Читать книгу In Queer Street - Fergus Hume - Страница 6

Mr. Spruce found The Home of the Muses less dull than he expected it to be, in spite of its ridiculous name. For six days he amused himself very tolerably in contemplating the novelty of his surroundings, and in getting what amusement he could out of the same. Desiring "something new," after the fashion of the Athenians, he explored Bethnal Green more or less thoroughly, and learned that the seamy side of life here exhibited had attractions for a keen-witted observer, as he truly was. People in the West End were always on the look-out for money with which to indulge their fancies; people in this neighbourhood hunted likewise for the nimble shilling, but used it when obtained to keep a roof over their heads and bread in their mouths. But the excitement of the money-chase was always the same, and Spruce watched the same with great interest. In fact he took part in the hunt for dollars himself, as he also had to live in such comfort as his depleted purse could command.

That Destiny had not dealt lavishly with Spruce was due to his own crooked way of propitiating the whimsical goddess, since he disliked honest toil. On leaving college and entering the great world, he had enjoyed a fair fortune nursed for years by jealous guardians, which ought to have kept him in luxury for the whole of his useless life. But the Nut, thinking he possessed the purse of Fortunatus, dipped into it too freely, and like the earthen pot at once smashed when the brass pots dashed against him. He entered a fast set, fascinating and expensive, whose members gambled heavily, who flirted freely with free-lance ladies and who ran up bills on every occasion. A few years of this life reduced Spruce to living on his wits, and as these were sharp enough, he managed to scramble along somehow and keep his head above water.

But not making money fast enough honestly, he attempted to cheat at cards, and therefore was expelled from his profligate paradise. For this reason he had come to rusticate in Bethnal Green, and intended to return as soon as he could make sure of being tolerated in his former haunts and by his former associates. But as he had committed the one crime which society, however rapid, will never condone, the prospect of his being whitewashed was not very promising. However, the little man knew that money covers a multitude of sins, and would go far to excuse the particular sin of cheating, which had ruined him. He therefore looked here, there and everywhere during his retirement in the hope of making money, so that he could return with full pockets to the West End. But it must be admitted that Bethnal Green was not exactly Tom Tiddler's ground, and little gold and silver did Spruce pick up.

The Nut certainly won a certain amount of money from Madame Alpenny, who was a born gambler, and staked her jewellery when coin was wanting. She was always hard up, as she frankly informed Spruce when she came to know him better, and had long since turned what money she possessed into the costly ornaments she wore. Zara earned enough to keep her mother and herself at the boarding-house, but otherwise spent her earnings on herself, knowing, as she did, that Madame Alpenny would only gamble away what was given her. Therefore the old woman sometimes had to sell a brooch or a bracelet in order to get funds for her gambling. She was clever at cards, but scarcely so clever, and it may be added unscrupulous, as Spruce, so by the end of the week her person was not quite so lavishly decorated with jewellery as it had been when the Nut first set eyes on her. But in spite of her bad luck, the Hungarian lady always behaved amiably towards Spruce, as she took him at his own valuation and believed him to be a rich young man indulging in the fantastic whim of living in Mrs. Tesk's house. It did not take much time for the Nut to see that Madame Alpenny's agreeable demeanour was due to the hope she entertained that he would make love to Zara, and perhaps become her son-in-law. Spruce had about as much idea of courting the dancer as of flying, but he allowed the lady to think that he admired her daughter so that she might continue to gamble. Being quite deceived as to his real status and his real intentions, she did; so Spruce found himself much better off in pocket by the end of the week, and about the time when Owain Hench was expected back.

