Poor Relations Page 13

  CHAPTER XIII

  After the Christmas party at Ambles John managed to secure atranquillity that, however brief and deceptive he felt it was like tobe, nevertheless encouraged him sufficiently to make considerableprogress with the play while it lasted. Perhaps Eleanor's warning hadsunk deeper than she might have supposed from the apparent result ofthat little chat with her brother-in-law about his future; at any rate,he was so firmly determined not to give the most evil mind the leastopportunity for malicious exaggeration that in self-defense he devotedto Joan of Arc a more exclusive attention than he had hitherto devotedto any of his dramatic personages. Moreover, in his anxiety to prove howabominably unjust the insinuations of his family were, he imparted tohis heroine some of his own temporary remoteness from the ordinaryfollies and failings of humanity.

  "We are too much obsessed by sex nowadays," he announced at the club oneafternoon, and was tempted to expatiate upon his romantic shibboleth toseveral worn out old gentlemen who had assented to this proposition."After all," he argued, "life is not all sex. I've lately beenenormously struck by that in the course of my work. Take Joan of Arc forinstance. Do we find any sex obsession in her? None. But is she lesspsychologically interesting on that account? No. Sex is the particularbane of modern writers. Frankly, I cannot read a novel nowadays. Isuppose I'm old-fashioned, but I'd rather be called old-fashioned thanasked to appreciate one of these young modern writers. I suppose there'sno man more willing than myself to march with the times, but I like thehigh roads of literature, not the muddy lanes...."

  "The John Longs and John Lanes that have no turnings," a club wag putin.

  "Look at Stevenson," the dramatist continued, without paying anyattention to the stupid interruption. "When Stevenson wrote a love scenehe used to blush."

  "So would any one who had written love scenes as bad as his," sniggereda young man, who seemed oblivious of his very recent election to theclub.

  The old members looked at him severely, not because he had sneered atStevenson, but because, without being spoken to, he had volunteered aremark in the club smoking-room at least five years too soon.

  "I've got a young brother who thinks like you," said John, with friendlycondescension.

  "Yes, I know him," the young man casually replied.

  John was taken aback; it struck him as monstrous that a friend of Hugh'sshould have secured election to _his_ club. The sanctity of the retreathad been violated, and he could not understand what the world was comingto.

  "How is Hugh?" the young man went on, without apparently being the leastconscious of any difference between the two brothers. "Down at yourplace in Hampshire, isn't he? Lucky chap; though they tell me youhaven't got many pheasants."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You don't preserve?"

  "No, I do not preserve." John would have liked to add "except thedecencies of intercourse between old and young in a club smoking-room";but he refrained.

  "Perhaps you're right," said the young man. "These are tough times forlanded proprietors. Well, give my love to Hugh when you see him," headded, and turning on his heel disappeared into the haze of a moreremote portion of the smoking-room.

  "Who is that youth?" John demanded.

  The old members shook their heads helplessly, and one of the waiters wascalled up to be interrogated.

  "Mr. Winnington-Carr, I believe, sir," he informed them.

  "How long has he been a member?"

  "About a week, I believe, sir."

  John looked daggers of exclamation at the other members.

  "We shall have perambulators waiting in the lobby before we know wherewe are," he said, bitterly.

  Everybody agreed that these ill-considered elections were a scandal to afamous club, and John, relinquishing the obsession of sex as a topic,took up the obsession of youth, which he most convincingly proved to bethe curse of modern life.

  It was probably Mr. Winnington-Carr's election that brought home to Johnthe necessity of occupying himself immediately with his brother'sfuture; at this rate he should find Hugh himself a member of his clubbefore he knew where he was.

  "I'm worrying about my young brother," he told Miss Hamilton next day,and looked at her sharply to watch the effect of this remark.

  "Why, has he been misbehaving himself again?"

  "No, not exactly misbehaving; but a friend of his has just been electedto my club, and I don't think it's good for Hugh to be hanging about inidleness. I do wish I could find the address of that man Raikes fromBritish Honduras."

  "Where is it likely to be?"

  "It was a visiting-card. It might be anywhere."

  "If it was a visiting-card, the most likely place to find it is in oneof your waistcoat-pockets."

  John regarded his secretary with the admiration that such a practicalsuggestion justified, and rang the bell.

