Читать книгу As Luck Would Have It - Edward Dyson - Страница 10

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GREAT curiosity concerning the widow was expressed in the "Hut" at breakfast next morning. Holland had to admit he knew nothing more than he had told them, beyond the fact that she lived in a handsome villa, with an acre of land attached, in an expensive street.

"I am to paint her as Carmen," said Fryer, "and not to stint myself, she said. I am wondering if she means in the matter of paint."

"The woman is a long way from being a peculiar fool," commented Inglis.

"But has she any idea of the value of pictures?"

Jan exploded: "I a distinct recollection haff of seeink four beautiful paintinks by der celebrated young ardist, Hilary Fryer, uset to put a roof on her hen howse."

"And an infernally good roof, too," Fod declared.

"I'll nose out the place of business in the city to-day sometime," said Bob. "But I am sure Mary is a person of substance."

"Oh, I'm perfectly willing to chance it," said the artist. "It will be a pleasure to paint her. She's great good company."

"And has a very proper admiration for the young artist," mused Inglis.

In pursuance of his promise Bob did go to some trouble to hunt up Mary Longmore's name in the "Directory." He eventually located her place of business in a small street lately reclaimed from the foreign element, and now showing a new, staring, red front to the world. Among the freshness of the recent brick additions the establishment of Longmore and Co. had an old-established air, if not mediaeval, at least middle aged.

The building was of roughly hewn bluestone, with small barred windows, quite in the early colonial style, and deep sunken double doors, strong enough to resist a siege. The doors were blocked open with two large lumps of rocksalt. The whole front had a dark, stained look, as if the commodities long retailed within had given off a certain seepage that had soaked the building through; for, as it hurt Bob to see, Mary Longmore's business was that of a dealer in farm and dairy produce, notably butter, bacon, hams, cheese, and lard, but with side lines like honey, eggs, sauces, and pickles, tinned milk, and rabbits.

Lieutenant Holland entered the shop, and an alert, young-old man with a large, round head, and large, round eyes, a pink, almost infantile, skin, a face as wanting in lines and as smooth as one of the bladders of lard stacked on the counter end, bobbed up to serve him.

The shopman was afraid the boss was busy, but if it was very particular perhaps she would find time to see Lieutenant Holland.

Bob was rather discomfited on finding Mrs. Longmore, manageress of Longmore and Company, a very different person from the Mary Longmore the boys had entertained in their own brusque way the day before. She was formal, a little terse, the practical business person, with no time of her own to waste, and no desire to waste anybody else's. This was so essential to a person running a going concern like Longmore and Co. that Mrs. Longmore did not think it necessary to apologise.

Bob, half seated on the edge of her office table, looked down at her where she sat, tapping a front tooth with her pencil end. He had made a revision in the time for the first sitting for Carmen, and it struck him how utterly incongruous it all was. This smooth emphatic direct woman as the tempestuous Spaniard. He smiled.

"Well?" said Mrs. Longmore.

"Has anything happened to you over night?" asked Bob. "Have you seen the error of your ways? Are you for renouncing us, and all our courses?"

She arose, and put a hand on his arm. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant," she said. "Talk to me like that at my party. Don't bother about me here. You won't like the business woman a bit."

"I don't. You are kicking me out. I'll go and find Miriam. I hope to heaven she is never quite business-like."

Mrs. Longmore smiled as he passed out. She remained for a time, staring at the door he passed through, tapping that front tooth with the lead pencil, revolving something in her mind that had to be shaken off with a deliberate effort before she could give herself to her figures again.

Bob Holland, swinging quietly from Mrs. Longmore's office into the front shop, met a sight wholly unexpected and most surprising. All had been peace and quiet in the place of business, a fat cat had been drowsing on the end of the counter, the pink-skinned, round-headed shopman had suggested a man awakened from a long sleep by an unaccustomed intruder. Now there was the same silence, but the whole place was stirred into action. The cat whirled off the counter, and sprang for one of the high sills; the shopman, pulled half way across his own counter, was being calmly but systematically choked by a brawny youth of a peculiarly hang-dog cast of countenance; while another, rather older, whose face, too, bore the impress of a hard life spent in nefarious pursuits, was tiptoeing to the side door opening into a lane.

Bob gazed a moment in complete amazement. It was all so unexpected, the silence of it and its suddenness made it so unreal. It was as if he had stepped abruptly into a picture theatre, and encountered a sensational reel in the act of being run off to an otherwise empty house. But his consternation lasted only for a moment, and then the man of action predominated. He sprang for the man heading for the door, the chamois bag in whose hands suggested the accomplishment of a lawless purpose.

The struggle was of the shortest. Bob cross-buttocked his man, and sent him with his thick head cracking against a barrel of salt herrings. At the same moment the chamois bag flew against a big box with hoop-iron edges, and was torn open, and its contents scattered all over the floor—a flood of sovereigns!

Bob did not wait to contemplate the beauty of the bright, new coins rolling in all directions, but dashed at the second man, who had released the poor shopman, and was coming at him with a natty life-saver upraised. Backing warily to a row of bottled pickles, Bob took one bottle from behind him, and threw with such precision that the picalilli broke on the ruffian's skull, and he joined his comrade on the floor, his head in a most grotesque mess of pickles and blood.

