Читать книгу The Inevitable Millionaires - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 5

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There was no obvious change that afternoon in the routine of business at number 140B, Basinghall Street, where the offices of Messrs. Underwood and Sons were situated. Both Stephen and George Henry, however, were conscious of a subtle change in their attitude towards the various tasks which they essayed and accomplished. They seemed imbued with an altogether unusual spirit of latitudinarianism. Harold's late return passed unnoticed. The delinquencies of one of their continental travellers in the matter of expenses was dealt with from an unprecedentedly liberal point of view. The salary list was scanned and several advances decided upon. When, after having arrived back from lunch at least a quarter of an hour later than usual, the heads of the firm took their departure at a quarter to six instead of six o'clock, comment was rife. The senior members of the staff were discreet enough to hold their peace. Their juniors, however, did not hesitate to express the general feeling, handicapped as they were by the presence of Mr. Harold Margetson.

"Are the walls of Jericho about to fall?" an invoice clerk demanded.

There was a little buzz of comment. Information was sought from Harold, who was hastily divesting himself of his office coat.

"Can't imagine what's up," he confided. "All I know is that this quarter of an hour is a godsend to me. But I'll tell you fellows one thing, if you want to know," he added, pausing, entirely against the regulations, to light a cigarette. "They're breaking out. I've seen 'em."

For the first time in their lives the much-discussed principals of the firm took a taxi from the Bank to Hampstead. Stephen smiled complacently as he saw the fare registered upon the dial.

"Taxicabs will help us, George Henry," he said, as he alighted. "I am about to pay this man eight shillings. Any other form of conveyance would have brought us here for a shilling. We have certainly something to hope for from taxicabs."

"We might have one down to the 'Milan'," George Henry suggested, as they walked up the flagged path. "As the evening seems stormy and we shall be in evening clothes, I think it would be advisable."

"I am quite of your opinion," Stephen agreed. "These minor efforts at expenditure are worth consideration. They mount up—beyond a doubt they mount up."

The house, which they entered by means of a latch-key, was a semi-detached edifice, fairly spacious, and furnished with sober Victorian utilitarianism. A trim little maid helped to divest them of their coats and hats. A strong smell of cooking pervaded the place.

"Dear me!" Stephen exclaimed. "We have omitted to let Mrs. Hassall know that we are not dining at home."

"Mrs. Hassall," George Henry remarked, "will probably be annoyed. Would it be as well, Stephen, if you were to step down and explain the matter?"

"There is no necessity," was the hasty reply. "Ellen here will deliver our message. Give our compliments to Mrs. Hassall," he added, turning to the little maid, "and say that dinner will not be required this evening. My brother and I are dining out."

The maid was aghast. There was no precedent for anything of this sort.

"I don't know what Mrs. Hassall will say, sir," she protested. "There's a joint in the oven and the fish ready to go into the frying pan. Would you like to have a word with her yourself, sir?"

"Certainly not," Stephen declined. "You can deliver our message, Ellen, and say that the dinner can be disposed of in any way Mrs. Hassall thinks fit. We are going upstairs to dress."

Ellen retired to the lower regions. The brothers ascended with dignity to their apartments. Each brought out his carefully wrapped-up dress suit, selected a suitable shirt, and adorned it with the plain gold studs that they used on special occasions.

"Shall you shave, Stephen?" George Henry called out across the landing.

"I think it would be advisable," was the firm reply. "We have, I fear, become a little slack in our home life. There is a button off my patent boot, and I am not satisfied with the condition of my white tie."

There was the sound of heavy footsteps upon the stairs. George Henry retired precipitately into his room, leaving his brother to bear the brunt of the forthcoming attack. Mrs. Hassall, stout, breathing heavily, red faced, beady eyed and angry, knocked at his door with her knuckles.

"Can I have a word with you, sir?" she demanded.

"Certainly not at present, Mrs. Hassall," Stephen answered, with great courage. "I am changing my clothes."

"I'm a married woman," Mrs. Hassall persisted. "And we've got to decide about the shoulder of mutton one way or the other."

Stephen slipped the bolt noiselessly into its place and breathed more freely.

"We have already sent word, Mrs. Hassall, that we shall not be dining at home," he said. "My brother and I will see you in the dining room when we descend. Kindly put the bottle of sherry and two glasses upon the table," he added, in a spirit of bravado.

