Читать книгу Love and the Ironmonger - F. J. Randall - Страница 5

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The firm of Fairbrother went on in the usual way after the loss of its head. There was some speculation as to who would succeed old Joseph Fairbrother, and a good deal of surprise when it turned out to be a daughter, a pleasant young lady of twenty-two or so, who arrived from Australia just before the funeral. If the old gentleman had timed his own death he could not have summoned his daughter with more precision. That the young lady was not steeped in grief at the loss of her parent must be put down to the fact, as confided to the head clerk, that she had lived in Australia the greater part of her life, and had scarcely known her father. More of her family history it is not necessary to tell here, except that, together with an aunt, she took up her residence at Brunswick Terrace, her father's comfortable West End residence.

Miss Ellen Fairbrother assumed command, and occupied the big office-chair much more frequently than "Old Joe" had done. There were no alterations in the staff, and no new rules. Miss Fairbrother was as quiet and inoffensive as her father, and seemed sensible of the fact that she could not improve on his work. She therefore allowed things to go as they had been going.

Parrott and the other important members of the firm consulted the new chief, and jogged along in the same way as before.

Nobody was different, except George Early. He alone had changed with the change of management. To be sure, three others had changed, but not in the same way. He was an ambitious young man, was George, and it seemed as though he had seen in this new state of affairs an opportunity for the advancement of no less a person than himself. That a casual observer might have assumed; a keen observer would have noticed that this change began at the moment when he left the private office with Parrott's half-crown in his pocket.

What the staff generally began to notice was that George had a great deal more confidence now than he had in the days of "Old Joe." He was less familiar with his fellow-clerks, and more chummy with his superiors. He never said "sir" to the head clerk, and the head clerk never found fault with anything he did. But as the clerks had a pretty easy time themselves, they did little more than merely notice these changes. Among those who were disturbed by George Early's tactics and who understood them better was Thomas Parrott.

For the first time in his life he had lent a man money without questioning his bona fides. The legacy compelled him to do it, and he did it. But no sooner had George got out of the office than the head clerk began to think over things, and to wonder if his nature would be able to stand the strain that it might be subjected to.

With the arrival of Miss Fairbrother, he withdrew to the small private office on the ground floor, and ventured out of it only when he was compelled. George made a note of this move, and on the whole quite approved of it; as things were about to shape themselves he could not have wished for anything better.

He walked in one morning, and closed the door carefully behind him. Parrott looked up with some uneasiness, but made no remark. He waited for his subordinate to speak; but as George Early seemed in no hurry to forego his inspection of the almanacks on the wall, he asked if Miss Fairbrother had arrived.

"Not yet," said George, without turning his head. "She doesn't hurry herself. No more would I if I had her job."

Parrott coughed sternly in reply to this free remark concerning the head of the firm.

"Do you want to see me, Early?" he asked, with an attempt at discipline.

"Oh yes," said George, as if obliged for the reminder; "I was just going to thank you for that half-crown I borrowed. By the way, I'm a bit short this week; have you got five shillings you could let me have a couple of days? Beastly nuisance being short."

Parrott turned white, and nerved himself to bear the shock.

"What do you mean, Early, by coming here to borrow money from me?" he said.

George put his hand over his mouth and coughed.

"Because I know you're the right sort," he said diplomatically. "I know you've got a heart, and you wouldn't refuse a man who is hard up."

"It'll get round the office," said Parrott, "and I shall have everybody borrowing from me."

"Why should they?" asked George, innocently.

"Of course not," said Parrott, seeing the need for caution. "Well, I'll let you have the money this time, Early. You needn't tell anybody else; because if others started to borrow money from me, I should have to refuse everybody. Do you see?"

"I see," said George.

He pocketed the money and went out, leaving the head clerk in a very disturbed state of mind.

In spite of his impecunious state, George Early did not seek his usual coffee-shop for lunch that day. He passed it by on the other side, and stopped to look at the bill of fare outside a City restaurant. Having examined the menus of other restaurants, he entered one where a man in uniform stood at the door.

Turning into an alcove, George came face to face with Gray, who was preparing to begin on a prime rump-steak. Gray started, and seemed anything but pleased to see George.

"Didn't know you came here," said George—"thought you went to the Plume of Feathers."

"I've given it up," said Gray.

"Best thing," said George. "It isn't nice to be seen going into a public-house, is it?"

Gray nearly choked himself with a piece of steak, and looked at his companion out of the corner of his eye.

"Smell of whisky here," said George, suddenly, eyeing Gray's glass. "They told me you'd signed the pledge."

Gray reddened, and affected not to notice.

