Читать книгу Old Pybus - Warwick Deeping - Страница 22

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John Pybus had gone to the bank.

At half-past eleven every Saturday morning he would appear at the doorway of the Saracen’s Head, wearing a hard felt hat and a black coat, for this was both an official and a personal occasion. He would cross the cobbles of the market square and, passing between two of the pollarded lime trees, enter the Castle Craven Branch of Barclay’s Bank. John Pybus had a banking account. He received a pound a week, his cottage, and his food; and his tips amounted to quite a comfortable little sum. His needs were few; tobacco and his books his only luxuries, though to John Pybus they were necessities.

The sallow young cashier treated him with respect.

“Good morning, Mr. Pybus.”

“Good morning to you.”

John Pybus would bring out of his pocket a canvas bag, which, when emptied upon the counter, would produce a pound note or two, some silver, and a few coppers. He carried the paying-in-slip separately, all the details neatly filled in, and the cashier knew that there was no need to check Mr. Pybus’s figures. The old man had a cheque-book, and it is possible that he wrote three cheques a year. He had never been known to draw a cheque to self. The money remained on the right side of the counter.

“Very muggy to-day, Mr. Pybus.”

Mr. Pybus would reply with a “Very” or an “I agree with you,” and after giving the cashier a nod and a glance from his blue eyes, would walk out of the bank and back to the inn, and hang up his felt hat, and change from the cloth coat to the alpaca. He would be away for ten minutes, never more. He was not interfered with. Mr. Pounds, the manager, had realised that interference was neither necessary nor advisable.

John Pybus was hanging up his felt hat when Miss Vallence hailed him from the office.

“John——”

“Yes, miss.”

“A gentleman’s called to see you. He’s in the lounge.”

Mr. Pybus gave her a stare.

“What name?”

“He didn’t give any name. He said you’d know him.”

That she was curious about his visitor John Pybus was well aware, for Miss Vallence was curious about everybody. It was part of her business to be curious about people, especially when you never knew whether a lady and gentleman were man and wife. “It’s always the man that looks sheepish. The women are as bold as brass. Besides—a case is such a noosance. It isn’t nice.” Miss Vallence made John Pybus think of a very yellow canary shut up in a cage, every ready to pipe “Sweet-sweet,” but keeping a black eye brightly upon the realities.

John Pybus changed into his alpaca coat and walked towards the lounge. He had his suspicions. A gentleman who gave no name when enquiring for the hotel “boots” would probably be a Pybus. And after all—a name was superfluous, but when John Pybus saw Probyn sitting alone in the lounge, with that swivel eye of his pointed like a gun over the top of the daily paper, John Pybus was not surprised.

He said, “Good morning, sir. Anything I can do for you?”

Probyn rose rather hurriedly, leaving the paper on the round table. It is probable that he saw his opportunity in the emptiness of the lounge. He held out a hand.

“After all these years—surely? I heard from Conrad. I was—distressed.”

John Pybus made no attempt to take his son’s hand, and Probyn, with an expostulating and embarrassed smile, withdrew it.

“Well, as you please. I wished to make the first move. Are we unreconcilable? It seems a pity.”

Old Pybus watched his son’s face.

“Lunching here?”

“No, at the White Hart. I left my car there.”

“You’d get a better lunch here.”

“You think so?”

“But you wouldn’t enjoy it. Conrad didn’t. I’m just going to have my dinner.”

Probyn had the air of a man being heckled at a political meeting. He continued to smile; he looked hot; he stood, bending slightly, with his hands on his hips.

“Do you know how many years——?”

“About ten,” said old Pybus promptly; “my memory and my digestion are as good as ever. As I was saying—I was just going to have my dinner.”

Probyn made some sort of polite noise.

“Usually—I have it with the rest of the staff, but if you have anything to say——”

“Believe me—I have.”

“Very well. I’ll take my dinner to the cottage. You can come and see me eat it.”