The little man was waiting for Hench, as he greatly desired to see if any money could be made out of him. People who travelled about the world, as Hench apparently did, often found gold-mines, or knew of some hidden treasure, or had an idea of how to make money in large quantities. Spruce was very vague as to how he could exploit Hench to his own advantage, as he had not seen him for eight years and did not know his possibilities. However, he was assured that while residing under the same roof as Hench he would soon be able to learn if he was worth making a friend of, and so waited anxiously for the young man's return. Meanwhile he gambled with Madame Alpenny; made himself agreeable to the ex-school-mistress, whom he found a frightful bore; and went several times to the Bijou Music-hall to see Mademoiselle Zara dance. To his surprise he found that she was really a very brilliant artist, who was entirely thrown away on a Bethnal Green audience, and asked himself quite seriously if it would not be worth while to marry her and secure for her an engagement at the West End. If she made a success there--as he was sure she would do--then she could support him in luxury and the old woman could be got rid of somehow. Oh, Spruce found many ideas in The Home of the Muses which might result in the gain of money, although he saw plainly that to bring the same to fruition time was necessary. At all events, he was making a living out of Madame Alpenny; foresaw possibilities in Zara's dancing with the chance of profit to himself, and always kept in his scheming little mind that Hench might prove to be a valuable acquaintance. Therefore, the six days prior to the young man's return proved to be amusing and profitable and promising. As Spruce had become an adventurer and a picker-up of unconsidered trifles, after the fashion of Autolycus, he was quite content with the progress he had made so far in his new camping-ground. For that it was, since Spruce had no idea of having a home, and disliked domesticity.

It was on Sunday afternoon that Hench returned. Madame Alpenny was lying down for a rest, as she always did on the seventh day; Zara had slipped out for a walk with Bracken; and Mrs. Tesk was laboriously reading a religious book, which she found extremely dull, but considered the correct thing to peruse on the Sabbath. Spruce being left very much to his own devices, had amused himself by sorting his wardrobe, and towards five o'clock was beginning to find time hang heavy on his hands. With a yawn he descended to the smoking-room to idle away an hour with a cigarette and the Sunday papers. In the bleak little apartment devoted to the goddess Nicotine--a goddess unknown to the Olympians, it may be remarked--he came suddenly upon a tall young man who was puffing his pipe and listlessly staring out of the window. Rather from intuition than from positive knowledge, the Nut guessed that this was the returned wanderer.

"Hullo, Hench, and how are you?" was his greeting, and he advanced with a gracious smile and an outstretched hand.

The young man rose slowly, looking very much astonished, but mechanically accepted the proferred grasp. Apparently he did not recognize that this resplendent being was his old schoolfellow, and hinted as much in a rough and ready fashion. "Who the deuce are you?" he demanded with a puzzled expression.

"Cuthbert Spruce!" replied the Nut, nettled as a vain man would be by the want of recognition.

"Cuthbert Spruce! Well?" Hench still appeared to be ignorant and waited for some light to be cast upon the subject of this hearty greeting.

"Oh, come now, you are an ass, Hench. Don't you remember Winchester, and the day you picked me up when I got lost during the hare and hounds run?"

Hench stared at the pink and white cherubic face and a smile broke over his face, as he shook the little man's hand heartily. "Of course. Little Spruce, isn't it?"

"I have already said as much," retorted the mortified Nut dryly.

"Well, I didn't see much of you at Winchester, you know," confessed the stalwart young man, sitting down for a chat; "you were in a different set, anyhow. And I don't fancy I cared much for your set, such as it was. H'm!" Hench stared hard at the other and pulled hard at his pipe. "Yes. Little Spruce, of course, commonly called The Cherub. And by gad, Spruce, you're a cherub still."

"No one could call you so, Hench," said Spruce affably, sitting down and producing a dainty cigarette-case; "you are more like Hercules, big and stolid and dull and honest."

"What a mixture of depreciation and compliment," said Hench coolly. "Well, I am glad to see you, in spite of your somewhat free speech. After all, one's heart warms to a chap from the old school."

"Rather!" agreed the Nut, whose heart never warmed towards any one or anything. "It's queer meeting you here. Let's have a look at you."

