I
‚ÄúNow this,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe impressively, taking up the last little heap of cards, ‚Äúis what‚Äôs sure to come true.‚Äù
“What was all the rest then?” Inigo asked.
“Look here, Inigo,” cried Susie, “whose fortune is this, mine or yours? You’re not a bit funny. Go on, my dear. Don’t take any notice of him.”
Mrs.¬ÝJoe was examining the cards with sibylline gravity. ‚ÄúI see here great success for you, my dear. Money, admiration, power, everything‚ÅÝ‚Äîa really great success. And it‚Äôll come quite unexpectedly in a Five.‚Äù
“Five what? Can’t you tell?”
“No, it’s just a Five. And it’ll all come through a dark man, a very dark man.”
“Perhaps it’s a nigger,” suggested Jimmy Nunn.
“Oh, shut up, Jimmy!” cried Susie. “You’re old enough to know better. How am I going to meet this man? That’s what I want to know.”
‚ÄúTalking of niggers,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham to nobody in particular, ‚ÄúI was in New Orleans one time and there was an old nigger mammy there who could tell fortunes. She did it with melon seeds. She told me I was going to break my arm within a week. ‚ÄòDon‚Äôt you go to de North or de West, sah,‚Äô she said to me. But I did, though. And just a week after that, in Nashville‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù He paused and looked from one to another of them.
Joe took his pipe out of his mouth. “You broke your arm, like she said,” he prompted.
‚ÄúNo, I didn‚Äôt do just that,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝMitcham solemnly, ‚Äúand I won‚Äôt pretend I did. But just one week after that I was with a fellow‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I‚Äôll tell you who he was; he was old Horace Carson who used to go round with the Woman in a Barrel illusion‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he broke his leg. Queer, wasn‚Äôt it? And another time, out East, there was an old Chink‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, Susie, you can‚Äôt want a better fortune than that, my dear,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúYou‚Äôll have a lot of worries and trouble in a Two, as I said, but after that everything‚Äôs going to be bright for you, and I‚Äôm sure I wish I could say the same for us all.‚Äù
“Don’t you think you could if you tried hard enough?” asked Inigo, looking innocent.
“There he goes again!” cried Susie. “Pretending he thinks it’s all nonsense, and all the time he’s dying to have a good fortune himself and is furious because he can’t have one.”
‚ÄúDon‚Äôt be a scoffer, Mr.¬ÝJollifant,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe earnestly. ‚ÄúI‚Äôve known people to scoff at these things once too often, like that young fellow who came to the Rawston Repertory when we were there. What was his name, Joe?‚Äù she called across to him.
“What was whose name?” asked Joe.
“That young fellow who came to the Rawston and who’d once been in a lawyer’s office or somewhere and didn’t believe in bad luck and good luck and all that.”
“Oh, that chap,” said Joe. “I remember him well. Best solo whist player I ever struck, he was. Knew every card in your hand. I remember him all right.”
“What was his name?” screamed his wife. “Don’t keep telling me you remember him. All I want is his name.”
Joe thought for a moment. “I’ve forgotten his name,” he confessed.
“Just like you, Joe,” and she dismissed him with affectionate scorn. “That’s Joe all over,” she explained to the others at her end of the compartment. “He’d keep on for an hour telling me he remembered him, if I’d let him, and then he doesn’t even remember the man’s name. Well, as I was saying, this young fellow came to the company and told us all there was too much of this superstition on the stage and he didn’t believe in it, and to show us he didn’t believe in it, he went out of his way to do all the things that bring bad luck, and put things in the dressing-room, spoke the tag at rehearsals, and everything. He’d show us it was all rubbish, he said. Well, what came of it?” She asked this in a low thrilling voice and fixed her gaze upon Inigo.
“Well, did anything come of it?” asked Inigo, who felt that he was capable of following this young man’s example himself.
‚ÄúI should think it did,‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe triumphantly. ‚ÄúHe had his notice in less than a month.‚Äù
“Served him right, too,” said Susie very severely. “But how did it happen?”
‚ÄúOh, we all complained to the management about him,‚Äù replied Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúEither he goes or we do, we said, and so he had to go.‚Äù She stared at Inigo, who had suddenly burst out laughing. ‚ÄúFunny to you it may be, Mr.¬ÝJollifant, but it wasn‚Äôt funny to us and it went to our hearts to have to do it but we couldn‚Äôt have him deliberately ruining the luck for everybody. And he brought on his own bad luck, didn‚Äôt he?‚Äù
‚ÄúBut don‚Äôt you see‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Inigo began, but then stopped because it was obvious that she did not see. Moreover, Susie was telling him to be quiet and not to talk about things he did not understand.
‚ÄúAi don‚Äôt believe mech in these things,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝJerry Jerningham announced, fluttering his long eyelashes at the company.
