I
A Wind in the Triangle
I
The March wind went shrieking over the Midland Plain. Under a sky as rapid, ragged, and tumultuous as a revolution, all the standing water, the gathered thaws and rains of February, filling the dykes and spreading over innumerable fields, was ruffled and whitened, so that the day glittered coldly. There was ice even yet in this wind, but already there were other things too, shreds and tatters of sunlight, sudden spicy gusts, distant trumpetings of green armies on the march. Unless you were one of the patient men of the fields, following the great shining flanks of your horses across the ten-acre and already hearing the sap stirring, you did not know what to do in the face of such a wind. It was up to all manner of tricks. “Grrrr! Get indoors and stay there!” it would go screaming. “Poke the fire! Whe‑ew!” And it might send a lash of hail after you. But then not quarter of an hour later, it might be crying “Come out, come out! The year’s begun,” promising primroses, and spilling a little pale sunlight down the road. The moment you did go out, however, it would give a sharp twitch, darkening the sky again, and with a long Whe‑ew Grrrr! would sting your cheeks and set your eyes watering. A most mischievous wind.
Away it went, across the central plain of England, until at last it pounced upon those three little industrial towns, Gatford, Mundley, and Stort, that are known as the Triangle, and more recently, since the towns gave themselves up to the mass production of cheap cars, the Tin Triangle. There are very few towns in this island so close together as Gatford, Mundley, and Stort, and a stranger might easily imagine they were all one town. On the other hand, there are hardly any other towns that seem farther away from anywhere else: Gatford jostles Mundley and Stort, and Mundley and Stort creep closer to one another; but the three of them appear to be almost as remote as a constellation from any other place of importance. Those short nonstop runs on the railway from Gatford to either Manchester or Birmingham always seem miraculous; and when that daily procession of brand-new cars, shiny saloons or chassis with drivers perched on boxes, slides away down the London Road, it strikes the visitor as a most hazardous enterprise, an adventure. The Trianglers themselves, too, regard this daily departure of new Imperial Sixes and Lumbdens and Baby Sceptres as part of a great adventure. Nowadays cars pour out and money pours into the Triangle. It is said that J. J. Lumbden, the son of old Lumbden who kept the bicycle shop in Cobden Street, Gatford, is worth nearly half a million and steadfastly refuses the most gigantic offers from America. The Sceptre people are building yet another factory between Mundley and Stort. And nobody can say there is anything tinny about the Imperial Six, the pride of North Gatford and Stort, where every other man is a mechanic. There is hardly a schoolboy in the Triangle, even in South Gatford, where there are detached villas and tennis clubs and boulevards, who does not groan with impatience, to think he is wasting his time with stuff about Magna Carta and Rivers of South America and Adverbs when he might be working in one of the car factories, swaggering out at half past five, very black and knowing. Useless to talk to the Triangle about bad trade and what might be done with the unemployed; it never knew such days before; Gatford is nearly twice the size it was twenty years ago, and Mundley and Stort, invaded by mechanics from every part of the Midlands, are growing visibly, at the rate of so many new little red bricks per fine working day. These are adventurous times for the three towns. The March wind, itself supremely adventurous, pounced upon them with glee. Here, it seemed to shout, was something better to play with than naked fields and branches and thin tremulous sheets of water.
It swooped down and charged the steady swarm of cars, the trams that lumber from Gatford to Mundley, Stort to Mundley, Gatford to Stort, the buses that dodge and hoot at and overtake these trams. It whipped off a loose tile and even a chimney-pot here and there. After seeking out any tattered posters on the hoardings and turning them into drums, it rounded up all the odd pieces of paper in the streets and compelled them to join in a witches‚Äô Sabbath. This most mischievous wind then found an open window on the second floor of a building in Victoria Street, Gatford, sent some papers skimming from the table to the floor, and compelled a certain gentleman, who had been staring at some figures and now found himself shivering, to look up and speak crossly to his companion and employee. This is Mr.¬ÝRidvers, but when he is in this tiny office he calls himself the Triangle New Era Cinema Co., and it is from here he controls the destinies of The Tivoli Picture Palace, Gatford, The Coliseum Picture House, Mundley, and The Royal Cinema, Stort, the only three cinemas of any importance in the district.
‚ÄúFor God‚Äôs sake, Ethel,‚Äù he said, ‚Äúshut that window. Look at those letters‚ÅÝ‚Äîall over the damn floor. Besides, it‚Äôs cold.‚Äù
From behind her typewriter, Ethel gave him a curious sideways look. She was a girl in her twenties, with a rather flat Mongolian face, hard staring eyes, and a thick daubed mouth. “It was you who wanted it open,” she remarked. “Told you it was cold.”
“Well, I want it shut now,” he grunted, without looking up again from the papers in his hand.
“All right, all right,” and she closed the window. There was nothing respectful in her tones, and there was something downright disrespectful in the way she moved. The exaggerated thrust and lift of her shoulders gave the impression that her body was making really impudent remarks about her employer. There was a suggestion that it had the right to make such remarks and that he knew very well it had.
Mr.¬ÝRidvers examined the figures before him a minute or two longer, then stood up and threw the papers on the table. He found a half-smoked cigar in the ashtray, relit it, and pulled furiously at it, frowning all the time. Ethel watched him out of the corner of her eye with amusement. He had been in a bad mood all morning and now he was obviously very angry indeed. As a matter of fact, he was a middle-aged man who ate too much, drank far too much whisky, took too little exercise, and was plagued by an outraged liver. He had his grievances, but it was really the sudden cold lash of the wind that had now put a sharp edge on his temper.
“Well?” And there was a certain malice in Ethel’s query.
“Well nothing!” he exploded. “These returns are worse than I thought. It was Stort last week. I suppose it’ll be Mundley this week. I’d never have believed it. These flaming little pierrots are knocking hell out of the returns.”
“I told you what it would be.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t start that! Never knew a woman yet who didn’t think she’d gone and told me everything. People here must have gone balmy. Pierrots!”
“They’re crowded out every night,” said Ethel.
“Yes, I know they are. I’m not silly. Even so, they oughtn’t to have knocked us like this. Damn it all, there ought to be enough money in these three towns to keep us going as usual even if they are crowded out. I’ve given ’em good programmes.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ethel replied coolly. “You know very well you cut it a bit on the renting.”
“What if I did? Matter of fact I had to cut it to show Farrow and his Syndicate a good margin. And what diff’rence does it make, what I paid for the renting. They’ve never seen the bloody pictures before, have they? Well then! No, it’s this pierrot show that’s done it. Who ever would have thought it! Talk about luck!”
“I hear they’re putting the prices up too,” said Ethel, who seemed to delight in flicking him on the raw.
‚ÄúThey would!‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝRidvers bitterly. ‚ÄúThat means all the less money for us. Seems to me if these people spend two and four they‚Äôve finished for the week. Luck! They won‚Äôt even let me smell it.‚Äù And Mr.¬ÝRidvers made a number of sounds to express his disgust and then savagely jammed his cigar against the ashtray.
“I don’t know what you’re going on like this for,” said Ethel, who probably knew very well. “A few bad weeks won’t kill you.”
Mr.¬ÝRidvers made a large gesture of despair. ‚ÄúOh, have a bit of sense, Ethel. Won‚Äôt kill me! I don‚Äôt know what you sit there for, I honestly don‚Äôt.‚Äù
“Oh, don’t you?” cried Ethel, staring at him hard. “Well, I’m not always sitting here, am I, Mister Ridvers? Trying to turn me into a dummy or what?”