Hench laughed and shifted his position, so that the light from the window fell full upon him. A woman would have thought, as women did think, that he was well worth looking at, since he was tall and stalwart, undeniably handsome and possessed of great strength. With his well-built figure and upright carriage he looked more like a soldier than anything else. His hair, closely cropped, was brown, as were his eyes, and he had a full spade-shaped beard which added to his virile looks. The two men formed a marked contrast, and the small, dainty, over-dressed Nut looked like a doll beside the big, handsome, carelessly attired man. And it was on this attire that Spruce's eyes were fixed, as it hinted at many things. A well-worn blue-serge suit, a woollen shirt and mended brown boots did not suggest money, any more than the presence of Hench in this cheap boarding house intimated a good income. The Nut began to think that his dreams of making use of Hench were purely visionary. There was no wealth to be extracted from such an obvious pauper. Nevertheless, Spruce, who never threw away a chance, behaved very cordially and paid compliments.

"But for that beard you are just the same as you were at Winchester," he remarked. "You were always big and heroic-looking. What are you doing here?"

"Marking time!" said Hench laconically.

"In the hopes of what?"

"Of making my fortune."

"Hum!" Spruce looked dissatisfied, as he did not care about meeting old schoolfellows who required help; "you do look down on your luck."

"Not more than usual. I always make sufficient to keep my head above water by writing articles and stories for cheap newspapers and journals. But that is a poor state of things for a man of twenty-five."

"There isn't much pie-crust about it, I admit, Hench. Why, I thought you were rich. I know at school the fellows always talked about your father being a Duke of sorts constantly on the move."

"My father travelled a great deal on the Continent, certainly, and when I left school I joined him. But he died five or six years ago and left me with very little money. Since then I have been voyaging round the terrestrial globe to find money, and so far have not achieved success. But I say"--Hench broke off to re-fill his pipe--"why make me egotistical? My affairs don't interest you."

"Oh yes, they do," Spruce protested, then baited his hook with a minnow to catch a possible whale. "And if you will allow me to be your banker----"

"No! No! It's awfully good of you. But I have enough for my needs."

"Well, when you haven't, come to me. Old schoolfellows, you know, should help one another at a pinch."

"You're a good chap, Spruce," said the big man, gratefully.

Spruce smiled graciously in response to the compliment, and privately considered that Hench was as trusting as he always had been, taking men at their own valuation, instead of putting a price on them himself. However, he had gained the good-will of the man by his delicate offer--which he by no means intended should be accepted--and therefore hoped, should Hench prove to be worth powder and shot, to benefit by his artful diplomacy. "Oh, that's all right, old fellow," he said airily and blowing rings of smoke; "since we're in the same galley we may as well renew our old friendship."

"Begin a friendship, you mean," said Hench very directly. "We weren't pals at school, so far as I can recollect."

"No! that's true enough. But you picked me up out of that ditch and played the part of a Good Samaritan, so I have reason to be friendly."

"Thanks! I'm with you, Spruce. While we camp here I daresay we'll see a lot of one another, and I shan't forget your kind offer to help. I'm not quick to make friends, you know, as I find most people jolly well look after themselves to the exclusion of every one else."

"I do, myself," said the Nut coolly. "Don't think that I go about playing the part of the Good Samaritan haphazard. But an old schoolfellow, you know----"

"Yes! I understand. There's something in having been at the same desk, isn't there. But I say, Spruce, what are you doing here? Now that I cast my memory back, you were supposed to be very well off."

"Oh, I am still," lied the Nut in a most brazen way; "that is I have enough money on which to live comfortably, although not a millionaire. But the fact is, I have literary ambitions, and wish to write a book. Some fellow said that Bethnal Green had never been written up since the time of the celebrated beggar, so I thought I'd come down and gather material. I spotted Mrs. Tesk's advertisement in the papers and the name of the house attracted me."

Hench laughed. "The Home of the Muses! It's rather a queer title to give a house in this poverty-stricken neighbourhood; but then Mrs. Tesk, bless her, is queer herself. She's a good sort though, all the same. Well, you've come to the right place to get material for a sort of Charles Dickens book. We all live in Queer Street here, Spruce."

"Queer Street, which, like Bohemia, is nowhere and yet is everywhere, Hench."