Bob stood over his fallen adversaries, and looked up with a laugh. The shopman, piteously pawing his damaged throat, was coming towards him. Mrs. Longmore had issued from her office, and stood, gazing at the scene, her face a perfect picture of consternation.

"That was so sudden," said Bob.

"Why—why, what does it all mean?" demanded Mary.

"Look at their faces," answered Bob. "Look at their nice, list-covered, shoes, and say for yourself."

"They were hidden in the small store room," the shopman explained, looking at Mary. "They thought I was alone here, I suppose, and came out at me. They had a bag of sovereigns."

"Yes, Mrs. Longmore, and here is your shop paved with gold. I think this is the cue for the police." He moved towards the telephone.

Mary Longmore intervened hastily. "No, no; not the police," said she. Then, noting Bob's surprise: "You don't know what a nuisance a prosecution like this is to a business person. I have been in one, and I would not be in another for two hundred pounds."

"But would you let these scoundrels go unscathed?"

Mary looked at the victim of the pickle bottle, who was on his feet, groping helplessly. "Unscathed?" she said. "It seems to me, Lieutenant Holland, that they have not got off wholly unharmed."

The second man was on his feet, pawing his head. He staggered towards the door. Bob intervened.

"I think we will let them go this time," said Mrs. Longmore.

"Well, of course, it is your affair," said Bob reluctantly. "How does this chap like the idea of turning them loose. He has had his windpipe torn from its moorings, and looks like a three days' corpse."

"Oh, let 'em go—let 'em go!" gasped the shopman. "I don't want to be let in for any long trials."

"Well, I'm damned!" was Bob's eloquent comment, as the two beauties sneaked into the street.

"You don't understand, Lieutenant," said Mary, "what it means to a business person to have to attend one of these interminable criminal trials."

"I can understand what it means, having your gold hiked off by a set of infernal thieves," said Bob.

"But they have not got the gold, and that makes all the difference. They have failed, thanks to you, Robert. I am very much obliged indeed. It was very smart of you, and most heroic. I really am very deeply indebted to you."

Bob glanced down whimsically at the gold covering the floor. "I don't think much of your banker," said he.

"You think I am foolish to have so much money about the place. Well, you see, we do a very large business with Chinamen. They pay in cash, and it is early in the month."

"John Chow isn't as fond of gold as he used to be," said Bob. He noticed that Mrs. Longmore was greatly disturbed, and did not pursue the theme, but started to assist the shopman in gathering up the sovereigns. "They are lovely and new," said he.

"They are, indeed," Mary replied. "Don't let us trouble you further, Robert. I am positive Miriam is lonely, and will be delighted to see you."

"You think so!" Bob did not disguise his eagerness.

"Why, I am certain. You are a great favorite of hers."

"And you are not afraid of those beauties returning?"

"Is it likely they will come here again? I will ask the policeman on the beat to keep an eye on us. There is no further fear."

"Well," said Bob, "this is one of the quaintest experiences of my chequered career. Do all business people let shopbreakers go rather than face the trouble of a prosecution?"

"They often do. Scarcely a day passes that a thief is not detected in one or another of the big drapery establishments, for instance, but how often do you read of action being taken?"'

"It is your affair, Mrs. Longmore; I'll go."

"Good day, Robert, and thank you—thank you very warmly."

"Don't, Mrs. Longmore. My part in the affair was quite enjoyable."

Bob found Miriam at home, lazing in the garden, with a book that would take hold. He said nothing then of the adventure at the shop, not wishing to divert her from the trip he had in mind. The girl seemed glad to have him. He was comforted by her smile, and tempted her forth for a desultory row on the river. Bob was gratified; she was very pleasing, with nothing of the self-consciousness that had stiffened her on the previous day. She made a fine picture, too, lolling in the stern in a well-fitting dress of cloth, light in color and texture, her dark eyes revealing themselves occasionally in their ambush of long lashes. She sighed a little, and was affected by the beauty of the day, and the lush greens and deep shadows of the willows. The glamor of sentiment pleased him; it womanised her, he thought; it was a concession her size and the square rig of her strong shoulders made necessary. If he had had anything against her it was that she seemed a girl a man could not easily take to his strong arms for her protection and comfort. For what else is the young male of the species made brave and powerful?

The boat is drawn in close to the green bank; and the showering slim strands of a willow, forming a screen between them and the outer realities. Bob made love, but only with eyes and accents. He had a kind of eloquence, and had seen much of life in the last ten years. She listened, the smile that bared her perfect teeth rewarding him, her hand dipped idly in the warm river water. Suddenly she sat up.

"Why did you go to fight in Africa?" she asked.

He paused. There was the temptation to take the heroic role. He put it aside. "I was young," said he. "I was doing nothing. It offered adventure, an opportunity of seeing something more of the world."

"Then you did not think it was your duty to crush the Boers?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I did not. I don't think I had any fine ideas of saving the Empire. I did not think the Empire was in any jeopardy."