"Better not go near the missis," said Early, referring to Miss Fairbrother. "Awful stuff to smell, whisky."

Gray was on the point of retorting, but changed his mind, and said—

"What are you going to have?"

"Nothing, thanks," said George, stiffly. "Don't come any of that with me, please."

"What are you talking about?" said Gray, beginning to bluster.

"All right," said George, darkly; "that'll do. What I know, I know."

"What's the mystery?" asked Gray. "You'd better get it off your chest, if it's anything important."

"It is important," said George, with a frown. "And what I would do is to advise a certain party to be careful. I don't want to do any spying, but duty's duty."

Gray changed colour, and proceeded with his steak; while George buried himself in the columns of the Daily Telegraph, and preserved a countenance of Spartan-like severity.

Having finished his meal, George coolly took out a notebook and proceeded to make a few entries. He could see that Gray was watching him narrowly, and he purposely endeavoured to put more secrecy into the performance.

When it came to settling up, George had some difficulty in finding the cash, although it was only in his right-hand pocket.

"Funny thing," he said; "I had a half-sovereign a little while ago."

The waiter stood by stolidly with the bill on a salver.

"Would you care to take this?" said Gray, meekly, pushing forward a half-sovereign from among his change. "I dare say you'll find it presently."

"Thanks," said George. "I'll settle up with that, and give it to you as we go along. I shall find it," he said in a determined voice.

He didn't find it. But Gray said it didn't matter; he could pay him back any time.

During the afternoon George Early was in excellent spirits, and when he left the office in the evening his usual fare of tea and toast was supplanted by a sumptuous meal at a foreign café, after which he avoided his usual haunts at Walworth, and travelled to the suburban retreat of Clapham. Here he sought out a quiet, respectable square, and stationed himself in the shadow of a doorway, opposite a corner house with railings. He remained patiently for a quarter of an hour, when the door of the corner house opened, and a man that might be easily recognized as Busby came out. Without hesitation Busby walked slowly across the square, turned down one street, up another, and across another, George Early following. Eventually Busby entered the Free Library, stayed a few minutes, came out, and walked off briskly in another direction.

George smiled to himself as he found Busby's destination to be a well-lighted billiard saloon. Having seen him safely inside, he turned away and retraced his steps to the corner house in the square. This time he passed through the front garden, and rang the bell. A diminutive maid answered him, to be superseded by Mrs. Busby.

George Early inquired politely for her husband. He was not in, Mrs. Busby said. George knew that, but didn't say so. He simply said that he was one of Fairbrother's men, who happened to be in the district, looking for a house that was near the Free Library, and he thought his old friend might be able to give him some assistance.

"How funny!" cried Mrs. Busby. "Why, he's only just gone round to the Free Library himself. He spends all his evenings there, he's so fond of books! He will be sorry he missed you!"

"I'm sure he will," said George.

"What a pity you did not come a little earlier!" said Mrs. Busby.

"I would if I'd known."

"You see," said the little woman, "Albert is so studious. He'll sit for hours and hours in the library, reading all sorts of books, and he can tell the most wonderful stories. I don't suppose you'd believe them if you heard."

"I don't suppose I should," said George.

"Nobody does," said Mrs. Busby, with pride. "They hear his stories, and they smile, but they don't know where they came from."

"It's a good job they don't," thought George.

Mrs. Busby gave her visitor elaborate directions for finding the library, and hoped he would come back to supper. George said he would be delighted, if it was only to hear some of her husband's stories.

Halfway across the square he turned round to take another look at the house. "Nice little woman that," he said to himself. "I think I'll go back to supper." He lit a cigarette, and started off to find his old friend Busby.

The cashier was in the midst of a game of billiards and winning easily, consequently he was in high spirits. He welcomed George, and wondered whatever had brought him to that district.

"House-hunting," said George. "I've just been round to the Free Library, looking up particulars."

At the mention of the Free Library, Busby became more serious, and the next shot he made was a bad one.

"You're getting on well," said George, looking at the score.

"So I ought," said Busby; "it isn't often I win. These beggars are too good for me."

"You'll win this time," said George; "that'll be good news for the missis."

Busby lighted his pipe to avoid a reply, and then made another bad shot.

"You've brought me bad luck," he growled, turning to George.

"It isn't that," said George, "you played in the wrong way. I was looking just now at the book on billiards in the Free Library, and——"

"Damn the Free Library," said Busby, savagely, making a miss.

Busby played badly for the rest of the game, and withdrew sulkily into a corner. George sat by his side, and endeavoured to cheer him up.

"What's wrong, old chap?" he asked. "You don't mean to say Mrs. B. will be disappointed because you lost?"

