But it was not till they came to the tailor's that he realised the full
seriousness of the business before them. At first he supposed that he
was to have his say in the matter; but at the end of ten minutes, with a
half-humorous abandonment, he put himself entirely in the hands of the
conscientious Tinker, and indeed had he not done so, there is no saying
that he might not have gone about the world parading a velvet collar on a
grey frock coat. It was Tinker who decided, after weighty consideration,
upon the colour and texture of the stuff of each suit, chose the very
buttons for it, and forced upon the reluctant Niçois his ideas of the way
each separate garment should be cut. Septimus Rainer was frankly
bewildered at the end of half an hour; he was used, in the way of
business, to carrying a multiplicity of details in his head, but these
details it could not carry. When he found that Tinker had them at his
finger ends, he was filled with admiration and respect.
From the tailor's they went to the hatter's; and there Septimus Rainer
found himself trying on hats by the score. But, strangely enough, he did
not grow weary: Tinker's absorbed interest in his task was catching to
the point that at the hosier's the millionaire found himself discussing
the shade of his socks with real enthusiasm.
When they came out of the last shop Tinker said, with the deep breath of
one relieved of a heavy responsibility, "There--I think you'll look all
right--as far as a French tailor can do it."
"I ought to, after all the trouble you've taken, sonny," said Septimus
Rainer, smiling.
"You have to take trouble about dressing a man. A woman is easy enough.
I got Elsie her clothes in about an hour. But a man is much more
difficult. And clothes are so important," said Tinker gravely.
"I suppose they are--over here," said Septimus Rainer.
"I'm glad you don't take them really seriously," said Tinker, approving
his tone, "because you'll soon get into the way of wearing them when
you've got them. It's very funny, but well-dressed Americans--men, I
mean--don't often wear their clothes properly; they look as if they felt
so awfully well-dressed. I don't think you will."
"Now you've told me about it, I'll try not to."
"I think you'll want a good man, though, to keep you up to the mark. You
might get slack, don't you know?"
"No, no; I can't have a valet, and I won't," said Septimus Rainer firmly.
"Ah, we shall have to see what Dorothy says about that," said Tinker with
a smile of doubtful meaning.
"That's playing it rather low down on me, isn't it?" said Septimus Rainer
reproachfully. "It's--it's coercion."
"Oh, if you have to wear clothes, you may as well do it thoroughly. You
see, it's been put into my hands, and I must go through with it," said
Tinker apologetically.
The millionaire gazed at him ruefully.
"And now," Tinker went on, regarding him with another cold, calculating
air, that of a proprietor, "I think I'll take you to a hair-dresser, and
have your hair and beard dealt with."
"Crop away! crop away!" said the millionaire.
Tinker took him to a hair-dresser, and told the man exactly how he wanted
the hair and beard cut. "He'd make you a French American, too, if I let
him," he said to Septimus Rainer.
When the hair-dresser had done, the millionaire looked at himself in the
glass with approval, and said, "Well, I do look spick and span, though
gritty; yes--sir."
"You'll look better when you have your clothes," said Tinker. "And, now,
I think you must want a drink."
"That is so, sonny. This is dry work, this getting clothes."
Tinker took him to a café, adorned with an American bar. Septimus Rainer
lighted a cigar and refreshed himself with the whiskey sour of his native
land; Tinker ate ices. Over these agreeable occupations they talked; and
the millionaire derived considerable entertainment and no little
instruction from his young companion's views of life on the Mediterranean
littoral, illustrated from the passing pleasure-seekers.
[Illustration: Over these agreeable occupations they talked.]
When they got into the railway carriage on their return, he lighted
another cigar, and lay back in the seat with the content of a man who had
done a hard day's work. But presently he roused himself and said, "I've
been thinking about those kidnapping scum. They were going to ransom
Dorothy for three hundred thousand dollars, you said."
"Yes, a million and a half francs," said Tinker.
"Well, sonny, I've been thinking I must pay you fifty thousand dollars
over that business. You took a big risk holding up a gang like that."
"It wasn't me: Selina held them up," said Tinker quickly.
"Selina did her share, and I shan't forget it. But it was your show. I
think fifty thousand dollars would be fair."
Tinker's face went very grave. "Thank you very much," he said slowly,
"but I couldn't take any money for helping Dorothy out of a mess. When
I've taken money for helping people, they've been strangers--like the
Kernabies and Blumenruth. But Dorothy is different--quite different."
