Читать книгу The Remittance Man - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 10

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Jan Digby entered Major Reay's library as the clocks were chiming ten. The Major was seated with bent head before a desk that was liberally strewn with ancient correspondence arranged for the occasion. It was one of the old gentleman's pet business methods to impress strangers by affecting to be overwhelmed with affairs; and he kept Jan standing a full five minutes before he condescended to become officially aware of his existence.

At the end of that period he glanced up, started and scowled. "Ah! Jan Digby!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here?"

Digby gravely inclined his head. "You, sir!" he replied, with polite but laconical abruptness.

"You are looking for a billet?" said the Major.

"Yes."

"Ah! um! so my son informed me. I need a stoker for my launch. That is all I can offer you."

"Thank you, sir; it will do."

The Major leaned back in his chair, and, after adjusting his spectacles, he looked at Jan with much the same expression of countenance as a naturalist might wear in examining an unfamiliar species brought expectedly before his notice.

"Can you stoke?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Any previous experience?"

"I worked as stoker aboard the pilot boat for three days last month when one of the hands was ill."

"Oh! did you like it?"

"No."

"Hum!" The Major began to enjoy himself. He placed the tips of his fingers together and allowed his wrists to fall upon his chest. "I don't like my servants to dislike their occupations," he declared.

Jan was silent.

"If I engage you," pursued the old gentleman, after a momentary pause, "I should require you to do odd jobs about the house when I am not using the launch. Sometimes I do not use it for as much as a week at a time."

"Odd jobs?" repeated Jan.

"Yes. Weed the garden, run errands, wait at table at a pinch, and so forth."

Jan compressed his lips. "I understand you, sir," he said coldly. "You are looking for a general handy man. Well, if you employ me—I shall do my best to please you!"

"So!" The Major crossed his legs, watching the other as a cat would a mouse. "Times are bad just now," he observed, smothering a cough. "I can't afford to pay big wages—not a penny more than thirty shillings."

"Per week?"

"Certainly not per day!" growled the old gentleman.

Jan bowed. "I should be satisfied," he replied.

The major nodded. "Now about references?" he murmured softly. "References as to character."

Jan bowed again, and drew a paper from his pocket, which he unfolded and extended in silence to the other.

The Major had confidently expected an appeal to his generosity. He was disappointed, but he took the document and read it carefully, his expression slowly changing to one of unwilling wonder.

"Hum!" he said at last. "It seems you are a paragon. How long have you known this Mr. Alan Laing?"

"Many years, sir."

"He is a rich man, they say."

"Mr. Laing is neither rich nor poor," said Jan. "He has a sufficient income to live upon; no more."

The Major gave a suspicious sniff. "How is it that you are seeking a billet as a stoker from me, when, if what Mr. Laing states in this letter is true, he is willing to take you into his own employ?"

"Mr. Laing has no real need of my services," replied Jan. "I am not a beggar, sir."

The old gentleman stroked his silver moustache, frowning thoughtfully. "I did not say you were," he growled. "I remember an old proverb which says—'qui s'excuse—s'acuse.' Do you understand French?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well—what have you to say?"

"That you are pre-determined to be displeased with me, Major Reay. The proverb you quote can have no proper application to my remark."

"The devil!" cried the Major, clambering to his feet, and glaring savagely at Jan. "The devil! Do you mean to infer, sir, that—that—I, that I—that I am prejudiced?"

Digby smiled in spite of himself. "That is my impression," he answered quietly. "I hope I am mistaken."

"You are, sir, you are indeed. Absurd! Ridiculous! Pshaw!" The old soldier fired off these exclamations like so many cannon, then, as if restored to calm by his own thunder, he sat down again and scowled at the offender with somewhat diminished ferocity.

"You will occupy the dwelling-room in the boat house," he declared. "As for your meals, you may take them in the servants' hall, or get weekly rations from my butler, Sevenoaks, as you prefer. You had better go now and report yourself to Burns—the captain of the launch."

"Thank you, sir!" Digby bowed and turned to go, but he was still some paces from the door when the Major cried out—"Stop!"

"Yes?" asked Jan.

"Come here, sir!"

Jan marched to the desk.

"Confess that you are disappointed!" said the Major.

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"Look me in the eyes, Jan Digby, and deny it if you dare, that you expected me, in consideration of what happened yesterday, to offer you something better than a stoker's billet."

Jan a with great effort preserved his countenance. "Your penetration is remarkable, sir," he returned. "I must admit that you are right."

"Ha!" The Major uttered a satisfied snort, and rubbed his hands together. "I suppose you are disgusted because I have done nothing of the kind—hey?"