Mrs. Hassall withdrew, making inarticulate sounds. The brothers continued their toilet. They issued from their rooms almost at the same moment. They were dressed exactly alike, and each had had the same inspiration with regard to headgear. The trouble about Stephen's silk hat, however, was that it bore a deep crape band, the last time he had worn it having been at the funeral of a friendly rubber merchant, some year or so ago.

"Mrs. Hassall desires a word with us, George Henry," Stephen announced.

"I heard her. I fear, Stephen, that we shall have trouble with Mrs. Hassall."

"She must be taught her place," Stephen declared valiantly. "I have ordered the sherry to be placed upon the table, George Henry. I thought that a glass before we started might be refreshing."

"An excellent idea!"

They descended to the dining room, where the table was laid for two. Upon the sideboard were the sherry and two glasses. They helped themselves and took up positions upon the hearthrug. Mrs. Hassall lumbered into the room a few minutes later.

"I should like you to understand, sir," she said, addressing Stephen, "that your dinner for to-night is cooked and, if you're not home to eat it, it's wasted. I've been here all day. I've had no message. It's a good joint—one I chose myself. And mutton at one and elevenpence a pound!"

"The fault is entirely ours," Stephen acknowledged. "Pray eat the dinner yourself, Mrs. Hassall—you and Ellen."

"And what should we be doing, I'd like to know, with fillets of sole, a shoulder of mutton and an apple pie?" Mrs. Hassall demanded angrily. "There's enough of the cold braised beef from yesterday for our supper. When I cook a dinner I like it eaten, and I hate waste."

Stephen sipped his sherry, set down the glass, and straightened his tie.

"Mrs. Hassall," he said, "it is unfortunate that we had no opportunity of letting you know, but the fact remains that my brother and I are dining out. You may do precisely what you choose with the dinner you have provided. The responsibility is ours, not yours. Be so good as to ask Ellen to call a taxicab."

"A taxicab!" Mrs. Hassall exclaimed. "Why, there's the bus at the corner."

It occurred to George Henry that it was time that he asserted himself.

"Come, come, my good woman!" he protested. "Surely my brother and I may indulge in a taxicab if we think fit!"

Mrs. Hassall stared at him disparagingly.

"And in them clothes, too," she observed. "And no chance to air them nor nothing. Do you know you haven't worn them for a year, Mr. Stephen? No, nor not you, Mr. George Henry."

"The clothes have been properly taken care of," Stephen replied. "Ellen," he added, raising his voice a little, "be so good as to call a taxi. Mrs. Hassall, if you have anything more to say, please say it quickly."

"I've a great deal more to say," she declared. "A great deal more than you'd like to hear, I'm thinking. Such goings on!"

"Then please don't say it," Stephen enjoined. "You're a little angry, Mrs. Hassall. Wait until to-morrow morning. It is possible, by that time, we may have something to say to you. My brother and I are contemplating changes in our domestic arrangements."

Thenceforward Mrs. Hassall was a broken woman.

"Changes," she faltered, "after eighteen years. Changes indeed! And, unless I make a hash of that shoulder of mutton for to-morrow night's dinner——"

Stephen ruthlessly interrupted her. The taxicab was outside. He finished his sherry and bravely led the way to the door.

"Mrs. Hassall," he said, "good night. Take my advice and serve the dinner for yourself and Ellen. Do not be alarmed about to-morrow; we shall have nothing to say that will not be agreeable to you. Do not sit up. We have our latchkeys. Good night. Good night, Ellen."

They took their places in the taxicab. George Henry looked at his brother with admiration.

"I congratulate you, Stephen. You were firm but diplomatic. I sometimes think that Mrs. Hassall has been with us too long."

"We must not forget," Stephen said judicially, "that, during the whole of the period of her service with us, we have taken every opportunity of impressing upon her our desire for the strictest and most absolute economy. In her ignorance of the changed circumstances she would, no doubt, look upon a wasted dinner as a tragedy. She is what we have made her, George Henry. She is too old to change. We must pension her. A substantial pension, I think."

"Capital!" his brother assented. "Considering the length of time that she has been with us, we must be liberal. I do not think that three hundred a year will be a penny too much."

"Not a penny," Stephen agreed. "We are making a very good start indeed. Three hundred a year is capital."