  "Maud, please bring down all my waistcoats," he told his valetingparlor-maid, who presently appeared in the library bowed down by a heapof clothes as a laborer is bowed down by a truss of hay.

  In the twenty-seventh waistcoat that was examined the card was found:

  * * * * *

  Mr. Sydney Ricketts.

  14 Lyonesse Road, Belize,

  Balam, S.W., British Honduras.

  "I thought his name was Raikes," John muttered, indignantly.

  "Never mind. A rose by any other name...." Miss Hamilton began.

  John might almost have been said to interrupt what she was going to saywith an angry glare; but she only laughed merrily at his fierceexpression.

  "Oh, I beg your pardon--I'd forgotten your objection to roses."

  Mr. Ricketts, who was fortunately still in London, accepted John'sinvitation to come and see him at Church Row on business. He was alantern-jawed man with a tremendous capacity for cocktails, a sinewyneck, and a sentimental affection for his native suburb. At the sametime, he would not hear a word against British Honduras.

  "I reckon our regatta at Belize is the prettiest little regatta in theworld."

  "But the future of logwood and mahogany?" John insisted.

  "Great," the visitor assured him. "Why don't _you_ come out to us? You'dlose a lot of weight if you worked for a few months up the Zucara river.Here's a photograph of some of our boys loading logwood."

  "They look very hot," said John, politely.

  "They are very hot," said Mr. Ricketts. "You can't expect to growlogwood in Iceland."

  "No, of course not. I understand that."

  In the end it was decided that John should invest L2000 in the logwoodand mahogany business and that sometime in February Hugh should be readyto sail with Mr. Ricketts to Central America.

  "Of course he'll want to learn something about the conditions of thetrade at first. Yes, I reckon your brother will stay in Belize atfirst," said the planter, scratching his throat so significantly thatJohn made haste to fill up his glass, thinking to himself that, if thecocktails at the Belize Yacht Club were as good as Mr. Ricketts boasted,Hugh would be unlikely ever to see much more of mahogany than he saw ofit at present cut and rounded and polished to the shape of a soliddining-room table. However, the more attractive Belize, the lessattractive England.

  "I think you told me this was your first visit home in fifteen years?"he asked.

  "That's right. Fifteen years in B.H."

  "B.H.?" repeated the new speculator, nervously.

  "British Honduras."

  "Oh, I beg your pardon. The initials associated themselves in my mindfor the moment with another place. B.H. you call it. Very appropriate Ishould think. I suppose you found many changes in Balham on yourreturn?"

  "Wouldn't have known it again," said Mr. Ricketts. "For one thing they'dchanged all the lamp-posts along our road. That's the kind of thing toteach a man he's growing old."

  Perhaps Hugh wouldn't recognize Hampstead after fifteen years, Johnthought, gleefully; he might even pass his nearest relations in thestreet without a salute when like a Rip van Winkle of
the tropics hereturned to his native country after fifteen years.

  "I suppose the usual outfit for hot climates will be necessary?"

  Mr. Ricketts nodded; and John began to envisage himself equipping Hughfrom the Army and Navy Stores.

  "I always think there is something extraordinarily romantic about atropical outfit," he ventured.

  "It's extraordinarily expensive," said Mr. Ricketts. "But everything'sgoing up. And mahogany's going up when I get back to B.H., or my nameisn't Sydney Ricketts."

  "There's nothing you particularly recommend?"

  "No, they'll tell you everything you want at the Stores and a bit over,except--oh, yes, by the way, don't let him forget his shaker."

  "Is that some special kind of porous overcoat?"

  Mr. Ricketts laughed delightedly.

  "Well, if that isn't the best thing I've heard since I was home. Porousovercoat! No, no, a shaker is for mixing drinks."

  "Humph!" John grunted. "From what I know of my brother, he won't requireany special instrument for doing that. Good-by, Mr. Ricketts; mysolicitor will write to you about the business side. Good-by."

  When John went back to his work he was humming.

  "Satisfactory?" his secretary inquired.

  "Extremely satisfactory. I think Hugh is very lucky. Ricketts assures methat in another fifteen years--that is about the time Hugh will bewanting to visit England again--there is no reason why he shouldn't bemaking at least L500 a year. Besides, he won't be lonely, because Ishall send Harold out to British Honduras in another five years. It mustbe a fascinating place if you're fond of natural history, B.H.--as thedenizens apparently call it among themselves," he added, pensively.