"On the contrary," answered Jan, "I was pleased, for had you offered me any other position I must have declined it."

"Why?" demanded the Major.

Jan shrugged his shoulders. "To be frank, sir," he replied, "I despair of making you appreciate my point of view, and for that reason I will ask you to forego an explanation."

The Major's eyes kindled. "You seem to be a d——d clever fellow," he snarled; "but for all you know, I may be a d——d clever fellow, too. Now answer my question."

Jan bit his lips, and frowned in a fashion that was not good to see.

"As your servant, sir——" he began in tones of ice. But the Major cut him short.

"As no man's servant," he interrupted angrily. "But as man to man. And I warn you—justify your position if you can. If you can't—go to the deuce and be hanged to you. I don't want any man in my service I can't see through. I'd rather deal with a rogue than a hypocrite, any day."

"You have cleared the ground," said Digby, speaking the more quietly because he was thoroughly aroused. "For so much I owe thanks to you. You have them."

"Good!" nodded the Major. "Proceed!"

"I thought it not unlikely," said Digby, "that you might consider yourself indebted, under Providence, to me for the preservation of your children's lives."

"I might have," snapped the Major, "if your folly had not in the first instance endangered them. You were the one man in the boat."

"True."

"Therefore our accounts balance nicely. You put them in a hole and got them out of it by smashing up a boat that cost me forty guineas. I don't blame you for that, it was an accident, no doubt; but why in thunder should I be grateful to you?"

Digby's smile was full of meaning, the more pointed because his frown did not relax.

"You have stated the case as I adjudged it privately," he said. "In extenuation of the apparent folly of my expectation, I have only to plead an imperfect acquaintance with your character. There are parents who, if placed in your position, would have allowed their sentiment to cloud their judgment."

"Fools!" asserted the Major. "Fools." He was white with rage.

For a moment Digby silently regarded him, then shrugging his shoulders, he contrived to smile.

"That is all I think," he said, "that need be mentioned on that score. Had you been such a fool as we have discussed, sir, I should have declined to take advantage of your folly for the same reason that I would return you a purse that you might drop in the street were I to find it, or hand you back half a sovereign that you might offer me in mistake for sixpence."

"I've never done such a thing in my life," snapped the Major.

Digby was silent.

"As for your explanation," went on the old gentleman a trifle more calmly, "a child could understand it. That talk about despair—and viewpoint—was rot, sir! balderdash—unless——" his eyes gleamed—"unless you have something else hidden up your sleeve?"

"I have, sir," answered Digby, with sudden and most cutting emphasis.

"What it it? I insist upon knowing."

"A wholesome contempt for your suspicious mind, sir. Major Reay, I have the honor to wish you good morning."

Digby made the old gentleman an elaborate bow and he stalked forthwith to the door, tingling from head to heel with the unholy delight of long suppressed irritation fully gratified, and bearing himself with a mien, the aggressive dignity of which not even the shabbiness of his apparel could defeat.

The Major was transfixed with astonishment, and long after the door had closed upon Jan's retreating figure, he sat gazing at the panels trying vainly to collect his thoughts.

As he afterwards informed his crony, Mr. Best—he was "flabbergasted."

"Best, old chap!" he declared, "that is the only word to express my feelings. The fellow had stood there for half an hour before me answering his catechism—meek as mud, sir, meek as mud! Then without the least warning he turned on me like a dog, sir, like a dog!"

The Major, however, did not relate to Mr. Best his subsequent reflections. Having in somewise recovered his scattered senses, he got to his feet and walked tremulously to a cabinet from which he extracted a glass and a decanter of whisky. Pouring out a stiff nip, he drank the spirit raw, and feeling considerably comforted, he addressed his image in a mirror opposite.

"Reay," said he, "you have met your match this morning—your match, ay, and something to spare! D——! but I like the fellow. I do—I do indeed—though he forced my hand and played the joker on me at the last."

He returned to his desk, sat down and crossed his legs. "What the dickens shall I tell Jack and Marion?" he muttered, puffing out his cheeks in earnest thought. "Hum! that's the deuce, the very deuce! Anyway, by Gad! I'm glad they didn't hear him—-'A wholesome contempt for your suspicious mind sir!' Humph! Humph!"

A sudden itch to laugh possessed him, and a concomitant desire to restrain his mirth.

He began to chuckle, but the effort to stifle fuller expression of his hilarity made him half choke and turn purple. Resigning the struggle, he laughed out at last as he had not laughed for years, until his fat sides ached, and tears of merriment rolled down his cheeks.