"You are epigrammatic. That won't do for a book of the Dickens type."

The Nut shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what sort of book I'll write, and that's a fact. In Queer Street, which I take it comprises the whole of Bethnal Green, there are many interesting people, for I have been walking about and have kept my eyes open. But those I find most interesting are under this roof."

"Madame Alpenny?"

"Yes! She's quite a character with her jewellery and her gambling. By the way, you won't find her so decked out Hindoo fashion as hitherto. During the week of my stay here, I have won two bracelets, several rings and a pair of ear-rings."

Hench looked displeased. "You shouldn't encourage her love of gambling," he said strongly. "I'm not a saint, but it doesn't seem right for a well-to-do man such as you are to win Madame Alpenny's jewellery."

"Why not? She has the same chance of winning my money. We play quite fairly, you know, Hench, and one must pass the time somehow. But I quite understand why you don't wish me to loot the lady."

"Oh, do you." Hench grew red and smoothed his beard. "Well?"

"I have listened and looked and questioned and considered while I have been here," explained the Nut coolly, "and by doing so I have found out your romance."

"My romance!"--the big man bit his nether lip and thought that it was like the cheek of this finicky little devil to meddle with what did not in any way concern him--"what the deuce are you talking about?"

"About your romance; about Bracken's romance; and about Mademoiselle Zara, who is the subject of both romances."

"You are talking through your hat, Spruce."

"By no means. I can give you chapter and verse for my surmises. Zara Alpenny is a handsome gipsy, although to my fancy she is a trifle gaunt and fierce, as any one can see. Her mother being poor, intends that her daughter shall be the wife of a wealthy man. You have fallen in love with this divinity of the Bijou Music-hall, and so has that bounder of a violinist. Madame Alpenny, knowing your circumstances, will have nothing to do with either of you as sons-in-law, preferring yours truly."

"You!" Hench sat up and stared indignantly at the smooth speaker. "Now what the dickens do you mean by that rubbish?"

"What I say. You understand King's English, I take it. But you need have no fear so far as I am concerned. Mademoiselle Zara is not my sort, and I have no intention of forwarding Madame Alpenny's matrimonial aims. But you----"

Hench rose, looking considerably irritated. "I wish you would mind your own business," he said sharply. "You have found a mare's nest."

"Oh, well," observed Spruce lazily, "if that is the case I may as well change my mind and become a suitor for Zara's hand."

"You shall do nothing of the sort."

"Why not? You don't love her, if I am to credit your mare's nest parable."

Hench found that the Nut was too sharp for him and sat down with a defeated air. "I admire the girl, rather than love her," he admitted reluctantly. "She's a good sort and would make a good wife--something of a comrade, you know."

"I don't think that fierce-eyed girl would care for a marriage of the comrade sort, Hench. She wants love of the most pronounced and romantic kind, and that kind she is getting from Bracken. He worships her, and will carry off the prize if all you can give is cautious admiration."

"It's none of your business, anyway," fumed the big man.

"No. I admit that! But suppose I make it my business by asking Madame Alpenny for her daughter's hand. She believes me to be rich and----"

"And you are not. Come, be honest."

Spruce saw that he had overshot the mark and retreated dexterously. "I have already been honest, as I told you that I was not a millionaire but only well off. Anyhow, I am a better husband for Zara so far as money is concerned than you or that bounder."

"But hang it, man, you can't love her. You've only known her a week."

"I never said that I did love her, or could possibly come to love her. Still, Zara is handsome and clever, so why shouldn't I make her my comrade-wife, since you suggested the same kind of half-baked alliance with yourself."

"Look here, Spruce," stated the other very seriously, and irritated by the nimble wit of his schoolfellow, "you have proved yourself to be a decent sort by offering to help me. For that offer I thank you, and because of it I am willing that we should be friends. But if you make love to Zara we are sure to quarrel."

"Aren't you rather a dog-in-the-manger, Hench?"

"No. I admire the girl."