  It could not be claimed that Hugh was enraptured by the prospect ofleaving England in February, and John who was really looking forward tothe job of getting together his outfit was disappointed by his brother'slack of enthusiasm. He simply could not understand anybody's failure tobe thrilled by snake-proof blankets and fever-proof filters, bymedicine-chests and pith helmets and double-fly tents and all theparaphernalia of adventure in foreign parts. Finally he delivered anultimatum to Hugh, which was accepted albeit with ill grace, andhardening his heart against the crossed letters of protest that arriveddaily from his mother and burying himself in an Army and Navy Stores'catalogue, he was able to intrench himself in the opinion that he wasdoing the best that could be done for the scapegrace. The worst ofputting Hugh on his feet again was the resentment such a brotherlyaction aroused among his other relations. After the quarrel with Jameshe had hardly expected to hear from him for a long time; but no soonerhad the news about British Honduras gone the round of the family thanhis eldest brother wrote to ask him for a loan of L1000 to invest in aprojected critical weekly of which he was to be the editor. James addedthat John could hardly grudge him as much as that for log-rolling athome when he was prepared to spend double that amount on Hugh to rolllogs abroad.

  "I can't say I feel inclined to help James after that article about mywork," John observed to Miss Hamilton. "Besides, I hate criticalweeklies."

  It happened that the post next morning brought a large check from hisagent for royalties on various dramas that in various theaters all overthe world were playing to big business; confronted by that bright-huedtoken of prosperity he could not bring himself to sit down and pen aflat refusal to his brother's demand. Instead of doing that he merelydelayed for a few hours the birth of a new critical weekly by making anappointment to talk the matter over, and it was only a fleeting pleasurethat he obtained from adding a postscript begging James not to bring hisdog with him when he called at Church Row.

  "For if that wretched animal goes snorting round the room all the timewe're talking," he assured his secretary, "I shall agree to anything inorder to get rid of it. I shall find all my available capital investedin critical weeklies just to save the carpet from being eaten."

  James seemed to have entirely forgotten that his brother had any reasonto feel sore with him; he also seemed entirely unconscious of therebeing the least likelihood of his refusing to finance the new venture.John remembering how angry James had been when on a former occasion hehad reminded him that Hugh's career was still before him, was careful toavoid the least suggestion of throwing cold water upon the scheme.Therefore in the circumstances James' unusual optimism, which lent hissallow cheeks some of the playwright's roses, was not surprising, andbefore the conversation had lasted many minutes John had half promised athousand pounds. Having done this, he did try to retrieve the situationby advising James to invest it in railway-stock and argued stronglyagainst the necessity of another journal.

  "What are you going to call this further unnecessary burden upon ourpowers of assimilation?"

  "_I_ thought _The New Broom_ would be a good title."

  "Yes, I was positive you'd call it The New-Something-or-other. Why notThe New Way to pay Old Scores? I'll back you to do that, even if youcan't pay your old debts. However, listen to me. I'll lend the money toyou personally. But I will not invest it in the paper. For security--orperhaps compensation would be a better word--you shall hand over to methe family portraits and the family silver."

  "I'd rather it was a business proposition," James objected.

  "My dear fellow, a new critical weekly can never be a businessproposition. How many people read your books?"

  "About a dozen," James calculated.

  "Well, why should more people read your paper? No, you can have themoney, but it must be regarded as a personal loan, and I must have theportraits and the silver."

  "I don't see why you should have them."

  "I don't see why you should start a new critical weekly."

  John could not help enjoying the power that his brother's ambition hadput in his hands and he insisted firmly upon the surrender of theheritage.

  "All right, Jacob, I suppose I must sell my birthright for a mess ofpottage."

  "A printer's pie would describe it better," said John.

  "Though why you want a few bad pictures and a dozen or so forks andspoons, I can't conceive."

  "Why do you want them?" John countered.

  "Because they're mine."

  "And the money is mine."

