splashed up advertisements of a
stopgap. The rejected comedians stood on the Parade and eyed the work
morosely. They had hoped the theatre would have to be closed. Miss
Jinman said, "It was very strange, to say the least; she didn't
understand how the bills had been printed since last night! It looked
to _her_ as if Mr. Omee had been _playing them false from the start_!"
Then striking proof of Mr. Omee's perfidy was forthcoming, his brutal
nature was revealed to the full--he offered to make the stranded
performers by whom he had lost money, a present of their fares if they
liked to return to their homes. "Ah," said the Chorus, "_that_ shows
what a dirty trick he served us!" "He has exposed his hand _there_,"
said Miss Jinman; "_wants to get us out of the town_!"
And Mr. Quisby, who meant to pay them nothing, but was endeavouring to
make use of them in Slocombe-on-the-Swamp the following week before he
decamped, told them there was a reviving prospect of a three months'
tour.
So not more than a third of the Company profited by Mr. Omee's
generosity, and the others warned them that they were being very unwise.
And by this time the tidings of the disaster had spread from
Corporation Road and Alfreton Terrace as far as the Grand Hotel, where
it provided languid amusement, and the plight of the players was known
to all the visitors on the Front. Including Conrad.
But it was not until Friday, December 26th, that one of those incidents
which may occur to anybody associated him with the matter.
It had been misty since morning, and towards the close of day the fog
deepened. When he left a house where he had been lunching with a man,
he took the wrong turning. So far as he was able to see at all, he saw
that he had blundered into a neighbourhood which was strange to him. A
humble neighbourhood, apparently, with nothing of a watering-place
about it. This being Boxing-day, the little shops to which he came
were shuttered, and owing to the weather, few people were abroad. He
wandered amid dim desertion. Then as he paused, hesitating, two girls
emerged suddenly from the fog, and stopped before him.
"Oh!" exclaimed one of them, "could you tell us where Gandy's the
greengrocer's is?"
"I am so sorry," said Conrad, "I can't. Can you direct me to the
Parade?"
She answered absurdly that he was "coming away from it," though he was
standing still. "It's over there," she said; "you go down there, and
take the first on the left, and keep straight on. You can't miss it."
"I _have_ missed it," demurred Conrad. "Thank you for rescuing me. I
wish I could direct you to Gandy's the greengrocer's in return."
The other girl had not spoken yet, but now she said--
"Oh, never mind, thanks, we shall find it; they say it's quite near.
But it's too dark to make out the names."
It was also too dark to make out her features, but her voice was
delicious, and if the fog didn't flatter her, she was dowered with the
eyes that he most ardently admired. He was all at once sensible of a
keen interest in the whereabouts of the greengrocer's.
"That seems to be a shop at the corner; I'll go over and see what it
is!" he said promptly. But it was a general dealer's, and he came back
not displeased.
"Bother! We _must_ find it!" cried the first girl.
"May I come and help you?" he asked.
"Oh, you can come if you like," she said; and added as a pure
concession to formality, "It's awf'ly kind of you."
So they all proceeded through the fog.
"It's such a nuisance everything being shut to-day," the first girl
went on. "That's why we want Gandy's--they say Gandy's live there, and
might oblige us. We can ring 'em up."
"Fruit?" he inquired.
"No," she said; "flowers--violets. We want some for the concert
to-night. Are you going?"
"Certainly I am," said Conrad. "What concert? I haven't heard about
it?"
"Oh well, it was only settled this morning. We're giving a concert at
the Victoria Hall--_The Little Miss Kiss-and-Tell_ Company. It's to
help us all. Mr. Quisby--our manager--only let me know just now. I'm
going to sing a 'flower-song,' and I want some 'button-holes' to throw
among the Audience; I can't do the song without."
"Throw one to me," said Conrad.
"I will," she promised. "We ought to get some people in, as it's bank
holiday, don't you think so? And if the show 'goes,' we can have the
hall again to-morrow. The tickets are only sixpence and a shilling.
Did you see us on the pier?"
"No," he said, "I wasn't here then--I was just too late. How many
tickets can you let me have?"
"Oh, you'll get them at the door! we haven't got any. You'll really
come, won't you?"
"I'll come if I miss my dinner to get there," he vowed. "Where _is_
Victoria Hall?"
"It's--I don't know the name of the street. It's near the station.
Anybody'll tell you. We begin at eight o'clock."
This was all very well, but the Girl of the Voice had not spoken again,
and he wished she would say something.
"Shall I hear you sing, too?" he asked, looking across at her. He
looked across at her just as they approached a lamp-post, and his most
sanguine hopes were realised. He found her adorable.
"No, _I_ am not in the programme," said Rosalind.
"Here's a policeman!" cried Miss Lascelles. "Can you tell us where
Gandy's the greengrocer's is?" she begged again.