Septimus Rainer pulled at his beard, and said in a grumbling voice,
"That's all very well, sonny; but where do I come in? You get my little
girl out of a tight place--a very tight place--and you save me three
hundred thousand dollars. Business is business, and I ought to pay."
"It is rather awkward for you," said Tinker, looking at him with a
puzzled face and knitted brow. "But I think the thing is that it wasn't
business. I like Dorothy--I like her very much. She's a friend. And
there can't be any business between friends, don't you know?"
"Shake, sonny," said the millionaire, holding out his hand. "I'm glad
you and she are friends."
Tinker shook his hand gravely.
When they came back to the hotel, at the sight of her father, Dorothy
cried, "Oh, papa, what have you been doing? You look ten years younger.
And what a nice shape your head is!"
"Yes," said Septimus Rainer, "I pride myself on the shape of my head.
But it's all your young friend's doing."
"Wait till his clothes come," said Tinker with modest pride.
"I shall look fine in those clothes, I tell you--fine," said Septimus
Rainer, and his air was almost fatuous.
"I think he ought to have a valet," said Tinker. "You can't learn about
clothes all out of your own head. Either you must have always worn the
right clothes, or you want someone to teach you."
"Of course, you must have a valet, papa," said Dorothy.
"I can't--I can't have a man messing about me," said Septimus Rainer in a
tone of almost pathetic pleading.
"I'm afraid there's no way out of it," said Tinker firmly.
"I'm sure there isn't if Tinker says so. He knows all about these
things," said Dorothy. "You must be brave, papa: you really must."
"I'll find him one," said Tinker.
Septimus Rainer yielded with a gesture of hopeless resignation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TINKER ASSERTS THE RIGHTS OF THE EMPLOYER
Septimus Rainer was very soon admitted to the frankest intimacy of the
little circle. An American of the best type, he had enjoyed the
advantage in his childhood of the stern and hardening training of life
on a little farm, and the supreme advantage of a good mother. He had
fought his way to fortune with clean hands, winning always his battles
by sheer superiority of brain, never by laxity of principle; no man
could lay to his charge that he had dealt him a foul blow. He had
come, therefore, through that demoralising fight with a clean heart,
his native shrewdness increased a thousand-fold, his native simplicity
unabated. It was this combination of shrewdness and simplicity which
had caused him to send Dorothy, bitter as it had been to part with her,
to Europe to finish her education. His gorge had risen at the
intolerable snobbishness which is corroding the wealthy sections of
American society; he had made up his mind that she had a better chance
of obtaining the necessary social acquirements, while remaining a
gentlewoman, in Europe; and had acted with great success on the
conviction.
After a few days' natural restlessness he found himself developing an
admirable capacity, very rare in millionaires, of being for a while
idle. This agreeable circumstance was the natural effect of the
surroundings in which he found himself; not so much of the place, for
at Monte Carlo pleasure is a somewhat strenuous affair, but of the fact
that his new friends had a trained power of taking life easily.
Tinker, Sir Tancred, and Lord Crosland would have admitted him to their
intimacy for the sake of Dorothy; but simple souls themselves, they
recognised in him a kindred simplicity, and admitted him to their
friendship. He possessed, to a great degree, the American
adaptability; and it is not surprising that he fell into their way of
taking life easily. It was only for the time being. The millionaire
is a good deal of the Sindbad, and he must bear the burden and go the
way of the golden Old Man of the Sea he has made for himself. But
Septimus Rainer enjoyed this respite from the tyranny of his millions
with the whole-hearted pleasure of a child. He enjoyed the brightness
and glitter of the place; he enjoyed the pleasant meals and pleasant
talks with pleasant companions; he enjoyed a little gambling at the
tables; and he enjoyed with a childlike zest playing with Dorothy and
the children, displaying latent and unsuspected talents for piracy,
brigandage, and conspiracy, which were no less a glory than a surprise
to him. Indeed, at times he was very like a young schoolboy let loose
after many hours' school.
Tinker was of perpetual interest to him, and he listened with greedy
ears to the wisdom of the world of that sage, on the rare occasions
when some matter or other set it flowing from his lips. On the other
hand, he found in him an absorbed listener to the stories of his less
involved financial battles, and spared no pains to make them clear to
him. Sir Tancred interested him little less, and he was always
deploring the loss the splendid army of millionaires had suffered by
his excellent abilities not having been forced to flow in a business
channel.