  James went away with a check for a thousand pounds in his pocket; but hewent away less cheerful than he arrived. John, on the other hand, wasmuch impressed by the manner in which he had dealt with his eldestbrother; it was worth while losing a thousand pounds to have been ableto demonstrate clearly to James once for all that his taste inliterature was at the mercy of the romanticism he so utterly despised.And while he felt that he had displayed a nice dignity in forcing Jamesto surrender the portraits and the silver, he was also pleasantly awareof an equally nice magnanimity in being willing to overlook thatinsulting article. But Miss Hamilton was at his elbow to correct theslightest tendency to be too well pleased with himself.

  "After all I couldn't disappoint poor old James," he said, fishing foran encomium and dangling his own good heart as the bait. His secretary,however, ignored the tempting morsel and swam away into the deeps ofromantic drama where his munificence seemed less showy somehow.

  "You know best what you _want_ to do," she said, curtly. "And now, haveyou decided upon this soliloquy for Joan in her dungeon?"

  "What do you feel about it?"

  She held forth upon the advantages of a quiet front scene before thetrial, and the author took her advice. He wished that she were aswilling to discant upon his treatment of James, but he consoled himselffor her lack of interest by supposing that she was diffident aboutgiving the least color to any suggestion that she might be influencinghim to her own advantage.

  Hugh came up to town in order to go more fully into the question of hisfuture, and John regarding Miss Hamilton's attitude towards him tried tofeel perfectly sure that she was going out of her way to be pleasant toHugh solely with an idea of accentuating the strictly professional sideof her association with himself. If this were not the case, he should bejustified in thi
nking that she did really like Hugh very much, whichwould be an uncomfortable state of affairs. Still, explain it away as hemight, John did feel a little uneasy, and once when he heard of a visitto the theater preceded by dinner he was upon the verge of pointing outto Hugh that until he was definitely established in mahogany andlogwood he must be extremely careful about raising false hopes. Hemanaged to refrain from approaching Hugh on the subject, because he knewthat if he betrayed the least anxiety in that direction Hugh was capableof making it a matter of public jest. He decided instead to sound MissHamilton upon her views.

  "You've never had any longing for the tropics?" he asked, as casually ashe was able.

  "Not particularly, though of course I should enjoy any freshexperience."

  "I was noticing the other day that you seemed to dislike spiders; and,of course, the spiders in hot countries are terrible. I remember readingof some that snare birds, and I'm not sure that in parts of SouthAmerica they don't even attack human beings. Many people of course donot mind them. For instance, my brother-in-law Daniel Curtis wrote avery moving account of a spider as large as a bat, with whom hefraternized on the banks of the Orinoco. It's quite a little classic inits way."

  John noted with the warmest satisfaction that Miss Hamilton shuddered.

  "Your poor brother," she murmured.

  "Oh, he'll be all right," said John, hurriedly. "I'm equipping him withevery kind of protection against insects. Only yesterday I discovered amost ingenious box which is guaranteed to keep one's tobacco from beingdevoured by cockroaches, and I thought Hugh looked very well in his pithhelmet, didn't you?"

  "I'm afraid I really didn't notice," Miss Hamilton replied,indifferently.

  Soon after this conversation James' birthright was formally surrenderedand John gave up contemplating himself upon a peak in Darien in order tocontemplate himself as the head of an ancient and distinguished family.While the portraits were being hung in the library he discoursed uponthe romance of lineage so volubly that he had a sudden dread of MissHamilton taking him for a snob, which he tried to counteract by puttinginto the mouth of Joan of Arc sentiments of the purest demophilism.

  "I shall aim at getting all the material for the play complete by April1st--my birthday, by the way. Yes, I shall be forty-three. And then Ithought we might go into retreat and aim at finishing entirely by theend of June. That would enable Miss Bond to produce in September withouthurrying the rehearsals. _Lucretia_ will be produced over here in April.I think it would be rather jolly to finish off the play in France.Domremy, Bourges, Chinon, Orleans, Compiegne, Rouen--a delightful tour.You could have an aluminum typewriter...."

  John's dreams of literature and life in France were interrupted by Mrs.Worfolk, who entered the room with a mystery upon her lips.