‚ÄúAll right, Ethel, easy, easy,‚Äù he replied, giving her shoulder a perfunctory pat, under which it squirmed. ‚ÄúBut I‚Äôve told you before. Farrow and his P.P.H. Syndicate,‚Äù he went on, with ferocious deliberation, ‚Äúare making me an offer for my three halls. You know that? All right then. That-offer-is-to-be-based-on-two-months‚Äô-returns-of-these-three-halls. The price is according. Or, if they don‚Äôt like the look of them, they won‚Äôt deal. They‚Äôll buy elsewhere. Or‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhat‚Äôs a damn sight worse‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey‚Äôll come here and build their own. And you know as well as I do what‚Äôs happened to our returns. And I ask you, who‚Äôd have thought a piebald, blink-eyed, bread-and-dripping little pierrot show, filling in time till it can get a pitch on the sands again, would have knocked ‚Äôem all silly here like that!‚Äù
‚ÄúI went out to Mundley last night to see them,‚Äù said Ethel. ‚ÄúFellow took me. Packed out they were too. It‚Äôs a clever show‚ÅÝ‚Äîbit slow in parts, ‚Äôspecially the women, but it‚Äôs clever. They‚Äôve a boy there who dances‚ÅÝ‚Äîname‚Äôs Jerningham‚ÅÝ‚Äîwho got me all right. Talk about dancing! And looks! He‚Äôs got the film fellows well beaten, that boy has. Tricky songs too.‚Äù
‚ÄúYou‚Äôre sillier than I thought you were,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝRidvers growled. ‚ÄúWith your dancing boys! They‚Äôve another week at Mundley Rink, haven‚Äôt they, after this? And then back to Gatford here again. I see they‚Äôve got the Hippodrome plastered with bills already. And I went to Billy Roberts and told him I didn‚Äôt want ‚Äôem back if possible and he owed me a good turn or two and he said he‚Äôd stiffen the terms‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey hadn‚Äôt taken it again then, you see‚ÅÝ‚Äîand make this woman who‚Äôs running the show rent it and shove all sorts of responsibility on to her. But that‚Äôs not frightened her, seemingly.‚Äù
‚ÄúWhy should it?‚Äù said Ethel. ‚ÄúI know it wouldn‚Äôt frighten me. She‚Äôs safe as houses here now‚ÅÝ‚Äîcan‚Äôt lose.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝRidvers thought for a few moments. ‚ÄúHere,‚Äù he cried finally, ‚Äúwhere is this woman or whoever it is that‚Äôs running these ‚ÄòCompanions‚Äô or whatever they call themselves? Over at Mundley, I suppose?‚Äù
“No, she’s not. They’re all here, in Gatford, been staying here all the time and just running out to Stort and Mundley at night for the show. Her name’s Trant, and she’s staying at The Crown.”
‚ÄúYou seem to know a devil of a lot about them,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers, facing her across the table. ‚ÄúQuite one of the pierrot fanciers, aren‚Äôt you! Must be the dancing boy. Well, don‚Äôt start any tricks, that‚Äôs all.‚Äù
‚ÄúI don‚Äôt start tricks,‚Äù she replied shrilly. ‚ÄúAnd if I did, I wouldn‚Äôt ask your permission, Mr.¬ÝCharlie Ridvers. You get your money‚Äôs worth out of me, don‚Äôt you? Start tricks! You‚Äôre a nice one to talk.‚Äù
‚ÄúOh, dry up,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers. ‚ÄúCan‚Äôt you see I‚Äôve enough damn bother on my hands without you making trouble? I‚Äôm worried, that‚Äôs what I am, and I don‚Äôt mind admitting it.‚Äù He took down his hat and overcoat. ‚ÄúI‚Äôm going across to The Crown to have a little bit of a talk to this pierrot woman‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhat‚Äôs her name?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîTrant. That‚Äôs what I‚Äôm going to do.‚Äù
“And a fat lot of good it’ll do you,” cried Ethel. “What can you say to her? Silly, I call it.”
“Never mind what you call it. And never mind what I can say to her,” he replied, with an air of a man who had produced a crushing retort. He had no idea himself what he could say to this Miss Trant that would be of the slightest use, but he looked both knowing and truculent. “What’s it now? Half past two? Back just after three, I dare say.” With his hand on the knob, he stopped, turned round and looked darkly at Ethel. “She’s going to hear something from me, good or no good.”
“Go on then, get it off your chest,” she replied. “Perhaps you’ll feel better after that.” She gave the typewriter carriage a push so that it shot across and rang its little bell, a contemptuous, dismissing little bell.
All the way down the stairs, Mr.¬ÝRidvers told himself that Ethel was getting altogether too uppish and was not much use in the office any longer and not very much use anywhere else the way she was these days, and that it was always the same if you allowed yourself to have a bit of fun with them because the little bitches took advantage in a minute and it was time he stopped having these little games. The wind was very lively as he walked up Victoria Street, and he damned it heartily. It whistled round his legs, tried to snatch his hat, flung scraps of waste paper at him, and made him feel liverish again. At The Crown he found he had to stop at the bar and add two more whiskies, very quick ones, to the supply he had taken in during his early lunch; but they did not make his grievances seem any less or restore his lost temper.
II
The Crown is the oldest and most comfortable hotel in The Triangle, and Miss Trant had stayed on there because she liked the place and had been able to claim the small sitting-room upstairs for her own use. She was in there now, talking to Inigo Jollifant, who had just had lunch with her. These two were now very good friends indeed, and Inigo had been giving her all the news of the troupe, for she had only just returned from a visit‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe first since autumn‚ÅÝ‚Äîto Hitherton. On the little table were a number of papers, rough accounts, and letters, that she had been looking over during the morning.
‚ÄúI don‚Äôt know what to do,‚Äù she was saying, raising her voice as the wind rattled the old window-frames. ‚ÄúTo tell you the truth, I haven‚Äôt been able to think properly since I came back. I feel‚ÅÝ‚Äîdo you know?‚ÅÝ‚Äîrestless.‚Äù
‚ÄúMy own feelings, absolutely,‚Äù said Inigo. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs the wind, I think‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe wind on the heath, brother. Spring‚Äôs on the way, that must be it.‚Äù
“On the way!” she cried. “It’s here.”
“Not here,” he corrected her gravely. “Not in Gatford. There may be a spot of it somewhere on the edge of Mundley or Stort. But tell it not in Gatford.”
‚ÄúWell, it may not be here, but it‚Äôs everywhere else. You should see the flowers at Hitherton‚ÅÝ‚Äîalready.‚Äù
Inigo looked at her curiously. ‚ÄúShall I tell you what I think? I think you‚Äôre tired of it‚ÅÝ‚Äînot of us‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Certainly not of you,” she interrupted. “None of you.”
“No, not of us, as people, but of the business itself. I suspect you’ve had enough now.”
Miss Trant laughed, quickly, nervously. ‚ÄúAnd I was thinking just the same about you all through lunch‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe very same thing‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat you were tired of it but would not admit it.‚Äù
“The two ama-chewers, eh! Had enough!” He thought for a moment. “No, I can’t say I’ve definitely felt that, not quite that.” He hesitated.
‚ÄúSuppose‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîand she held him with a level glance‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúSusie left us?‚Äù The instant look of horror on his expressive face brought a smile to her own. ‚ÄúThere you are, you see,‚Äù she cried in friendly triumph.
‚ÄúAs a matter of fact,‚Äù he remarked, serious now, ‚ÄúSusie herself is rather restless. And she doesn‚Äôt seem to be particularly keen on this Bournemouth offer. None of the younger ones are, you know. Jerningham seems uneasy about it, and Elsie‚ÅÝ‚Äîwho you would think would jump at it‚ÅÝ‚Äîdoesn‚Äôt seem very interested. As I told you, it‚Äôs the old hands, Jimmy and the Joes and Mitcham, who are all for it and so worried because you won‚Äôt decide at once. They think it‚Äôs a marvellous offer, absolutely, and so it is from their point of view‚ÅÝ‚Äîresident season, guaranteed and all the rest of it. All their dreams come true.‚Äù
“I know, poor dears. It’s just what they’ve been wanting. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t accept it. After all, I needn’t be there, not all the time, need I?”
“Not at all. You can take the whole summer off, if you like.”
“But really I don’t like. That’s the trouble. Please don’t tell the others this, will you? But somehow the idea of going there, just settling down in Bournemouth for nearly six months doesn’t appeal to me, and on the other hand, I don’t just want to march off, though of course if they thought they could get on without me, I could leave altogether.”