"She wants love, which you evidently can't give her," retorted Spruce in an emphatic manner. "Now, if I can love her----"

"You said that she wasn't your sort."

"She isn't. Still, she is handsome, and one might pick up a worse wife."

"But not a worse mother-in-law. So far as I am concerned it doesn't matter, as I have neither kith nor kin to my knowledge, and, moreover, I am a vagabond upon the face of the earth. But with your family connections and position and money, the marriage would not be a success, seeing that it entails your taking Madame Alpenny to the West End. There she would scarcely do you credit."

Spruce rocked with laughter, and wondered what Hench would say if he knew the true position of affairs which had been so carefully withheld from him. "I give in, old fellow," he said, wiping his eyes with a mauve silk handkerchief and wafting a perfume about the room. "I was only codding you. I don't want to marry the girl. But Bracken does."

"And so do I," rejoined Hench tartly.

"H'm! I'm not so sure of that. Yours is a cold-blooded wooing. The girl asks you for the bread of love and you give her the stone of admiration."

"She doesn't ask me for love," said the tall young man with a sigh. "I am not so blind but what I can see that she loves Bracken."

"Then why don't you sheer off?"

"I don't like any man to get the better of me."

"There speaks the buccaneer, the cave-man, the prehistoric grabber. Lord! what a weird state of things, and how simple you are, Hench, to place all your cards on the table. I can teach you a thing or two."

"I am quite sure you can," said Hench dryly, and disliking the wit of this effeminate little creature, which was so extremely keen; "but I go my own way, thank you, and dree my own weird. It is probable that I will ask Madame Alpenny if I can marry Zara, and if Zara is agreeable----"

"Which by your own showing she won't be," put in Spruce parenthetically.

"----I'll marry her. If not, I'll go away and let Bracken make her his wife."

Spruce rose with a yawn. "I fancy Madame Alpenny will have a word or two to say to that, my dear fellow. Why don't you skip now?"

"Because I admire Zara and mean to give her the chance of accepting or rejecting me," said Hench doggedly. "Also, I can't leave London for a few weeks, as I have to interview my father's lawyers."

"What about?"

"I can't tell you. My father left certain papers with his lawyers which were to be given to me when I attained the age of twenty-five. My birthday arrives shortly, and then I'll see what is to be done."

"It sounds like a mystery," yawned Spruce, apparently in a listless manner, but secretly all agog to learn what the lawyers of his friend knew; "Madame Alpenny says you are a mystery."

"Me!" Hench laughed scornfully; "why, there's nothing mysterious about me. As you said just now, I am a simple person who places all his cards on the table."

"Yes"--Spruce nodded--"more fool you. Now, if you will only allow that old woman to think that there really is a mystery connected with you--and there seems to be so far as this legal interview is concerned--she may give you a chance of becoming her daughter's husband."

"Perhaps! But why does she think me a mystery?"

"I can't tell you. She was very vague about the matter. She declares that she has seen you somewhere and that you have a history."

"History be hanged. My father had sufficient money to travel about and put me to school at Winchester. When I left I joined him, and we went through Europe to this place and that until he died and was buried in Paris. What mystery is there about that?"

"None. But your family----?"

"I haven't got any save my father, who is dead. And he told me very little about himself or his belongings. We are a Welsh family, I believe."

"Hench isn't a Welsh name."

"Owain is, anyhow, and the spelling is old Welsh," retorted the other.

"True. We used to rag you about the spelling at school. Well, with such a name as that, you might find out the truth about your family."

"I'm not curious."

"You should be then, as I would be if I were in your shoes. For all you know there may be a title and money waiting for you."

"Oh, rubbish! Well, you can tell Madame Alpenny what I have told you. No. On second thoughts, I'll tell her myself. She and her mystery, indeed!" and with a scornful nod Hench left the bleak smoking-room.

Spruce reflected that Hench was a simpleton to be so frank about his private affairs, and had not changed, so far as trusting people went, since his school-days. "Also there is a mystery," he mused. "I'll search it out."