  "There's the Reverend Armitage waiting to see you in the hall, sir. Buthe was looking so queer that I was in two minds if I ought to admit himor not. It was Elsa who happened to open the door. Well, I mean to say,Maud's upstairs doing her rooms, and Elsa was a bit frightened when shesaw him, through her being engaged to a policeman and so her mindrunning on murders and such like. Of course as soon as I saw it was theReverend Armitage I quieted her down. But he really does look mostpeculiar, if you'll pardon the obsivation on Mrs. Armitage's husband. Idon't think he's actually barmy _yet_; but you know, he gives any onethe idea he will be soon, and I thought you ought to be told before hestarted to rave up and down the house. He's got a funny look in his eye,the same as what a man once had who sat opposite me in a bus and fiveminutes afterwards jumped off on Hammersmith Bridge and threw himselfinto the river. Quite a sensation it created, I remember, and we all hadto alight, so as the conductor could give what information he had to apoliceman who'd only heard the splash."

  Mrs. Worfolk had been too garrulous; before she had time to ascertainher master's views on the subject of admitting Laurence there was a tapat the door, and Laurence himself stalked into the room. Unquestionably,even to one who had not known him as a clergyman, he did present an oddappearance with his fur-lined cloak of voluminous black, his long hair,his bundle of manuscript and theatrical newspapers, and his tragic eye;the only article of attire that had survived his loss of faith was theclergyman's hat; but even that had lost its former meekness and now gavethe effect of a farouche sombrero.

  "Well met," he intoned, advancing solemnly into the room and grippinghis brother-in-law's hand with dramatic effect. "I would converse withyou, John."

  "That's a blank verse line," said John. There really was not much elsethat he could have said to such an affected greeting.

  "Probably, probably," Laurence muttered, shaking his head. "It'sdifficult for me to talk in prose nowadays. But I have news for you,John, good news. _Thomas_ is finished."

  "You needn't wait, Mrs. Worfolk," said John.

  His housekeeper was standing by the door with a face wreathed in notesof interrogation and seemed unwilling to retire.

  "You needn't wait, Mrs. Worfolk," he repeated, irritably.

  "I thought you might have been wanting somebody fetched, sir."

  John made an impatient gesture and Mrs. Worfolk vanished.

  "You know Miss Hamilton, Laurence," said John, severely.

  "Ah, Miss Hamilton! Forgive my abstraction. How d'ye do? But--ah--I wasanxious to have a few words in private."

  "Miss Hamilton is my confidential secretary."

  "I bow to your domestic arrangements," said Laurence. "But--ah--mybusiness is of an extremely private nature. It bears in fact directlyupon my future."

  John was determined to keep his secretary in the room. He had a feelingthat money was going to be asked for, and he hoped that her presencewould encourage him to hold out against agreeing to lend it.

  "If you have anything to say to me, Laurence, you must say it in frontof my secretary. I cannot be continually shooing her from the room likea troublesome cat."

  The ex-vicar looked awkward for a moment; but his natural conceitreasserted itself and flinging back his cloak he laid upon the table amanuscript.

  "Fresh from Miss Quirk's typewriting office here is _Thomas_," heannounced. "And now, my dear fellow, I require a little good advice."There was flowing into his voice the professional unction of theclergyman with a north transept to restore. "Who was it that first said'Charity begins at home'? Yes, a little good advice about my play. Indeference to the Lord Chamberlain while reserving to my conscience theright to execrate his despotism I have expunged from my scenes the_central_ figures of the gospel story, and I venture to think that thereis now no reason why _Thomas_ should not be--ah--produced."

  "I'm afraid I can't invite you to read it to me just at present,Laurence," said John, hurriedly. "No, not just at present, I'm afraid.When I'm working myself I'm always chary of being exposed to outsideinfluences. _You_ wouldn't like and _I_ shouldn't like to find in _Joanof Arc_ echoes of _Thomas_. Miss Hamilton, however, who is thoroughlyconversant with my point of view, would perhaps...."

  "I confess," Laurence interrupted, loftily, "that I do not set muchstore by its being read. No, no. You will acquit me of undueself-esteem, my dear fellow, if I say at once in all modesty that I amsatisfied with my labors, though you may be a little alarmed when Iconfide in you my opinion that it is probably a classic. Still, such ismy deliberate conviction. Moreover, I have already allowed our littleparty at Ambles to hear it. Yes, we spent a memorable evening before themanuscript was dispatched to Miss Quirk. Some of the scenes, indeed,proved almost too dramatic. Edith was quite exhausted by her emotionand scarcely slept all night. As for Hilda, I've never seen her soovercome by anything. She couldn't say anything when I finished. No, no,I sha'n't read it to you. In fact, to be--ah--blunt, I could scarcelyendure the strain a second time. No, what I want you to do, my dearfellow, is to--ah--back it. The phrase is Hugh's. We have all beenthrilled down at Ambles by rumors of your generosity, and I know you'llbe glad of another medium for exercising it. Am I unduly proud of mywork if I say that it seems to me a more worthy medium than Br
itishHonduras or weekly papers?"