‚ÄúOh, don‚Äôt do that,‚Äù cried Inigo, alarmed. ‚ÄúBesides, although we must be making money now‚ÅÝ‚Äîquite a lot, I imagine‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou can‚Äôt have got back all you‚Äôve spent yet.‚Äù
‚ÄúNo, I haven‚Äôt,‚Äù she admitted, with an involuntary glance at the papers on the table. ‚ÄúWe‚Äôre doing so wonderfully well here that there really is good profit, so good that I feel like a bloated profiteer and capitalist, but actually I‚Äôm still about two hundred pounds to the bad. And the people who have taken my house at Hitherton now say that all kinds of things must be done to it‚ÅÝ‚Äîit‚Äôs very old, you know, and has been rather neglected, and apparently I must do them and I shudder to think what it will cost.‚Äù
“Well, there you are then. You must carry on and rake in the dibs, shekels, or boodle. We can’t allow you to retire still losing on the show.”
‚ÄúI don‚Äôt want to retire,‚Äù she told him emphatically. ‚ÄúI should hate to. It‚Äôs just that‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, like you‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI feel restless and don‚Äôt know what to do.‚Äù
“I rather think that Jimmy and Mitcham and possibly Joe, the anxious lads, are downstairs in the bar, in the hope of getting the latest bulletin or ultimatum. I rather think so.” Inigo concluded lightly.
“Oh dear!” Miss Trant stared at him. “I know they’re dreadfully anxious about the Bournemouth business. Inigo, will you please slip down and tell them to wait a little longer because I may want to see them? I can’t see them this minute though because I must make up my mind first. I hope waiting down there doesn’t mean having a lot of drinks.”
“It does,” replied Inigo gravely. “Always. And more especially at a crisis, when the beverages come to hand almost mechanically. However, I’ll slip down and tell them.” He went out but almost immediately afterwards popped his head in the door. “A gent to see you,” he announced. “Name of Ridvers and smell of whisky. Will you have a look at him?”
Miss Trant, surprised, said she would, and the next moment Inigo had gone and a heavy man, of a somewhat swollen and purplish cast of countenance, was standing in the doorway. His bowler hat was tilted towards the back of his head and he had a cigar in his mouth. He came in without removing either hat or cigar.
“I am Miss Trant,” rising and regarding him with no great favour. “Do you want to see me?”
“That’s it. My name’s Ridvers, and I don’t mind telling you I’m the Triangle New Era Cinema Company, Unlimited. Well known here, very well known, not a stranger to the district.” He paused, looked at her, then took out a cigar and looked at that, shooting a little cloud of smoke at his companion.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Miss Trant, stepping back from the smoke.
‚ÄúYou‚Äôre Miss Trant who‚Äôs running these what‚Äôs it Companions pierrot show, aren‚Äôt you?‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers heavily.
“Yes. What do you want?” And she looked pointedly first at the hat, then at the cigar, then at the whole man.
But Mr.¬ÝRidvers was not to be hurried. His manner said very plainly that he had his own methods of approach to a topic. He pursed up his thick lips, stuck the cigar between them again, half-closed his eyes and wagged his head, and then growled through the cigar: ‚ÄúDoing damn well here, aren‚Äôt you?‚Äù
“I beg your pardon?” Miss Trant looked at him in amazement.
“Not-at-all, not-at-all.” He rested himself against the back of a high chair, took out his cigar, stared at her, and said again: “Doing damn well here, aren’t you?”
Miss Trant still stared.
‚ÄúAnd do you know‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîand here Mr.¬ÝRidvers used his cigar as a pointer and contrived to spill some ash over the chair‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúat whose expense you‚Äôre doing so damn well? At mine. And I‚Äôm here to have a little talk about it.‚Äù
“I don’t want to have a talk about it,” she cried.
“P’raps not. But I do.” He made movements that suggested he was about to sit down.
This was too much for Miss Trant. ‚ÄúWill you please go away at once?‚Äù she suddenly blazed at him, much to his astonishment. ‚ÄúHow dare you come in here behaving like this! I don‚Äôt want to talk to you about anything.‚Äù She turned her back on him and opened the window, instantly admitting a cold and disturbing rush of our old acquaintance, the March wind, which at once determined to try and choke Mr.¬ÝRidvers, with his own cigar smoke.
He coughed, spluttered, and cursed. But he was really shocked, for he had his own code of manners and now they had been outraged.
“I hope you don’t call yourself a lady,” he exclaimed, in genuine indignation. “What’s the idea? Going on like that!”
Miss Trant swept round, marched past him to the door and threw it open. “Now will you please go?” she said, white with annoyance. “If you don’t go, I will, and I shall ask the proprietor to turn you out of my room.”
Mr.¬ÝRidvers advanced and looked closely at her for a moment. Then he gave his hat a tap to bring it forward, made a clicking noise, exclaimed ‚ÄúWell, my God!‚Äù and went click-clicking down the corridor. When he reached the bar again, he was in a very bad temper. Tom Ellis himself, the landlord, was there, talking to two strangers, a long thin oldish fellow in a ridiculous overcoat and a short man with a peering monkey face.
‚ÄúLet‚Äôs have another, Tom,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers gruffly. ‚ÄúI need it.‚Äù Then, after swallowing half his whisky, he burst out with: ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs a bitch of a woman you‚Äôve got upstairs, Tom.‚Äù
“Who’s this you’re talking about, Charlie?”
‚ÄúTrant or whatever her name is,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers heartily. ‚ÄúRunning a pierrot show here, till the sands are ready again, I suppose. Hello, what‚Äôs the matter with you?‚Äù Tom was nodding and winking at him.
“These two gentlemen here,” said Tom, whose business it was to keep in with everybody, “are members of that troupe. Very good show, they tell me.”
‚ÄúAnd let me tell you, sir,‚Äù said the taller stranger, who is no stranger to us, being no other than Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham, ‚Äúthat‚Äôs no way to talk about a lady in public.‚Äù And his eyebrows completed the rebuke.
‚ÄúThat is so,‚Äù said his companion, Mr.¬ÝJimmy Nunn, sternly, and shutting one eye as he looked at Mr.¬ÝRidvers. ‚ÄúJust keep your bitches to yourself.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝRidvers gave a short laugh and cast a contemptuous eye over the rickety pair. ‚ÄúSo this is what they‚Äôre all paying their money to see, is it, Tom? Tut‚Äët‚Äët‚Äët. Broken-down old pros. Buskers. I wish I‚Äôd known what they looked like when I saw that woman upstairs. She‚Äôs not all there, Tom.‚Äù He tapped his forehead. ‚ÄúYou want to keep an eye on her. Pierrots! Tut‚Äët‚Äët‚Äët.‚Äù
‚ÄúWho is this‚ÅÝ‚Äîer‚ÅÝ‚Äîgentleman?‚Äù And the irony Mr.¬ÝMitcham, raising his eyebrows to a monstrous height, threw into that last word was stunning.
‚ÄúNow then, gentlemen,‚Äù said Tom. ‚ÄúLet‚Äôs be friendly. This is Mr.¬ÝRidvers who runs the cinemas round here.‚Äù
‚ÄúAh!‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝMitcham significantly, looking at Mr.¬ÝNunn.
‚ÄúAh!‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝNunn.
‚ÄúWhat are you ah-ing about?‚Äù demanded Mr.¬ÝRidvers truculently.
‚ÄúDo you remember that ninepence we threw away the other afternoon in that dirty little place, Nunn?‚Äù Mr.¬ÝMitcham inquired.
“And we wondered how people could pay money to go in,” replied Jimmy. “Is that the place? And you thought it was raining in all the pictures, they were so old.”
“And you were asking me how the management had the face to have that cracked old piano and a girl to play it who’d never had any lessons. That’s the place, isn’t it, Nunn? Yes, I thought so.” He sighed deeply.
‚ÄúYou‚Äôre very funny, aren‚Äôt you?‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers, looking from one to the other very fiercely. ‚ÄúBut don‚Äôt think I‚Äôm going to take it from you because I‚Äôm not.‚Äù He did not say from whom he would take it, but there was a suggestion that he had taken it from somebody quite recently. ‚ÄúCouple of buskers! Going round with the hat! Dirty pierrots! Let me tell you this, the pair of you, and you can tell that‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Easy, Charlie, easy,” said the landlord, who looked anything but easy himself.