He was distressed, too, about the waste of Tinker, and adjured his
father to hand him over to him to be made a millionaire of.
But Sir Tancred turned a deaf ear to his petition, and said, "Of
course, if Tinker went into business he would become a millionaire.
And it's a fashionable occupation, and I've nothing to say against it.
But over here, with some of us, there are still other things besides
money--not that there will be long--and for my part I shall be content
if he grows up a gentleman, as he will. Business might spoil that; and
at any rate I won't chance it. And, after all, my step-mother won't
live to much more than eighty, so that he will have thirty thousand a
year before he's forty-five."
"That's a hundred and fifty thousand dollars," said Septimus Rainer
thoughtfully, and he pressed the point no more.
He was far too shrewd not to perceive the attraction Sir Tancred and
Dorothy had for one another, and he regarded it with entire content.
Whatever he might have said against Sir Tancred's manner of life, he
had a genuine respect for his qualities; and he had learned from
Dorothy something of the causes of his falling into that manner of
life. He had a strong belief that once married to her he would change;
he thought it likely that he might even embark on the career of
politics, which he understood to be, in England, a quite respectable
pursuit. He was aware, of course, that he could easily buy her an
English peer or a foreign Prince for husband. But Sir Tancred's rank
and birth satisfied his simple tastes; and he was quite sure that he
might ransack the English peerage and the Courts of Europe without
finding her as good a husband. He did not perceive that his millions
barred Sir Tancred's path.
Dorothy perceived it only too soon. She found the growth of her
intimacy with Sir Tancred checked; it did not lessen, indeed, but it
did not increase. A shadow had fallen across it, and he no longer
talked to her in the tone of half-affectionate familiarity he had grown
to use with her, he was more reserved. She chafed at it, but she was
not greatly downcast; she only wished that the kidnappers had had the
grace to leave her in her part of the penniless governess, a few weeks
longer. She felt that, then, all the millions in the world would not
have barred Sir Tancred's way. Indeed, she had no reason to be greatly
downcast. This sudden setting of her out of his reach had inevitably
increased her attraction for Sir Tancred; it had deepened his liking to
a far stronger feeling. He cursed the unkindly Fates, and told himself
that his only course was to fly; that the more he saw of her, the more
painful would that flight be. But he could by no means constrain
himself to forego the delight of her presence; and, though he never let
a word of his love escape his lips, his eyes and the tones of his voice
told her of it often enough.
Tinker was not long providing Septimus Rainer with a carefully chosen
English valet, whom he found a pleasant, unassuming fellow, very easy
to get on with. Then the millionaire began to talk of engaging a
secretary, for his millions were beginning to make themselves
troublesome; and he begged Tinker, since he had found him so
unembarrassing a valet, to keep his eyes about him for a secretary
also; but Tinker said that Monte Carlo was no place to find secretaries
who understood business.
One morning he saw Madame Séraphine de Belle-Île drive up to the hotel.
She wore a mournful air; and he perceived at once that she was no
longer clad in a bright scarlet costume, but in one of a dull crimson,
more in keeping with her air of mournfulness. She cut him deliberately
as she passed into the hotel.
He was exceedingly angry; no human being had ever cut him before, and
he flushed with mortification. He walked down to the gardens pondering
the affront; and his anger grew. Then of a sudden it flashed on him
that she had found out Mr. Arthur Courtnay, and that the warning he had
given her had had something to do with that discovery. She had cut him
by way of showing her gratitude in a truly womanly fashion. With the
smile of an angel indulgent to human frailty he forgave her, and thrust
the matter out of his mind.
That night at dinner, or rather at dessert, Lord Crosland informed them
that he was engaged to Claire Wigram; and when they had done
congratulating him, he told them that in a few days he would be leaving
for England with the Wigrams.
"Well," said Sir Tancred, "the season here is coming to an end; and, at
any rate, the weather for the last few days has been too hot to do
these children any good. I think we will move northward, too."
"It will be the break-up of a very pleasant party," said Septimus
Rainer with a sigh, and Dorothy's face fell.
"Why should it break up?" said Lord Crosland. "You'd better all come."
"No; I'm not coming to England, yet," said Sir Tancred. "After all
this heat it would be too great a risk to face straight away the bitter
English summer. I thought of moving northward gently to Biarritz, or I
have a fancy for Arcachon. Wednesday would be as good a day as any."