  John had been gazing at Miss Hamilton with a mute appeal to save himwhile his brother-in-law was talking; she, however, bending lower everymoment to hide her mirth made no attempt to show him a way of escape andJohn had to rely upon his own efforts.

  "Wouldn't it be better," he suggested, mildly, "to submit your play to amanager before we--before you try to put it on yourself? I have neverinvested any money in my own plays, and really I...."

  "My dear John, far be it from me to appear to cast the least slur--tospeak in the faintest way at all slightingly of your plays, but I do notquite see the point of the comparison. Your plays--excellent as theyare, most excellent--are essentially commercial transactions. My play isnot a commercial transaction."

  "Then why should I be invited to lose my money over it?"

  Laurence smiled compassionately.

  "I thought you would be glad of the opportunity to show a disinterestedappreciation of art. In years to come you will be proud to think thatyou were one of the first to give practical evidence of your belief in_Thomas_."

  "But perhaps I'm just as skeptical as your hero was. I may not believein your play's immortality."

  Laurence frowned.

  "Come, my dear fellow, this is being petty. We are all counting on you.You wouldn't like to hear it said that out of jealousy you had tried tosuppress a rival dramatist. But I must not let my indignation run awaywith me, and you must forgive my heat. I am overstrained. The magnitudeof the subject has almost been too much for me. Besides, I should haveexplained at once that I intended to invest in _Thomas_ all that is leftof my own little capital. Yes, I am even ready to do that. Then I shallspend a year as an actor, after which I shall indulge my more worldlyself by writing a few frankly commercial plays before I begin my nextgreat tragedy entitled _Paul_."

  John decided that his brother-in-law had gone mad; unable to think ofany action more effective at such a crisis, he rang the bell. But whenMaud came to inquire his need he could not devise anything to tell herexcept that Mr. Armitage was staying to lunch.

  It was a most uncomfortable meal, because Miss Hamilton in order to keepherself from laughing aloud had to be preternaturally grave, and Johnhimself was in a continuous state of nervous irritation at Laurence, whowould let everything on his plate grow cold while he droned on without apause about the simplicity of the best art. It was more than tantalizingto watch him gradually build up a mouthful upon his fork, still talking;slowly raise it to his lips, still talking; and wave the overloaded forkto and fro before him, still talking. But it was an agony to watch thecarefully accumulated mouthful drop back bit by bit upon his plate,until at last very slowly and still talking he would insert one cold andtiny morsel into his patient mouth, so tiny a morsel that themastication of it did not prevent him from still talking.

  "I'm afraid you're not enjoying your lunch," his host said.

  "Don't wait for me, my dear fellow; when I am interested in somethingelse I cannot gobble my food. Though in any case," he added in aresigned voice, "I shall have indigestion. One cannot write plays like_Thomas_ without exposing oneself to the ills that flesh is heir to."

  After lunch, much to John's relief, his brother-in-law announced that hehad an appointment with Eleanor and would therefore be unable to stayeven long enough to smoke a cigar.

  "Yes," he said. "Eleanor and I are going to interview one or two of hertheatrical friends. No doubt I shall soon be able to proclaim myself arogue and a vagabond. Yes, yes, poor Edith was quite distressed thismorning when I told her that jestingly. However, she will be happy tohear to-night when I get back that her brother has been so large."

  "Eh?"

  "Not that Edith expected him to be otherwise. No, no, my dear fellow,Edith has a most exalted opinion of you, which indeed I share, if I maybe permitted so to do. Good-by, John, and many thanks. Who knows? Ourlittle lunch may become a red-letter day in the calendar of Englishdramatic art. Let me see, the tube-station is on the left as I go out?Good-by, John; I wish I could stay the night with you, but I have acheap day-ticket which forbids any extension of my plans."