The constable did not know, and, official though useless, took a long
time to say so. More intelligently he remarked that it was "Nasty
weather for Boxing-day," and Conrad gave him a half-crown. The next
instant they deciphered the name of "Gandy" themselves.
"What a stupid policeman!" exclaimed Rosalind, pouting. She pulled the
bell, and glanced at Conrad. Conrad happened to be glancing at her.
"Your troubles are nearly over," she said with a smile.
"I am not impatient," owned Conrad.
There were descending footsteps, and a woman opened the door.
He said ingratiatingly, "I am sorry to disturb you, but we're trying to
get some flowers. Can you let me have some?"
"Flowers?" said the woman. She had a vacant stare.
"A few bunches of violets," Rosalind explained.
"Y-e-s," murmured the woman. She made a long pause. "We 'aven't got
no flowers now," she said. "N--no. I'm sorry we can't oblige you."
"Can you tell us where we can get some?" put in Miss Lascelles sharply.
"No----no, I couldn't say, I'm sure," faltered the woman.... "There's
Peters' opperzite--p'raps _they_ might be able to oblige you."
"Do you know where there's a florist's?" questioned Conrad.
"Florist's?" She shook her head. "N--no, I can't say as I do--not one
as is likely to be open to-day."
"Let's try Peters'!" they said; and scurried across the road.
Here they pulled without effect; the bell yielded to them immoderately,
but no tinkle came. They regarded one another, discouraged.
"You had better leave us to our fate," sighed Rosalind.
"Are you dismissing me?" His tone was reproachful.
"Releasing you," she said, in her best St. James' manner.
"My chains are flowers," said he ornately.
"I wish you'd give 'em to me!" said Tattie Lascelles.
"You shall have them before we part. Ladies, I have an inspiration!
You know the way to the Parade--let's go down there and get a fly.
Then we've nothing more to do--the responsibility's the flyman's.
We'll take him by the hour, and make him drive us about Blithepoint
till we find a florist's. Is it carried?"
"Unanimously!" cried Rosalind. "Right about face, quick march!"
And there was a belated fly dozing by the pier. When the man had
recovered from his astonishment at being hailed, he grew quite brisk,
and developed ideas. He suggested "Mitchell's," and drove them to a
fashionable florist's in the Mall. Nothing could have been happier.
Mr. Mitchell accepted their apologies, and lit the gas as amiably as if
bank-holidays were of no importance. Bountifully he brought forward
his best for them, and his best was as beauteous as it was expensive.
The warm, perfumed air was agreeable after the fog, and Rosalind among
the azaleas was divine. (There are few keener pleasures than taking
out a nice woman, and spending money on her; and it is unnecessary that
one should go out fond of the woman--it's so easy to get fond of her in
the process.) "Oh no, really!" she protested--and she meant it, for
Miss Lascelles was already laden--"No, none for me, really!"
"Just these," pleaded Conrad; "they're so pretty--it's a shame to leave
them behind." He put them in her hands.
"I'd like you to see some roses I've got here, sir," said the
proprietor; "it's not often you can see roses like those."
"Exquisite," assented Conrad.... "And just a few roses, won't you?"
"Well one, then," she said succumbing.
"We'll have some roses!" commanded Conrad magnificently. "And those
look nice--those lilies-of-the-valley. You might give us some
lilies-of-the-valley, will you?"
"I'll have nothing else," she told him in her first undertone. The
woman's first undertone is so sweet.
"A few?" he entreated. "You _ought_ to wear lilies-of-the-valley! I
wish you were going to sing to-night."
"Do you?"
"I shall see you there, sha'n't I?"
She nodded. "Yes, I shall be in 'front.'"
"I'm so glad I met you!"
He thought of taking them in to the hotel to tea, but her companion's
toilette had been very hasty.
The fly was as fragrant as a flower show when they drove away. She
buried her fair face in the blossoms he had given to her. It's
permissible, but it may stir the man's imagination. It stirred
Conrad's; he had rarely wanted a kiss from a woman so much. In the
scented dusk, as their gaze met, her eyes were luminous--like stars.
The fly rattled into Corporation Road, and he wondered whether she was
going to ask him if he would 'come in.' The fly stopped.
"Au revoir," he said. "Victoria Hall? I have the name right?"
"Won't you come and help us put the flowers in water?" she suggested.
It was of interest to see her without a hat. When she took off her
coat he was captivated. He stayed about ten minutes, and the other
girl didn't go out of the room. Both went to the door with him when he
left.
"Eight o'clock, then?" he said.
"Eight o'clock."
"Whom shall I ask for if I don't see you?"
"'Miss Daintree;' but you're sure to see me."
"You won't be late?"
"No, I shall be there when it begins. Good-bye--and thanks!"
"Oh!--Good-bye."
He saw her smile to him again from the step--and the cab turned.
"What a lark! I say, isn't he mashed on you! Do you like his
moustache? Hasn't he got lovely teeth?" exclaimed Tattie in the
passage.
"Y-e-s.... He's rather nice," said Rosalind.