‚ÄúYou want a good mouth-wash,‚Äù cried Jimmy angrily to Mr.¬ÝRidvers. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs asking for a good clean-out, that big mouth of yours.‚Äù
‚ÄúI‚Äôve been in places where you‚Äôd have had a bullet through you‚ÅÝ‚Äîlike that‚ÅÝ‚Äîzip!‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor saying less than you‚Äôve said about a lady.‚Äù And Mr.¬ÝMitcham, drawing the Silver King round him with a noble gesture of scorn, attempted to wither the furious cinema proprietor with one magnificent glance.
‚ÄúGo and have a look at yourselves,‚Äù roared Mr.¬ÝRidvers, at the same time attempting to have a closer look at them himself, a movement that made them back a little, for Mr.¬ÝRidvers, with his heavy shoulders and great thrusting jowl, was at that moment a very formidable figure. ‚ÄúI‚Äôll say what I like, and you won‚Äôt stop me and you know you won‚Äôt. Do you see? I‚Äôll say what I like.‚Äù
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs the way, Mister,‚Äù said a cheerful voice from behind them. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs the way to talk. Let a man say what he likes, that‚Äôs my motto‚ÅÝ‚Äîs‚Äôlong as he doesn‚Äôt hurt anybody. Morning, boys. Any news? Hello, what‚Äôs up?‚Äù
“I’ll tell you what’s up, Joe,” said Jimmy in tones that did not conceal his relief. And he plucked Joe by the elbow and in two whispered sentences told him what had happened.
The massive Joe then stepped forward and examined Mr.¬ÝRidvers curiously, as if there stood before him some new kind of creature.
‚ÄúWell,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝRidvers, standing his ground but not looking as if he was certain of it, ‚Äúwhat‚Äôs wrong with you?‚Äù
‚ÄúI‚Äôll tell you what‚Äôs wrong with me,‚Äù said Joe softly. ‚ÄúI‚Äôm a pierrot, same as these two. A dirty little pierrot. A broken-down pro. Just the same. Miss Trant, the lady upstairs, pays me my money. Just the same. Now I‚Äôll tell you what‚Äôs the matter with you. You‚Äôve two names. One‚Äôs Mud and the other‚Äôs Walker.‚Äù He jerked an enormous thumb towards the door. ‚ÄúOff! Outside! You‚Äôve just time. Oh!‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîand here Joe wagged his head wistfully and a certain rapturous note crept into his voice‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúI could give you such a slugging. You‚Äôre just the right shape and size, you are.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝRidvers had reached this conclusion even before Joe announced it. He departed. He ought to have stopped when he reached the door, turned round, scowled at them all, and produced the sinister laugh, the old hollow ‚ÄúHa! Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!‚Äù; and indeed it is a pity he cannot be brought in every other page or so now to give us a warning ‚ÄúHa! Ha!‚Äù; but the fact remains that he went without a backward glance and in complete silence. He was, however, at boiling point, and a theatrical scowl, a little fist-shaking, and thirty seconds‚Äô sinister mirth, would have done him good. In Victoria Street the wind welcomed him boisterously as an old playmate, but his only response was to demand that it should first be damned and afterwards blasted. And when Ethel asked him if any good had come of his little talk, his reply was of such a nature that her typewriter was heard no more that day in the office of the Triangle New Era Cinema Company.
III
Mrs.¬ÝJoe put down her cup, then cocked her head in order, it seemed, to give her full attention to the wind. ‚ÄúJust listen to that, my dear,‚Äù she remarked complacently, rather as if she had shares in some company that manufactured March weather. ‚ÄúWild, I call it. March came in like a lion and it seems to be going on like one. That makes it all the nicer to be in here, doesn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
Susie, who was sitting in an enormous chair, specially introduced into that room for the benefit of Joe, curled her legs underneath her and snuggled down. “Couldn’t be nicer,” she said lazily. “I love it when it’s rotten outside and I’m not there and haven’t to be there for an hour or two. It makes railway carriages cosier, even.” And she rubbed her cheek against the side of the chair.
‚ÄúWhen Joe went out to see if there was any news,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe continued, ‚ÄúI was saying to myself I could just do with a nice little chat. I must get my work.‚Äù Having found a complicated and very untidy piece of knitting, bright pink in hue, she beamed across the hearth at her visitor, then settled herself in her chair, and looked cosy and confidential yet still majestic, like a queen off duty.
‚ÄúNow this is really nice,‚Äù she exclaimed. ‚ÄúYou know, if only George was here and in rather better health than he was at Christmas‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou remember he was not at all well then, though Clara says he is all right now‚ÅÝ‚Äîdo you know what I should call myself?‚Äù
Susie from the depths of her chair replied that she didn’t.
‚ÄúStop!‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe in a startling and dramatic fashion, at the same time sitting bolt upright. ‚ÄúStop! I‚Äôve no right to ask for Everything. I don‚Äôt say‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI won‚Äôt say‚ÅÝ‚Äîif only George was here. I‚Äôll say this. Do you know what I call myself now? I call myself‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor once‚ÅÝ‚Äîa Happy Woman.‚Äù She looked triumphantly at Susie and then looked severely at her knitting and shook it a little, just as if it was about to interrupt with some impudent remark.
“You like it here, don’t you?” said Susie.
‚ÄúTo be quite honest with you, my dear, I do. It suits me,‚Äù replied Mrs.¬ÝJoe with decision, ‚Äúdown to the ground. I dare say I can do my share of grumbling. If Things aren‚Äôt going well, I face the fact and ask others to do the same. When they do go well, I say so. Just now it would be a sin to grumble, it really would.‚Äù
“But I’m not grumbling,” Susie protested.
‚ÄúQuite so. Here we are, nice and cosy together, having our little chat in front of a fire, a good fire, a most liberal fire I call it‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“They’re jolly good about fires round here, aren’t they?”
‚ÄúI can say that for mine, Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather,‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe with judicial enthusiasm. ‚ÄúShe‚Äôd never stoop so low as to send in about four pieces and a shovelful of dust and call that a shilling scuttle. Most liberal in the matter of coal. Well, here we are, listening to the wind blowing outside and not caring about it at all, and knowing that tonight we‚Äôll have a good audience, an appreciative audience, out at Stundley or Gort or wherever it is we‚Äôre playing this week. Yes, Mundley, of course. That‚Äôs the one, isn‚Äôt it‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe one where the trams go all round the funny dirty statue in the middle‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMundley? I find these three towns terribly confusing, don‚Äôt you? Though of course as Dates they couldn‚Äôt be better. And then such unusually good rooms these are too, aren‚Äôt they? Look at this one. Have you noticed the oil paintings?‚Äù
As nearly every bit of wall space was covered with brownish canvases, framed lavishly in gilt but mysterious and curiously cotton-woolly in their subjects, Susie could reply with truth that she had noticed the oil paintings. “I’ve been wondering for some time,” she said, peeping out of her chair to have another glance round at them, “what they’re about. They don’t seem to be about anything much, do they?”
‚ÄúThe work of Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather‚Äôs uncle, I understand,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, whose tones now took on a certain new dignity, befitting the tenant of such a room and art gallery. ‚ÄúAn amateur‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe was a seedsman or ironmonger, I forget which‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut very gifted and quite up to professional standard. Above it in some ways, I think.‚Äù
‚ÄúI must say, Mrs.¬ÝJoe, they all look alike to me,‚Äù said Susie. ‚ÄúYet they don‚Äôt seem to have any sort of subject‚ÅÝ‚Äîunless it‚Äôs the inside of a mattress‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou know, one of those brown woolly ones‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe‚Äôs been trying to paint.‚Äù
‚ÄúMoors and Glens, I believe, were his favourite subjects,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúHe seems to have been fond of Highland scenery, though Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather tells me he was never up there. We once played Aberdeen and Inverness and saw just the same kind of scenery through the carriage window, in the train, you know, not quite so brown perhaps and not so many deers and stags about, but very like. You must admit, my dear, they give the room a Tone. It‚Äôs a relief to me after so many calendars and photographs of Oddfellows and that class of thing. A woman who‚Äôs gone to so much expense and trouble with a Home so rarely lets. Now where would you find a nicer room to sit in than this? As a matter of fact‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe dropped her voice‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúI know they‚Äôre still paying off on that chair you‚Äôre sitting in and the oak table there and the bookcase behind you, she practically told me so, the other day. And you know how Joe is set on having a Home of Our Own‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, put him in that chair, let him take a look round this room, and you can‚Äôt drag him away from the subject. ‚ÄòOh, for a Home of Our Own!‚Äô You should hear him go on about it. Though I must say, things being as they are and our work what it is, how we should get a Home of Our Own and what we should do with it when we have got it, I don‚Äôt know, and if he does, then he doesn‚Äôt tell me. Men never really think at all, as you‚Äôll find out for yourself one of these days, my dear.‚Äù
“I’ve done all the finding out about them I’m going to do,” Susie announced very promptly.