There was a pause; then Tinker said thoughtfully, "Wednesday is rather
soon, sir." And, turning to Dorothy, he said, "Do you think that you
could pack by Wednesday? Of course, it doesn't really matter, for you
could come on after us; but I don't want Elsie to lose a day's work."
Septimus Rainer, Sir Tancred, and Lord Crosland looked a little taken
aback; it struck them all three with the same sense of oddness that a
small boy should direct the movements of the daughter of a millionaire.
"Oh, I can easily pack up by Wednesday," said Dorothy, as if it were a
matter of course that he should direct her movements.
"That's all right," said Tinker.
"But I don't understand," said Septimus Rainer. "Has Dorothy bound
herself to do as you tell her?"
"Well, I suppose she has, as far as teaching Elsie goes. And I
explained when she took the post that we travelled about a good deal,"
said Tinker carelessly.
"But I can't have this," said Septimus Rainer.
"Well, she can always give me a month's notice, and then the engagement
ends," said Tinker. He was prepared for the discussion, and resolved
that his father and Dorothy should not be separated as long as he could
prevent it.
"Do you mean she isn't free for a month from now? But--but it's
absurd!" said Septimus Rainer.
"That's what the papers call the rights of the employer," said Tinker
with a singularly sad sweetness.
"Oh, you wouldn't insist on that right, not if you were asked nicely,
would you?" said Lord Crosland.
"Oh, yes, I should!" said Tinker cheerfully. "You see, I'm responsible
for Elsie, and she will never get such a good governess as Dorothy
again. So she must have as much of her as possible."
"Thank you; it's nice to be appreciated," said Dorothy, smiling at him.
"Ah," said Septimus Rainer with the air of one who has found a solution
of the problem, "but Dorothy can always forfeit a month's salary in
lieu of notice."
"Oh, I couldn't think of it, papa!" cried Dorothy. "I should lose--I
should lose five pounds!"
"This beats the Dutch! This is avarice! I allow you four thousand
dollars a month!" said Septimus Rainer.
"Ah, but this is my own earned money!" Dorothy protested, flushing and
smiling.
Suddenly there came a twinkle into Septimus Rainer's eye. "Well," he
said, "if you're ground down under the heel of a grasping employer,
you're ground down, and you must go to Arcachon. But I shall come,
too."
"Of course," said Tinker. "You're--you're one of the family."
"Thank you," said Septimus Rainer. "I'm told that you English are slow
about it. But when you make a man at home, you do make him at home.
And I've always wanted to be adopted."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TINKER DISOWNS HIS GRANDMOTHER
On the eve of their departure for Arcachon, Tinker and Elsie were
sitting in the gardens of the Temple of Fortune, taking a well-earned
rest after a farewell bolt into the Salles de Jeu, in which Elsie also
had played a gallant and successful part, for the somewhat obscure
reason that it was the last bolt: so strengthening to her character had
been companionship with Tinker. She was receiving, with modest pride,
his congratulations on having penetrated deeper than himself, to the
innermost shrine, the Trente et Quarante table, in fact, when they saw
coming towards them a large, majestic, white-haired lady, a small,
subdued, mouse-haired lady, and a man of doubtful appearance.
Without causing him to pause in his congratulations, Tinker's active
mind had placed the two women as a wealthy Englishwoman and her
companion, and was hesitating whether to place the man in the class of
Continental Guides or private detectives, when he pointed to the two
children, and said something to the majestic lady.
"That's the little boy, is it? Then you two go and sit on the next
seat while I talk to him," said the majestic lady in a voice which lost
in pleasantness what it gained in loudness; and she came to the seat on
which Tinker and Elsie sat, while her attendants walked on.
Now to call him a little boy was by no means the quickest way to
Tinker's heart, and he watched her draw near with a cold eye. But all
the same when she made as if to sit down, he rose and raised his hat
with a charming smile. She sat down and looked him over with a cool
consideration which provoked his fastidiousness to no admiration of her
breeding. Then she said:
"Are you Sir Tancred Beauleigh's little boy?"
"I am Hildebrand Anne Beauleigh," said Tinker in a faintly corrective
tone quite lost on her complacent mind.
"Hildebrand Anne! Hildebrand Anne! She called you Hildebrand Anne,
did she? The impudence of these minxes!" said the majestic lady, and
she sniffed like a lady of the lower-middle classes.