‚ÄúYou don‚Äôt believe in anything,‚Äù said Miss Longstaff, who appeared to have wakened up specially to make this remark. ‚ÄúAll you believe in is yourself and White‚Äôs dancing shoes and that stuff that says handsome men are slightly sunburnt.‚Äù It was clear that Mr.¬ÝJerningham could not be numbered among Elsie‚Äôs gentlemen friends.
‚ÄúDewn‚Äôt you be so personal,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝJerningham, permitting his exquisite features to register indignation. ‚ÄúYou‚Äôre always passing remawks. And Ai know whai. Oh yes, Ai know whai.‚Äù There was‚ÅÝ‚Äîas the ladies told one another afterwards‚ÅÝ‚Äîbouquet written all over him.
Susie began chanting a little composition of her own:
“Pretty Mister Jerningham
Came from Birmingham,
Where he’d been learning ’em,
And some say turning ’em
Up up up.”
“Now then, you girls,” said Jimmy, “leave the boy alone. You’re only jealous. If there’s no more fortune-telling going on at that end, we’ll have the cards back, please. What about another game of solo, Joe?”
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs getting quite warm in here,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝMitcham observed, and began taking off his overcoat.
‚ÄúExit the Silver King,‚Äù murmured Susie. This was the name they had given Mr.¬ÝMitcham‚Äôs overcoat, which was no ordinary garment. It had first made its appearance at Haxby (where Mr.¬ÝMitcham had bought it in a secondhand clothier‚Äôs for twenty-eight shillings), and immediately it had seemed as if another person had joined the party. Mr.¬ÝMitcham was now described as ‚Äútravelling an overcoat,‚Äù just as some players are said to ‚Äútravel‚Äù a mother or other relative. It was a gigantic plaid ulster and its collar was decorated with a few inches of fur from some mysterious and long extinct species. It had the air of having been round the world far more times than Mr.¬ÝMitcham himself, and of having seen places that its owner would never be permitted to see. At any moment (as Inigo had remarked), you felt that this astounding overcoat might begin to supplement Mr.¬ÝMitcham‚Äôs travel reminiscences or set him right in a loud voice. And Jimmy Nunn swore that he had to take out an extra railway ticket for it and that every time it was taken into a third-class carriage its fur stood on end. Such was the Silver King, which Mr.¬ÝMitcham now folded and, after some difficulty, found a place for on the rack.
After Haxby the Good Companions had had several three-night and two-night stands in the same neighbourhood, and it was now the middle of November. This Sunday journey to Middleford was the longest they had undertaken so far, for Middleford, as everybody ought to know, is one of those grim coal-and-iron towns of the Northeast. Miss Trant had taken Mr.¬ÝOakroyd with her in the car, on which he now kept a knowing eye, but all the other eight of them, as we have seen, were travelling in this train and they filled the compartment. They had been there for the last three hours, exchanging stories, playing cards, telling fortunes, eating sandwiches and chocolate, reading, smoking, yawning, dozing, staring out of the windows at the vague grey places that went wobbling past. It was a raw day‚ÅÝ‚Äîand, as usual, seemed all the more raw because it was Sunday‚ÅÝ‚Äîand at first the railway carriage had been miserably cold, but now it was not merely snug but downright stuffy. Jimmy Nunn, Joe, Mitcham, and Jerningham played a few more languid hands of solo whist; Mrs.¬ÝJoe knitted; Elsie closed her eyes again; Susie read a few more pages of The Pianola Mystery; and Inigo wrestled with several large Sunday newspapers.
“Hello!” said Jimmy, wiping the window and peering out. “This looks like Hicklefield. We’re running to time today.”
“Don’t we change here?” said Inigo.
“We do,” Jimmy replied. “And we’ve just twenty minutes. Time to get a drink.”
‚ÄúEverybody changes here,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, putting away her knitting. ‚ÄúI seem to have spent half my life in this station. Every time I‚Äôve ever gone North, they‚Äôve run me into Hicklefield, to change trains.‚Äù
The others agreed that Hicklefield was inevitable, and told one another how often they had met people they knew in the refreshment-room. They were now running slowly into the gloomy cavern of the station itself. Then a curious thing happened. Jimmy Nunn, who had let down the window and was looking out, gave a little cry and then suddenly sat down in his corner.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” he gasped, staring before him. All the colour had drained out of his queer puckered face. He looked ill.
“Jimmy! Jimmy! What’s the matter?” they were all crying.
He was pressing his hand now on his heart. His lips were blue. ‚ÄúAll right. It‚Äôs nothing,‚Äù he groaned. ‚ÄúJust a bit of‚ÅÝ‚Äîof‚ÅÝ‚Äîan attack, that‚Äôs all. Get me‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat bag down‚ÅÝ‚Äîol‚Äô man‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôll find a flask in it. That‚Äôs it. Ah‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat‚Äôs better!‚Äù The colour returned to his face, beginning with his nose, so that for a moment or two he looked as if he had his comic makeup on and there seemed a horrible touch of drollery in his still chattering teeth.