‚ÄúThat I cannot believe,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe retorted, ‚Äúor I should be sorry for you. But you must agree with me that if you‚Äôre lucky with rooms, the next best thing to having a Home is playing a resident season. Now we‚Äôve been lucky with the rooms here, and this is practically a resident season, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
‚ÄúResident‚ÅÝ‚Äîwith tram rides,‚Äù replied Susie. ‚ÄúThough I usually go out to Mundley by bus.‚Äù
‚ÄúWith Tram Rides or Bus, certainly,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe quite solemnly. ‚ÄúBut staying on in the same rooms makes it resident, I think, dear. Though of course compared with a whole summer season at Bournemouth, this is nothing. When I heard of that offer,‚Äù she continued, more animated now, ‚Äúthe moment I heard of it, Susie, I said to Joe ‚ÄòThe Luck has completely changed. We‚Äôre made.‚Äô And he agreed, though he says Bournemouth‚Äôs not quite his style. Which is ridiculous of course but you know how Joe will pretend to be so rough and ready. ‚ÄòA big town,‚Äô I told him. ‚ÄòA town with Tone and Taste‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Money of course. Five months at least guaranteed. It‚Äôs a Miracle.‚Äô If you‚Äôd gone round the coast and told me you were trying to find a place for a resident season, I should have told you without the slightest hesitation‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄòBournemouth, by all means,‚Äô I should have said at once. And Bournemouth now it is. But nothing so far seems to have been done about it, nothing. I hope there‚Äôs no haggling about terms. Now that we are getting on, we mustn‚Äôt be greedy. Surely the Bournemouth people wouldn‚Äôt haggle?‚Äù
“The terms are quite good,” said Susie indifferently.
‚ÄúThen they should be wired‚ÅÝ‚Äîat once.‚Äù
“Yes, I suppose so,” Susie continued, staring into the fire. “I suppose we ought to think ourselves lucky.”
‚ÄúUndoubtedly. Remember Rawsley, where Miss Trant found us,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe earnestly. ‚ÄúBear that horrible place in mind, my dear.‚Äù
‚ÄúI know. Only six months ago too. Oh, I‚Äôve thought about all that.‚Äù Susie shook herself out of the chair, leaned her elbows on the mantelpiece, and tapped the fender with one foot. ‚ÄúYes, it‚Äôs a marvellous offer‚ÅÝ‚Äîa plum‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe sort that C.P. people are always telling you they‚Äôre getting and somehow weren‚Äôt able to accept‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe liars? But‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI feel a bit of a pig about this‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe wheeled round swiftly, facing her companion‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúOh, Mrs.¬ÝJoe, I don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI really, honestly don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚Äîwant to spend the whole summer in C.P. work at Bournemouth‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Just what I said to Joe about you,” the other cried in mournful triumph. “ ‘Susie doesn’t want to,’ I told him. I saw it at once. He didn’t of course, but then he never notices anything, never. Now why don’t you? Tell me.”
Susie moved her shoulders impatiently and pouted down at the fire. ‚ÄúEverybody‚Äôs beginning to tell me I‚Äôm restless, and it‚Äôs true, I am. The weather, I suppose‚ÅÝ‚Äîbit of nerves‚ÅÝ‚Äîswelled head, if you like. I‚Äôve had too many good audiences this year, all of a sudden‚ÅÝ‚Äînot good for the little girl. Now she doesn‚Äôt know when she‚Äôs well off.‚Äù She laughed, rather bitterly.
Mrs.¬ÝJoe was maternal. ‚ÄúNow don‚Äôt be foolish, Susie. Nobody is saying anything about you.‚Äù
‚ÄúI wouldn‚Äôt care if they were,‚Äù cried Susie wildly. ‚ÄúIt isn‚Äôt that. I suppose I‚Äôm always thinking something absolutely marvellous is going to turn up, and then when you all come along and say ‚ÄòHooray! Six months in Bournemouth! Susie will continue to sing Number Twenty-seven on the programme! Twice daily! Outside in the afternoon, but if wet in the shelter! Bring the children!‚Äô then I see the same old stick-in-the-mud business going on and on, and I think‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh hell!‚Äù
‚ÄúNot hell!‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe reproachfully.
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚ÄîHell!‚Äù Susie repeated, ready now either to laugh or to cry. ‚ÄúI just see myself stuck there. With those three numbers of Inigo‚Äôs, I could go anywhere, anywhere. They‚Äôre too good for concert-party audiences.‚Äù
‚ÄúNot too good,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúbut in a different style perhaps.‚Äù
‚ÄúI‚Äôm sorry. I didn‚Äôt mean too good really, but not what they want. Anyhow‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù She stopped suddenly. ‚ÄúOh, I am a fool. I‚Äôd forgotten what I slipped in to tell you. About Coral Crawford. Now this is what gets my goat, and you can‚Äôt blame me. I brought the paper and put it down somewhere. Here we are. Now,‚Äù she went on sternly, ‚Äúyou remember Coral Crawford, don‚Äôt you? She was with the Larks and Owls Company with you, and left just after I joined, didn‚Äôt she?‚Äù
“I should think I do remember her. Coral Crawford. One of the most outrageous Borrowers I ever shared a dressing-room with.”
“Well, then,” cried Susie, “what did you think of her, honestly?”
Mrs.¬ÝJoe replied as if she were giving a reference: ‚ÄúAs a turn, hopeless. As a companion, a fellow-performer, a lady, no better, being deceitful, untrustworthy, given to lying, to say nothing of borrowing everything that could possibly be borrowed and some things that a self-respecting girl would never dream of wanting from anybody else, and never returning anything without being asked times without number.‚Äù She leaned back and added: ‚ÄúWhat about her?‚Äù
‚ÄúYou remember she said she was fed up with C.P. work and left us to try and get into the chorus?‚Äù said Susie breathlessly. ‚ÄúShe got in. I‚Äôve never heard of her since‚ÅÝ‚Äîuntil this morning. Now read this.‚Äù And she stuck the folded newspaper under her companion‚Äôs nose. ‚ÄúStarring‚ÅÝ‚Äîstarring, mind you‚ÅÝ‚Äîin a new show at the Pall Mall! Doesn‚Äôt it make you want to scream? Coral Crawford! Read it. Playing with Tommy Mawson and Leslie Wate and Virginia Washington! Great success! Should run forever! Look what they say about the show! Coral Crawford! Bang at the top! I‚Äôm not jealous, honestly I‚Äôm not‚ÅÝ‚Äîit‚Äôs nice seeing people you know getting there‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut that girl‚ÅÝ‚Äîa star at the Pall Mall already! Help! When I read that this morning in bed I could feel myself going hot and cold and pink and yellow all at once. I wanted to gnaw the sheets and blankets, I really did.‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, well!‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe still stared at the paper. ‚ÄúOf course the girl may have improved a lot since we knew her. I‚Äôve known it happen in the most surprising way,‚Äù she said dubiously.
‚ÄúOch‚ÅÝ‚Äîtripe! Not possible. Improved! She‚Äôd nothing to improve. There wasn‚Äôt anything there. Anyhow, there she is‚ÅÝ‚ÄîCoral Crawford‚ÅÝ‚ÄîCrawly‚ÅÝ‚Äîat the Pall Mall, and here I am, taking the tram out to Mundley every night to sing Number Thirty-three on the programme! Isn‚Äôt it enough to make you sick? And then you talk to me about six months in Bournemouth, jogging on through the same old show! I know‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI know‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI oughtn‚Äôt to grumble‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôm not grumbling. Miss Trant‚Äôs an angel‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôre all angels‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I suppose I ought to shut up. But there you are. And now do you understand?‚Äù
‚ÄúYou think this isn‚Äôt good enough for you?‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe softly, staring at the fire.