At once Tinker knew that she was Lady Beauleigh, and that she was
speaking of his mother. But his face never changed; only the pupils of
his eyes contracted a little; and he drew a quiet, deep breath of
satisfaction. He had always hoped for an interview with her, his
father's step-mother, and he knew that he had the advantage; for he was
armed with a very fair knowledge of her, imparted to him by his father,
who thought it well to put him on his guard; and of him she knew
nothing.
"Who's this little girl?" said Lady Beauleigh, surveying Elsie with her
insolent stare. "Send her away. I want to talk to you alone."
"This is my adopted sister, Elsie. You may talk before her; it doesn't
matter how confidential it is. I always tell her everything," said
Tinker in a tone of kindly but exasperating patronage.
"I don't care! Go away, little girl!" said Lady Beauleigh, and Tinker
was pleased to see the colour rise in her cheeks.
He stayed Elsie, who was rising to go, with a wave of his hand and said
gently, "Is it important talk?"
"Yes; it is!" snapped Lady Beauleigh.
"Then I'd rather she stopped. My father says you should always have a
witness to important talk," said Tinker, and he smiled at her.
"Stuff and nonsense! I'm your grandmother!" cried Lady Beauleigh
angrily.
"Ah, then your name is Vane," said Tinker sweetly.
"Vane! Vane!" Lady Beauleigh gasped rather than spoke the hated name.
"It's nothing of the kind! It's Beauleigh! I'm Lady Beauleigh!"
"I'm afraid there must be some mistake. You can't be my grandmother on
my father's side. My father's mother is dead," said Tinker in a tone
which almost seemed to apologise for her error.
"You must be very stupid, or very ignorant!" cried Lady Beauleigh.
"I'm your grandfather's second wife, as you ought to know!"
"Oh, I know, now," said Tinker; and his face shone with his sudden
enlightenment. "You keep a bank."
"I--keep--a--bank?" said Lady Beauleigh in a dreadful voice.
"Oh, not a roulette bank or baccarat bank," said Tinker with
well-affected hastiness. "One of the shop kind--where they sell
money--with glass doors."
"My father was a banker, if that's what you mean," said Lady Beauleigh.
"But a bank isn't a shop."
"Oh, I always think it a kind of shop," said Tinker with the
dispassionate air of a professor discussing a problem in the Higher
Mathematics. "It's as well to lump all these--these commercial things
together, isn't it?" And he was very pleased with the word commercial.
"No: it isn't! A bank isn't a shop, you stupid little boy!" cried Lady
Beauleigh hotly.
"Well, just as you like," said Tinker with graceful surrender. "I only
call it a shop because it's convenient."
"A boy of your age ought not to think about convenience. You ought to
have been taught to keep things clear and distinct," said Lady
Beauleigh in a heavy, didactic voice.
"Oh, it's quite clear to me, really, that a bank's a shop; but we won't
talk about it, if you're ashamed of it. After all, one doesn't talk
about trade, does one?" said Tinker with a return to his kindly but
exasperating patronage.
"Ashamed of it? I'm not ashamed of it!" said Lady Beauleigh in the
roar of a wounded lioness.
"No, no; of course not! I only thought you were! I made a mistake!"
said Tinker quickly, with an infuriating show of humouring her.
"I'm proud of it! Proud of it!" said Lady Beauleigh thickly. "And
when you grow up and understand things, you'll wish your father had
been a banker, too!"
"I don't think so," said Tinker; and he smiled at her very pleasantly.
"I'm quite satisfied with my father as he is. I'd really rather that
he was a gentleman."
"A banker is a gentleman!" cried Lady Beauleigh.
"Yes, yes, of course," said Tinker, humouring her again. "He's--he's a
commercial gentleman."
Lady Beauleigh could find no words. Never in the course of her
domineering life had she been raised to such an exaltation of
whole-souled exasperation. She could only glare at the suave disposer
of her long-cherished, long-asserted pretensions; and she glared with a
fury which made Elsie, who had edged little by little to the extreme
edge of the seat, rise softly and take up a safer position, standing
three yards away.
Tinker took advantage of Lady Beauleigh's helpless speechlessness to
say thoughtfully, "But about your being my grandmother? If you're not
my father's mother or my mother's mother, you can't really be my
grandmother. You must be my step-grandmother.