"So you were willing to go out killing men just for a sort of whim."

"I took a lot for granted—that the killing was essential, that there was some great cause to be served."

"But, all the same, you did not trouble your head about the moral side."

"No, that's a fact."

"Ah-h!"

He detected something like satisfaction in her sigh. He felt there was an intention behind her attitude.

"Why do you ask," he inquired: "pro-Boer?"

"Oh, no; I just wanted to know your attitude towards the ordinary idea of the rights and wrongs of things."

"I hope that ordinarily I am with the angels."

Miriam pointed a finger to her breast. "Meaning?" She laughed aloud.

"That's a quaint idea—I one of the angels! Don't be absurd. If you have not already discovered my crude worldliness, that pretence of knowing people through, which I find in your stories, is all humbug."

"You have been reading my stories?"

"Why, of course. I hunted them all out in the 'Adviser' when mother told me I was to meet you. I like the tales. There is no nonsense in them. You seem to take men and women as they are, and make the most of them. You are not pitiful, or reproachful or bad tempered when they don't happen to come up to orthodox standards in morals, and honesty, and all that."

"No, I try to tell what men and women are. I leave it to the preachers to say what they ought to be."

"But when your soldier mates steal, and drink, and riot, you seem to have, what shall I call it?—a sort of sneaking sympathy with them."

"Don't forget their peculiar position, their great need, the power of reaction in men long tied to a strenuous and deadly task."

"You wouldn't be so generous to ordinary mortals in ordinary circumstances, perhaps?" She had her fine eyes on him; he thought they were a little distressed. The faint smile on her lips hinted at a mask.

He took her hand, and held it close. "I am no more judge than parson," said he. "But your troubles! You are a mere girl, beautiful, happily situated, care-free, well-beloved——"

"Continue the enumeration of my blessings."

"Am I right?"

"Right or wrong, it amuses. I want to know your qualifications as a psy—psy—what is the ugly word?"

"Psychologist?"

"Yes, a reader of souls, isn't it?"

"I am searching yours not for news of yourself."

"For what, then?"

"For news of me. How do I stand there?"

He had drawn closer to her. Contact with her warmth and her firm limbs was provocative. What would she do if he kissed her? A small boat is a precarious place for such experiments.

She drew her fingers slowly but decisively from his grasp. "This is our third meeting," she said. "Life is short, but not so short as all that."

He stumbled a little over the usual contention that time is not for lovers, that he might have known her for years, and she laughed. Already she had taken the oar, and was pushing the boat through its screen of willow wands into the hot sunshine.

"I shall row back," she said. "Oh, yes, I insist. I am quite good at it. You take my place. It is very warm."

There was no denying her. In the last few seconds he had been subdued by a touch of the mother's manner, the business woman's dryness and emphasis. He spoke his thought.

"Heaven preserve me from making love to a business woman."

It amused her only. "I don't languish easily. In fact I have never languished yet. Possibly I never shall."

"Don't give up," he replied, jocularly, to cover the feeling of failure, "Who knows what you may accomplish with sympathetic aid."

She did row very well, and loafing in the stern, his hands overboard, Bob submitted, feeling in a vague way that the man in Miriam Longmore's life would have to be content often with some such position.

Mrs. Longmore was still absent when they returned, and Miriam gave Bob whisky in a summer house ablaze with bougainvillea.

"Your mother sticks to it pretty closely," he said.

"Why, have you seen her in the office?"

"Yes; I called there before coming over here. She didn't actually kick me out."

"But she wasn't affectionate. You didn't want half a ton of butter, or a hundred hams."

"No, I admit I had no business there at all."

"Ah, then, you would notice a certain lack of amiability. Mother leads a sort of double life. At the business she is Longmore and Co.; with her friends she is Mary Longmore, a jovial scapegrace, with a decided liking for people and things just a shade over the odds."

He was surprised at the expression. "She liked us," he complained.

"Well, you boys down at the 'Hut' don't pretend to be ultra respectable, do you?"

He shook his head. "It is a mournful fact that we do not conform. That being so, I hope we shall see quite a lot of Mary Longmore after business hours."

He made no further attempt at love, and when he was going she bestowed a little lingering pressure of the hand.

"I am not as unromantic as I pretend," she confessed. "Perhaps after all I am only shy. Absurd, isn't it, in a creature of my size?"

"No sane man would have you different from what you are, whatever you are," replied Bob with a flourish.

When Mary Longmore returned home that evening she gave Miriam a mothering hug and said "Holland has been here?"

"Yes. We were on the river together."

"He was in at the shop. Strolled in in the most perfunctory way, looking all about him, apparently very much interested. He wanted nothing."

"Surely you don't imagine there was anything behind it."

"My girl, we can't afford to be anything but suspicious of everyone."

"Yes," said the girl after a moment's thought; "that is the damnable part of it."

Mary looked at her sharply. "We needn't go into that," she said; "and after all, I suppose Holland's call was prompted by nothing worse than idle curiosity."

She told Miriam of the afternoon's adventure, and the girl was greatly disturbed. The affair afforded the two subject matter for talk for the whole evening.