“I don’t mean exactly that,” Susie was penitent. “I don’t, really.”
“Yes, you do,” the other replied, quite gently. Her hands were still now, resting idly on her knitting, that knitting which might go on and on, from town to town, and be taken into dressing-rooms and railway carriages and all manner of strange lodgings, and grow more and more complicated and shapeless and useless until at last it would disappear and never be heard of again. “And you’re right,” she added, in quite a different tone of voice. “You are too good, Susie. I used to think I was.” This was slipped in wistfully.
“And so you are,” said Susie stoutly. “Miles and miles.”
‚ÄúDo you think so, really?‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe, brightening at once. ‚ÄúWell of course when I‚Äôm in voice, there‚Äôs no doubt I am. It‚Äôs the delicacy of my voice that kept me out of big work. And after all good training and long experience, Taste and Interpretation‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey must count for something, mustn‚Äôt they?‚Äù
“Course they must, you absurd thing!”
“What you want, what you’re pining for, Susie, is a big Chance. That’s why you’re restless. I know, my dear. Well keep on quietly, doing your best, and it’ll come, that’s what I say. I don’t say how or where it’ll come because I don’t know, but come it will. I feel it. And still very young, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Susie gloomily, “though at times I feel a thousand, I can tell you. And telling yourself how young you are doesn’t seem to make much difference if you’re not satisfied. Every time I hear about anybody in the profession suddenly doing so marvellously, like Crawly, I always try and find out their ages. So does Jerry, I discovered the other day. He’s pretty poisonous, of course, but he does understand about things like that. Jerry’ll get there soon, if it kills him.”
‚ÄúYour Chance might arrive,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúat Bournemouth. That wouldn‚Äôt surprise me.‚Äù
“It would me. Unless you mean six nights at the local Picture Palace. Bournemouth! Pooh!”
‚ÄúAgain, it might arrive here,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe went on impressively, ‚Äúin Gatford‚ÅÝ‚Äîor even Gort‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI mean Stort, or Mundley. Yes, you can laugh, my dear, but I say it might. I‚Äôve known it happen before and in far worse places, far, far worse‚ÅÝ‚Äîin Sheer Holes.‚Äù
“All right then, it might,” said Susie in tones that suggested the maximum of possible unbelief. “Let’s talk about something a bit more cheerful or I shall weep. Would you like the latest about Elsie and her Pink Egg?”
‚ÄúHer what?‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe was startled.
‚ÄúWell, he looks exactly like one. You‚Äôve seen him, haven‚Äôt you?‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe great gentleman friend. She thinks about nothing else now. Sees him every day, nearly. D‚Äôyou know what she‚Äôs gone and done?‚ÅÝ‚Äîbought a new winter coat‚ÅÝ‚Äînow! When he first popped up with his little car, she rushed off and bought a new jumper suit. You‚Äôve seen it? Well, she tried going out with him in that and of course she was frozen stiff every time, leaving her old coat at home. So the other day she rushed round the shops and bought a new coat. And now she‚Äôs so broke, broke to the world, she‚Äôll never have a thing for summer. And all for Mr.¬ÝHerbert‚ÅÝ‚Äîotherwise Bert‚ÅÝ‚ÄîDulver, otherwise Pink Egg.‚Äù
‚ÄúI wondered,‚Äù mused Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs why she‚Äôs not bothering about future dates.‚Äù
“Can’t think of anything but Egg or Pink Un.”
“It sounds to me like Touch-and-Go. She never had her heart in the Profession. Do you think she’ll manage it this time?”
“She hasn’t said much,” replied Susie, “but it looks to me as if she’s hoping to bring him to the boil.”
‚ÄúHe‚Äôs no Egg, my dear, if she can‚Äôt,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, majestically coy.
‚ÄúBut what a life if she does!‚Äù cried Susie. ‚ÄúI ask you! Mrs.¬ÝPink Egg! Just imagine‚ÅÝ‚Äîall your hopes on that! Horrors! I‚Äôd rather keep on, going to fifty Rawsleys, or having a resident season at Tewborough‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
Mrs.¬ÝJoe shuddered. ‚ÄúDon‚Äôt mention that Hole, please, my dear. Even to joke about it.‚Äù
“Yes, at Tewborough with a sniffy cold that never stops than be like poor Elsie. When I think of her Pink Egging it for all she’s worth, I swear I won’t ever grumble or feel so restless again.”
‚ÄúVery nice,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúbut you will.‚Äù
And of course she did.
IV
No one knew better than Miss Elsie Longstaff herself that, at that very moment, it was touch and go with the gentleman who has been somewhat unfairly introduced to us as Pink Egg. Mr.¬ÝHerbert Dulver was a gentleman friend of some two years‚Äô standing, though for the greater part of that time he had occupied a lowly place in the hierarchy of Elsie‚Äôs gentlemen friends. Indeed, there had been periods when he had been as completely out of mind as he was out of sight. Shortly after the Good Companions had arrived at The Triangle, however, Mr.¬ÝDulver had turned up again, for he was managing an hotel owned by his father, a substantial old place about fifteen miles out of Gatford and on the main London road. All the Dulvers‚ÅÝ‚Äîlarge, pink, and brassily cheerful persons‚ÅÝ‚Äîwere landlords or bookmakers of something convivial or sporting. Herbert had been managing an hotel at the seaside when Elsie had first made his acquaintance, and now, having acquired in a mysterious Dulverish manner a considerable sum of money, he proposed not only to manage but also to own another seaside hotel. He was a bachelor about forty who liked to clothe his pink plumpness in sporting tweeds, wore a fair clipped moustache, and looked at the world out of prominent light-blue eyes that had about them a kind of hard amiability. His manner and phraseology suggested the confidential, but his voice was loud and carried far and he made full use of it, so that he always gave the odd impression that he was bellowing out his innermost secrets. Actually, however, he had no difficulty in keeping to himself whatever was best known only to himself, and was in reality a far more astute man of business than he appeared to be, like all the Dulvers, who for several generations now had been ordering drinks all round and slapping everybody on the back and talking at the top of their voices while they quietly contrived to feather their nests. And this Mr.¬ÝDulver had the traditional attitude towards women. Outside business, in which he demanded and took care to receive his money‚Äôs worth, he was very chivalrous and gallant towards ‚Äúthe Ladies,‚Äù and both masterful and saucy with ‚Äúthe Girls.‚Äù Elsie, who liked being one of the Ladies and one of the Girls too, understood and appreciated both these attitudes, but that did not prevent her from telling herself from the first that Mr.¬ÝDulver would want watching. Not that this stood in his way at all, for in her heart of hearts Elsie admired a man who wanted watching.
Mr.¬ÝDulver had run her out in his little car to the hotel for lunch, and now they had stopped on the way back, at a spot on the side of the road where a mound of hill and a little copse sheltered them from the tearing wind. There they lit their cigarettes and Elsie waited expectantly. She knew only too well that Mr.¬ÝDulver had news for her and that this afternoon might decide everything. Miles of soft Midland landscape, brown fields, the glitter of water, the swirl of smoke, the grey distance, were spread before them, but she had no eyes for it all, for the real world had narrowed to those few square inches, pinker than ever, that represented the outward map of Mr.¬ÝDulver‚Äôs mind and where there might soon be seen the signals of victory or defeat.
“Well,” she cried, turning to look him full in the face and pouting a little, “aren’t you going to tell me? I’ve been thinking about how you were getting on down there all the weekend. Course, if you don’t want to tell, it doesn’t matter. I just wondered, that’s all.” Elsie was cleared for action. Every sentence now would be a well-aimed shot from a different turret.
‚ÄúI was waiting,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝDulver. ‚ÄúDidn‚Äôt want to say anything in there. Between you and me, I‚Äôm thinking of taking it.‚Äù
“You are?” she exclaimed in glad surprise, very much the bright, friendly, interested woman. “I’m glad, Bert; I really am.” Were her eyes shining, or were they just staring, bulging out, silly?
Bert looked pleased and important. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs a good little house, twenty bedrooms‚ÅÝ‚Äîmight easily put in a few more, make an annex, easy. Good smoke-room and bar trade too, though it wants working up a bit. Summer‚Äôs money for dust, of course, but fair number staying in winter, specially weekends. Golf, y‚Äôknow, and fishing. Bang opposite the pier too‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Opposite the pier!” cried Elsie, reproachfully. “Don’t I know it is? Haven’t I played Eastbeach, year before last, and on the very pier? What’s the good of telling you anything, Bert? You never listen.” And she gave him a companionable tap.