Busby gave him a pitying glance, and uttered these amazing words—

"She won't know anything about it."

George looked at him incredulously. "You don't mean to say you'll tell her you won?"

"Shan't tell her anything," said Busby. "She thinks I'm in the Free Library."

He was rewarded with a severe look from George, who said, in a serious tone—

"It isn't right, old chap; no man ought to deceive his wife. Tell the truth and shame the devil. That's my motto."

"Keep your motto," said Busby, rudely. "I don't want it. I bet you'd do the same if you were married."

"I wouldn't," said George, decidedly. "No, not for—not for £500 I wouldn't."

Busby was just raising a glass to his lips, but his hand began to shake so that he had to put it down. He mopped his brow, pulled out his watch, and thought it was about time he was getting home.

"Let's see, you're going the station way, I suppose?" he said when they got outside.

"I'm going your way," said George. "I'm coming home to supper, old man, to hear some of your stories."

"What?" roared Busby.

"Those you find in the books at the Free Library," said George. "I shall enjoy them, I'll be bound."

"Look here," said Busby, assuming a threatening attitude, "that's enough of it."

"No, it isn't, old chap," said George. "I promised the missis I'd come back with you from the Free Library, so, of course, I must. Besides," he added gravely, "I shall have to tell her you were not there."

Busby laughed hilariously. "You are a funny devil!" he said. "Well, good night."

He turned away, and George followed him closely. They went on in this way for twenty yards, when Busby turned, and said in low, fierce tones.

"You're following me. Now, I give you warning, Early. I've had enough of your nonsense lately. Take my tip and clear off while you're safe. You'll get none of our supper."

George folded his arms, and assumed a theatrical posture.

"Albert Busby," he said firmly, "it can't be done. I don't want your supper. I'm coming with you, Albert Busby, to see that—you—tell—the—truth."

Busby collapsed, and had to support himself against a lamp-post.

"What do you mean?" he asked faintly.

"I know all," said George, in sepulchral tones.

"All? All what?"

"You know what. I'm obeying the will of a dead man. Did you ever hear of Old Joe Fairbrother?"

That was enough for Busby. He turned away his head and gave vent to a groan.

"You don't mean to say he put you on my track?" gasped Busby.

George waved his hand. "The secrets of the dead must be kept," he said. "Ask me no more."

The next hundred yards were traversed in silence. They passed the Free Library just as the doors were closing, and turned off towards the square where stood the corner house with railings. Suddenly Busby stopped in the middle of the pavement and put one hand on the arm of his friend.

"Early," he said, "you're not going to give me away, are you?"

George drew himself up. "The commands of a dead man——" he began.

"Stop that bosh," said Busby, irritably. "I don't want Fanny to know all about this; what are you going to tell her,—that's the question?"

"It isn't," said George; "the question is, what are you going to tell her?"

"She doesn't know all the facts of this business," said Busby, addressing a lamp-post on the other side of the road.

"She soon will," said George.

"She doesn't know it's five hundred," said the unhappy man; "she thinks it's fifty."

"Don't worry," said George; "I'll tell her everything."

"She thinks," he mumbled with a foolish laugh, "that Old Joe left me fifty pounds a year to improve my education, because I'm so studious!"

George laughed now. "I wonder what she'll say," he cried, "when I tell her the truth!"

Busby seized his wrist with dramatic savagery. "She must never know!" he hissed.

"Let go my wrist, you silly fool!" cried George; "you're pinching me. And don't breathe in my ear."

"She must never know," repeated Busby, folding his arms; "it would break up the home, and part us for ever. She couldn't bear to think I'd deceived her, and I dare say she'd waste away and break her heart. I should, too; and you'd be responsible for two deaths. Promise me, Early, that you'll keep your mouth shut, at least for to-night."

George covered his eyes with one hand and endeavoured to brace himself up for the effort.

"I'll try," he said nobly; "but I may break down in the morning; I can't be sure of myself."

"That won't matter," said Busby, "you won't be here then."

"I'm afraid I shall," said George; "you see, I unfortunately came out without any money to take me home, so I shall have to ask you to put me up for the night."

Busby viewed this prospect with cold disapproval, and after some discussion prevailed upon George Early to accept the loan of a half-sovereign to take a cab home. Having arrived at this satisfactory stage they entered the little front gate of the Busby cottage, George having insisted on keeping his appointment at supper.

Two hours later he left, accompanied to the front gate by his friend, whose hand he shook repeatedly, finally waving him farewell across the square.

"What a nice man!" cried Mrs. Busby; "and how fond he is of you, Albert!"

Albert's answer was not distinguishable.