“Jimmy, my dear!” said Susie, her hand on his shoulder. “What’s happened? You did give me a fright. Don’t do it again, will you?”
There was no time for more. The train had stopped now. Inigo and Morton Mitcham said they would see the baggage into the next train, which was already waiting at a neighbouring platform. The others were going off at once to the refreshment-room, but Jimmy, who was still shaky, refused to accompany them, so Susie insisted upon taking him over to the Middleford train. But when Inigo had finished with the baggage, he found Jimmy sitting there alone.
“Where’s Susie?” he asked.
“I packed her off to get a cup o’ tea for herself,” Jimmy replied. “Is Mitcham trying for a quick one?”
“He is,” said Inigo, helping the porter with the smaller things, which they were spreading on the seats. “There’s still ten minutes, but I’m not going to bother. I don’t like these lightning drinks.”
After a few minutes, Joe and his wife came along, announcing they had seen and spoken with Tommy Verney and Mabel Ross, late of the Merry Mascots. ‚ÄúThey‚Äôre resting now,‚Äù panted Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúthen opening at Warrington in Cinderella‚ÅÝ‚ÄîBaron Hardup and Dandini.‚Äù Then Elsie and Jerry Jerningham disengaged themselves from a group of people (the Money for Dust! Company on the Broadhead Tour) at the end of the platform, and came hurrying along, chanting the names of all the acquaintances they had seen. Then Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham, magnificent in the Silver King, stalked up, to point out that he had had two while some fellows, there before he was, had not been able to secure a single drink. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs an art as much as anything else,‚Äù he concluded triumphantly, and Jimmy and Joe acknowledged that he was undoubtedly a fast worker.
“Where’s Susie?” asked Inigo.
Mr.¬ÝMitcham thought he had seen her in the refreshment-room, talking to some people. ‚ÄúThere‚Äôs three minutes yet,‚Äù he added. ‚ÄúShe can make it‚ÅÝ‚Äîeasy. Did I ever tell you how I once caught the Twentieth-Century Limited?‚Äù
At this moment, however, a porter slammed the door. Jimmy and Mrs.¬ÝJoe both tried to look out of the window at the same time. ‚ÄúBy jingo!‚Äù cried Jimmy anxiously, ‚Äúbut she‚Äôll have to hurry up. I can‚Äôt see her, and they‚Äôre getting their flags and whistles ready.‚Äù
“Just a minute!” said Inigo. “Do let me have a look.”
“Can’t see her anywhere,” said Jimmy.
A whistle sounded.
‚ÄúThere she is!‚Äù cried Jimmy. ‚ÄúEh, what‚Äôs your name, guard?‚ÅÝ‚Äîhalf a minute! Oh, the silly devils! Gosh, we‚Äôre off! She‚Äôs missed it!‚Äù
“Then so have I,” roared Inigo. “Get back, Jimmy. I’m getting out.” The train was actually moving now, though very slowly. He opened the door, dropped out, and fell flat on his back on the platform.
Jimmy fumbled desperately in his pocket while the others were shouting. “Here!” he cried. “Tickets!” He threw out two tickets which fell on the platform and were picked up by a porter, whose attention was then directed to Inigo by the frantic gesticulations of Jimmy. The next moment they were out of the station.
‚ÄúWell I‚Äôll be‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Joe did not say what he would be, but simply blew out his breath. The others, however, appeared to agree with him. ‚ÄúFor the minute,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚ÄúI didn‚Äôt know I‚Äôd a heart in my body.‚Äù
“Well, I’ve thought for some time he was sweet on Susie,” said Elsie, “but I didn’t know it was as bad as that.”
‚ÄúI‚Äôve seen it all along,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, with a huge sentimental sigh. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs what I call love, that is.‚Äù
“Oh, he’s gone on her, is he?” said Joe, staring innocently at his wife. “Is that why he went and jumped out?”
“Of course it is, Joe. Don’t be silly,” said his wife sharply. “And you needn’t look so surprised about it. He hasn’t gone wrong in his head. If I was stranded like that, you’d jump out of a train, wouldn’t you?”
Joe rubbed his chin and looked bewildered. “I suppose so,” he said finally.
“You don’t seem very sure about it.”
“All right then, I would,” said Joe. “You try me and see.”
“And then go and break your neck, I suppose,” said his wife, still sharply. “And then we’d be in a fine mess, wouldn’t we? I’ve never heard a man talk in such a silly way as you do sometimes, Joe,” she concluded severely.
Joe looked at her in despair. Then he looked at Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham, who in his turn was looking at Jimmy. All three gentlemen exchanged glances, and they were glances of a deep philosophical significance, such as may be exchanged among members of a sex not entirely devoid of reason, not wholly given over to whims and fancies and irrational outbursts.