“That’s right,” he said apologetically. “I’m that full of it, I’m forgetting you’ve been there, Elsie. Well, they want four thousand, lock, stock, and barrel, except the usual takeovers. As I say, it wants working up, mind you.”
“You could do that all right,” she told him.
“I could eat it,” he proclaimed. “I tell you, I like the look of it, like the town too. Not far from London, either. Good road. Run up now and again and see what’s doing.” He clicked his tongue appreciatively and looked doggish.
“You would!” cried Elsie, who knew her cues. “You leave London alone. Time you behaved yourself, if you ask me.”
“Something in that,” he admitted, “though we’ve all got to have a bit of fun, haven’t we?”
“That’s what I always tell them. We’re a long time dead, I say.”
He looked at her admiringly and the arm resting on the back of the seat behind her came a little closer. “You know what’s what and you’ve been to Eastbeach,” he said. “Honestly now, what d’you think of it, Elsie?”
“You don’t want to know what I think of it.”
“Don’t I? Well, what am I asking you for? Brought you out here to hear what you think about it. Come on, Elsie, let’s have it, straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Who are you calling a horse!”
‚ÄúNot you.‚Äù The arm was resting on her shoulders now. The little moustache came nearer. There was a kind of mistiness about Mr.¬ÝDulver as he gazed at this fair ripeness, which was exactly his taste in feminine charm.
Elsie averted the kiss that she knew would inevitably have descended upon her a moment later, but she did it easily and quietly by drawing away ever so little and suddenly looking serious, businesslike. ‚ÄúWell, I‚Äôll tell you what I think about it, Bert, if you‚Äôll only be sensible for a minute,‚Äù she began; and thereupon told him why she approved of Eastbeach and the hotel there, showing him quite plainly, if he only had the sense to see it, that she was a girl with her wits about her who knew what the hotel business was, even if she did happen to be on the stage. And all the time her imagination, dizzy as it was, still explored the possibility. She saw herself in that hotel, Mrs.¬ÝDulver, telling the maids what to do; queening it for half an hour now and again in the saloon bar, hair always waved and good clothes; shopping in style‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúGood morning. Madam‚Äù; recognized by all the gentlemen in the town‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúGood afternoon, Mrs.¬ÝDulver‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîraising their hats; having a word with the girls who came to the pier pavilion‚ÅÝ‚Äînot standoffish or rubbing it in but still‚ÅÝ‚Äîpitying them; taking little trips to London with Bert in the car‚ÅÝ‚Äîa bigger one by this time; going round the shops and doing a show‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúused to be in the profession myself, once, my dear‚Äù; the whole rich future. And a word or two could make it hers. ‚ÄúOf course you know better than I do, Bert‚ÅÝ‚Äîa girl isn‚Äôt much of a judge of these things, though I know a bit more than most‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut that‚Äôs my honest opinion. You go in and buy the place.‚Äù
‚ÄúGoing to,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝDulver complacently. ‚ÄúDecided that first thing this morning, matter of fact, but just wanted to hear what you thought about it. And I‚Äôll tell you what it is, Elsie, old kid‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Old kid! What next!”
‚ÄúYou‚Äôve got it where it‚Äôs wanted,‚Äù he continued, tapping his forehead. ‚ÄúUsed to think you‚Äôd just got the looks and style and nothing else to it‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Thank you, sir, she said,” cried Elsie. “Very good of you to admit the looks, I must say, Mister Dulver,” But she smiled at him very sweetly.
The arm tightened round her and the now amorous Bert tried to kiss her. To his surprise, however, for he had kissed her before she repulsed him, firmly if gently. “Hello! Hel‑low!” He drew back and looked at her. “We aren’t very matey today, are we? What have I done wrong?”
Knowing very well that the slightest chill would ruin all and yet realizing that now or never was the time when he must not have his own way too easily, Elsie felt as if she was walking on a tightrope. She smiled again; a little one this time, a bit mysterious. “You never do anything wrong, do you?” she remarked lightly. “But there isn’t anything wrong. Honestly, there isn’t. I’m enjoying myself. Aren’t you?” And she looked at him archly.
‚ÄúNot sure about that,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝDulver muttered, not so certain of himself and everything else as he had been a few minutes before. ‚ÄúHere, though‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîand the arm tightened again‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúwhat about‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúGoing home?‚Äù she put in quickly. It was a terrible risk. If he said‚ÅÝ‚Äîand she could almost hear him saying it already, in a flash‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúAll right, let‚Äôs go home then,‚Äù then it was all over. Awful!
‚ÄúI‚Äôm going to say something to you,‚Äù said Bert, severely and importantly. Bless him!‚ÅÝ‚Äîit didn‚Äôt matter now how severe and important he liked to sound. ‚ÄúHave you ever thought,‚Äù he continued with great deliberation, ‚Äúof abandoning your stage career? Wait a minute. I mean, to get married.‚Äù
“Oh, I’ve been proposed to a good few times, I don’t mind telling you,” cried Elsie, who didn’t mind telling him.
“No doubt. Suppose you were asked now, though?”
“Depends on who did the asking.”
“I’m doing the asking.”
“You try me.”
‚ÄúGo on then. What d‚Äôyou say? Coming to Eastbeach as Mrs.¬ÝDulver of the Black Horse?‚Äù
‚ÄúOh, Bert‚ÅÝ‚Äî! Are you sure‚ÅÝ‚Äî?‚Äù
“Shouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.”
Then Mr.¬ÝDulver found himself being kissed. Into that kiss went a whole captured ecstatic vision of the future and a glorious farewell to cheap lodgings, bad meals, old clothes, cramped dressing-rooms, bored audiences, and long Sundays in the train; and it took his breath away, almost frightened him. But not for long. Bert was delighted. He may have been a Dulver‚ÅÝ‚Äîwith something hard, brassy, behind those curving pink cheeks and prominent light-blue eyes‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut nevertheless he was a member of the sentimental sex, and now he moaned over her like any lovesick lad. He must be in the Eastbeach hotel before the season began, and they must be married before he went to Eastbeach, even if it would be a rush. To all of this Elsie gave an instant and rapturous assent.
Then her mind went racing through all the possibilities and complications. “But look here, Bert,” she said, looking very solemn, “if it’s going to be as soon as all that, it’ll be awkward.”
“Not it,” he replied masterfully, holding her tight. “You leave it to me. I’ll fix it. We’re used to these things in the hotel business.”
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs all right, but‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe was genuinely troubled now‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúwell, I‚Äôve nothing ready, and‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, you might as well know‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôm completely broke, will be for weeks.‚Äù
‚ÄúNothing in that. I knew you couldn‚Äôt have much, from what you said. I‚Äôll fix that too‚ÅÝ‚Äîstand all the exes. You tell me what you want. Might as well do it properly while we‚Äôre at it, what d‚Äôyou say?‚Äù
What could she say‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhat were mere words‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhen she saw him shining there like a god? But when the car was headed for Gatford again, she never stopped talking, and he listened with a proud air of proprietorship. At Mohen‚Äôs, the large jewellers‚Äô in Victoria Street, he pulled up, saying ‚ÄúThis is where you get the ring. Got to have a ring.‚Äù Seeing that their marriage was to take place almost at once, other men might have thought an engagement-ring unnecessary, but that was not the Dulvers‚Äô way; what there was to be done had to be done‚ÅÝ‚Äîin style. You never saw any Mrs.¬ÝDulver without her full complement of rings. And Elsie, who was undoubtedly a born Mrs.¬ÝDulver, admired her Bert all the more for this grand decision. ‚ÄúYou‚Äôll have to come in,‚Äù he told her, ‚Äúto see what you fancy and try ‚Äôem on.‚Äù
“You go first, Bert,” she replied. “Have a look round.” She had no idea what he would care “to run to” in this matter of rings.
He disappeared into the shop, and she remained in the car for a moment, then got out, looking at the passersby with the assured stare of an engaged woman.
“Eh, I’ve been looking for you,” said a familiar voice.
