Читать книгу Anybody's Pearls - Footner Hulbert - Страница 3

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Sitting in the lounge of the Chester, the most expensive hotel in London, Dick Shemwell looked as if he belonged, but he had not a cent in his pockets, and not a soul in the world to back him up. Fortune had not smiled on Dick lately; in the middle of his senior year, his benefactor and guardian had died without having made a will in his favour; and almost overnight Dick had dropped from the position of a leader in the most expensive set at Haleton to that of a broker’s messenger.

His present position was due to a crack-brained impulse that he had yielded to. A week before he had been drawn by a sort of sickness of the heart to the Brevard Line pier in New York to see the Baratoria depart for Europe with those luckier young fellows who had fathers with well-filled pockets. On the pier he had fallen in with four former class-mates who were about to sail, and Nutty Filbert had hilariously suggested that they smuggle Dick across.

They had actually got away with it. Dick had been passed along from cabin to cabin, and the others had simulated sea-sickness by turns, so that they might order meals served in their cabins. The officers of the Baratoria never suspected that they were carrying one in the first-class, who was not down on the passenger list. The voyage had been one long joke.

But as they approached Southampton, a more serious difficulty confronted them; how to get Dick ashore without a passport? It was then that Nutty Filbert et al proved themselves to be lads of more spirit than staying power. They were scared off by the English officials. In short, the four sickened of their joke, and Dick was left to get himself ashore as best he could.

This he had accomplished without much difficulty, by bribing a steward to lend him a uniform. With the aid of the uniform he had escaped down the service gangway, unmolested. But the bribe, together with his fare to London, and dinner the night before, had taken every cent he possessed. He had spent the night on the Embankment, and here he was in the Chester seeking to panhandle a breakfast.

The worst of it was, that Filbert et al, conscious of not having treated Dick squarely, were now trying to keep out of his way. A few minutes before Dick had seen one of them get out of an elevator, and seeing him, Dick, dart back again. Ah! the quitters! thought Dick sorely. He was sore and anxious too. If the American lads failed him, what would he do? He had blithely set out from New York with the intention of living by his wits thereafter. Only broken-spirited nags submitted to the harness, he told himself. But in a foreign town where one didn’t know the ropes, where was one to begin?

He anxiously felt of his chin. Not much there yet, because he had shaved with Nutty’s razor the day before. But if another day passed without his getting a shave, he would have to resign all claim to be considered one of the upper classes. He couldn’t sit in the Chester all the time, and they said it rained in England nearly every day. One good shower would ruin him!

While Dick was sitting there a prey to these gloomy thoughts, a handsome young Englishman came into the hotel, followed by a boy carrying his kit bag and great coat. A tall, slender fellow in his early thirties, most beautifully turned out from monocle to white spats. He looked around him with a lordly assurance that made Dick secretly envious. This was the type upon which Dick and his friends at Haleton had modelled themselves. Dick stored away details for future use; the small Fedora hat with just the right amount of curl to the brim; the well-cut blue suit—but not too well-cut; the plain stick of some rare tropical wood; the homely well-made shoes. But what Dick most admired was that cool, disdainful manner; Dick thought he must be the eldest son of an earl at least.

Dick was sitting immediately in front of the hotel desk, and he heard the young man ask for a room and “bahth.” Strangely enough, the clerk did not seem to be in the least impressed by his aristocratic hauteur. With a hard look he gave the young man to understand that the house was full.

“Full!” echoed the young man, running up his eyebrows. “I am Lord Greatorex!”

I thought so! Dick said to himself, and looked to see the clerk collapse. But that composed man only smiled in a disagreeable fashion, and said, without raising his voice:

“I know who you are. You’d better go quietly, or I’ll send for the police.”

Drawing himself up, the young man gave the hotel employee a terrible look; but the clerk coolly faced him out. Whereupon the young man turned on his heel, and with a haughty nod to the boy to fetch his things, strode out of the hotel again. The boy followed, grinning. The several clerks behind the desk laughed amongst themselves.

Dick was so much excited by this incident that he forgot his own anomalous position in the place. Stepping to the desk, he asked:

“Who was that?”

The clerk turned, smiling still. “Oh, he has many names,” he said. “He’s known to the police as George Allington. One of the smoothest swindlers in London.”

Dick did some quick thinking. He had been enormously impressed by the style and the assurance of this man. When he was caught out, they had got no change out of him. He had marched out as haughty as ever. He must have an iron nerve! You can expect nothing from the American crowd, Dick told himself; here’s a man who lives by his wits in London; why not make up to him?

Acting on the impulse, he walked out of the Chester. Allington, or whatever his name might be, was standing in the entrance court giving instructions to a taxi-driver. His things were put in the cab.

“Take them to 107, Artillery Mansions,” he said, tossing the man a silver piece.

The cab drove away, and Allington walked nonchalantly out into the crowded Strand, swinging his stick. Dick followed discreetly.