‚ÄúMr.¬ÝOakroyd!‚Äù She smiled upon him. She even smiled upon his companion, a thickset, bowlegged man, who wore an immense green cap.
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúMiss Trant wants you to bring that there red dress wi‚Äô thingumbobs on‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou knaw which it is‚ÅÝ‚Äîround to t‚Äôthe‚Äëater tonight.‚Äù
‚ÄúAll right,‚Äù replied Elsie indifferently. She had almost forgotten the existence of Miss Trant, the dress, and the theatre. ‚ÄúYou won‚Äôt see me in that much longer, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. I‚Äôm giving Miss Trant my notice tonight. I‚Äôm getting married‚ÅÝ‚Äîquite soon.‚Äù
‚ÄúNay, you don‚Äôt say!‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúWell, well! I did hear you were doing a bit o‚Äô courting in t‚Äôdistrict. I‚Äôve seen him, haven‚Äôt I? It‚Äôs t‚Äôchap as comes round for you, him i‚Äô flight suits as keeps pub somewhere, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
The chap himself put in an appearance at that very moment. ‚ÄúBert,‚Äù cried Elsie, ‚Äúthis is Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, our props man. I‚Äôve just been telling him.‚Äù
‚ÄúHope to see you at the wedding, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, drinking our health,‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝDulver affably.
‚ÄúGood enough! I‚Äôll be there,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd replied. ‚ÄúThis is a friend o‚Äô mine,‚Äù he added, rather proudly, indicating the thickset, bowlegged, green-capped one. ‚ÄúMr.¬ÝJock Campbell.‚Äù
‚ÄúHello! Know that name! Seen you before!‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝDulver, who was very much at home in a situation of this kind. ‚ÄúSaw you last Saturday.‚Äù
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs right,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who appeared to think it was his duty to answer for his friend, apparently a very taciturn man. ‚Äú‚Ää‚ÄôGainst Lincoln City here.‚Äù
‚ÄúAnd played a good game too. If the forwards had only been as good as you backs,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝDulver observed, ‚Äúthe Triangle would have walked away with it. But your forward line‚Äôs weak in my opinion.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝCampbell, after swaying uneasily, now cleared his throat, preparatory to bursting into speech. ‚ÄúOch!‚Äù he muttered, ‚Äúthey‚Äôre raw.‚Äù
“He means they’re nobbut young lads, new to t’game,” his interpreter explained. “Don’t you, Jock?”
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs about it,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝDulver heartily. ‚ÄúWell, pleased to have met you. Come in, Elsie. I bet you don‚Äôt know what we‚Äôre doing. Choosing the ring.‚Äù And he burst into a loud guffaw, which was answered by companionable if faint sardonic grins from Messrs. Oakroyd and Campbell, who both did something rather vague to their caps and then moved away.
When Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had discovered that he was lodging in the very same street as, indeed next door but one to, the famous Jock Campbell, now left back and captain of the recently formed Triangle United A.F.C., and formerly of Glasgow Celtic, Sheffield Wednesday‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Bruddersford United‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe was very excited. Had he not spent many and many a happy Saturday afternoon at the Bruddersford ground cheering Jock‚Äôs vast and miraculous clearance kicks? But when he also discovered that the great man was not only close at hand but was quite ready to make the acquaintance of an old admirer, to smoke a pipe with him, and take turn about paying for half-pints, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs excitement and gratification knew no bounds. Jock was forty now, and so a veteran, an ancient of days, among professional footballers; on the field he looked old, if only because he had met so many footballs with his head that he was almost completely bald in front; he was heavy and he was slow: but he was an unusually powerful man and his long experience, his guile, enabled him to play a good game even yet, so that though his best days, when fifty thousand spectators roared their approval at him, were over long ago, he was still an acquisition to such a junior club as the Triangle United. He had not been at Gatford long and was not a man to make friends easily, and it was not really surprising that he should take pleasure in Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs company. They had a common theme in Bruddersford, where Jock had lived several years; they were both separated from their wives; and they both had a detached taste for football and tobacco and beer and a deep philosophical interest in the chances and changes of this life, though the older of the two, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, was the more eager and romantic. Such idealism as Mr.¬ÝCampbell had, centred about public-houses: his one ambition now was to do what so many of his successful fellow-gladiators had done, to find a nice little public-house, not too far from a football ground, and turn himself into the landlord of it. A good benefit match might do it. For the rest, he was a man of vast but comfortable silences. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, as we know, could hardly be called loquacious, but compared with his new friend he was a chatterbox.
‚ÄúYond‚Äôs pleased wi‚Äô hersen nar,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd shouted, as they continued their walk down Victoria Street. He had to shout because the wind was making such a din. ‚ÄúShe‚Äôs bin fair sick to get hersen off this long time‚ÅÝ‚Äîand nar she‚Äôs gone an‚Äô roped him in. An‚Äô it‚Äôll just suit her lahdidahing it a bit i‚Äô t‚Äôsaloon bar wi‚Äô all her best clothes on and her hair all frizzed up.‚Äù
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝCampbell.
‚ÄúNot a bad sort o‚Äô chap she‚Äôs gotten hold of,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd continued. ‚ÄúRight landlord style, did you notice?‚Äù
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝCampbell. And then, two minutes afterwards he muttered something that Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who was now very clever at this kind of thing, interpreted to, mean that, in Mr.¬ÝCampbell‚Äôs opinion, Mr.¬ÝDulver was obviously in a big way of business and was not a man to serve pints himself.
They turned out of the main street into a quieter thoroughfare. Here Mr.¬ÝOakroyd chuckled. ‚ÄúPink Egg! That‚Äôs what Soosie‚ÅÝ‚Äîyoung lass o‚Äô troupe‚ÅÝ‚Äîcalls him,‚Äù he explained, ‚Äúand if you nobbut tak a good look at him he‚Äôs a bit like one, more still wi‚Äô his ‚Äôat off. Pink Egg! Eh, she‚Äôs droll.‚Äù
This shocked Mr.¬ÝCampbell into speech. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs no name that, man, to gie a landlord in a big way o‚Äô business,‚Äù he said solemnly.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, well acquainted with his companion‚Äôs great desire and respecting such an ambition, one for heroes, made no reply, and they covered the next two hundred yards or so in silence.
‚ÄúHoo‚Äôs the lass that‚Äôs awa‚Äô?‚Äù Mr.¬ÝCampbell suddenly inquired. He had heard all about Lily in Canada.
‚ÄúNay, I haven‚Äôt heard for a bit, not sin‚Äô I were telling yer,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúSeemingly she‚Äôs doing champion. Allus says so. But I‚Äôd like to see for mysen,‚Äù he added, a trifle wistfully.
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝCampbell. And then, growing reckless as a conversationalist, he said: ‚ÄúAn‚Äô the wife? Hoo‚Äôs she?‚Äù
“I can’t get to know owt. Neither she nor t’lad’ll say. I wrote nobbut t’other day an’ asked ’em right aht if she were poorly an’ if I could do owt. Eh, it’s damn silly going on like that! But it’s my wife all over.”
‚ÄúThey gae their ain gate.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝCampbell brought out from the depths of his own experience.
Nothing more was said until they reached Crimean Road, where they both lodged, and then Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who had been looking vaguely troubled, returned to the subject of Elsie and her marriage. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs one going o‚Äô t‚Äôowd lot,‚Äù he said, as if the Good Companions had been together for six years instead of six months. ‚ÄúNar it‚Äôs started, mark my word. Elsie‚Äôs nobbut t‚Äôfirst. More to foller, or I‚Äôm a Dutchman! Happen you‚Äôve noticed it yersen, Jock? Nowt changes at all for some time, and then‚ÅÝ‚Äîall of a sudden, afore you knaw where you are‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey‚Äôre going right and left, and it‚Äôs all to bits.‚Äù
‚ÄúMaybe.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝCampbell ventured.
‚ÄúI‚Äôm down o‚Äô this, I am an‚Äô all,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd went on. ‚ÄúI mun hear what t‚Äôothers has to say. There‚Äôs been a summat i‚Äô fair these two-three week.‚Äù
‚ÄúAy, a sicht too much wind,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝCampbell gravely. And we will allow him to have the last word‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor once in his life.