  When John got back to the library he turned in bewilderment to hissecretary.

  "Look here. I surely never gave him the least idea that I was going toback his confounded play, did I?"

  "On the contrary, you made it perfectly clear that you were not."

  "I'm glad to hear you say so, because he has gone away from hereapparently under the delusion that I am. He'll brag about it to Eleanorthis afternoon, and before I know where I am she will be asking me toset George up with a racing-stable."

  Eleanor did not go as far as that, but she did write to John and pointout that the present seemed a suitable moment to deal with the questionof George's health by sending him on a voyage round the world. She addedthat for herself she asked nothing; but John had an uneasy impressionthat it was only in the belief that he who asks not to him shall it begiven.

  "Take down two letters, please, Miss Hamilton," he said, grimly.

  * * * * *

  DEAR LAURENCE,--I am afraid that you went away yesterday afternoon undera misapprehension. I do _not_ see my way to offer any financialcontribution toward the production of your play. I myself passed a longapprenticeship before I was able to get one of my plays acted, and I donot think that you can expect to do otherwise. Do not imagine that I amcasting any doubts upon the excellence of _Thomas_. If it is as good asyou claim, you will have your reward without any help from me. Your ideaof getting acquainted with the practical side of the stage is a goodone. If you are not already engaged in the autumn, I think I can offeryou one of the minor bishops in _Joan of Arc_.

  Your affectionate brother-in-law,

  JOHN TOUCHWOOD.

  * * * * *

  DEAR ELEANOR,--I must say decidedly that I do not perceive anylikelihood of George's health deriving much benefit from a voyage roundthe world. If he is threatened with sleeping sickness, it would be rashto expose him to a tropical climate. If he is suffering from a sluggishliver, he will get no benefit from lolling about in smoking-saloons,whatever the latitude and longitude. I have repeatedly helped Georgewith his schemes to earn a living for himself and he has never failed tosquander my money upon capricious race-horses. You know that I am alwayswilling to come forward on behalf of Bertram and Viola; but their fathermust show signs of helping himself before I do anything more for him. Iam sorry that I cannot offer you a good part in _Joan of Arc_; there isreally nothing to suit you for I presume you would not care to acceptthe part of Joan's mother. However, it has now been decided to produce_Lucretia_ in April and I shall do my best to persuade Grohmann tooffer you a part in that.

  Your affectionate brother-in-law,

  JOHN TOUCHWOOD.

  * * * * *

  John did not receive an answer to either of these letters, and out of anatmosphere of pained silence he managed to conjure optimistically anidea that Laurence and Eleanor had realized the justice of his point ofview.

  "You do agree with me that they were going too far?" he asked MissHamilton; but she declined to express an opinion.

  "What's the good of having a confidential secretary, if I can't ask heradvice about confidential matters?" he grumbled.

  "Are you dissatisfied with me?"

  "No, no, no. I'm not dissatisfied. What an exaggeration of my remark!I'm simply a little puzzled by your attitude. It seems to me--I may bewrong--that instead of ... well, at first you were always perfectlyready to talk about my relations and about me, whereas now you won'ttalk about anything except Joan of Arc. I'm really getting quite boredwith Joan of Arc."

  "I was only an amateur when I began," she laughed. "Now I'm beginning tobe professional."

  "I think it's a great mistake," said John, decidedly. "Suppose I insistupon having your advice?"

  "You'd find that dictation bears two meanings in English, to only one ofwhich are you entitle
d under the terms of our contract."

  "Look here, have I done anything to offend you?" he asked, pathetically.

  But she would not be moved and held her pencil so conspicuously readythat the author was impaled upon it before he could escape and was soonhard at work dictating his first arrangement of the final scene in akind of indignant absent-mindedness.

  Soon after this John received a note from Sir Percy Mortimer, asking ifhe could spare time to visit the great actor-manager some evening in thecourse of the current week. Between nine-thirty and ten was indicated asa suitable time, inasmuch as Sir Percy would then be in hisdressing-room gathering the necessary momentum to knock down all theemotional fabric carefully built up in the first two acts by the mostcunning of contemporary dramatists. Sir Percy Mortimer, whose name wasonce Albert Snell, could command anybody, so it ought not to have beenremarkable that John rather flustered by the invitation made haste toobey. Yet, he must have been aware of an implied criticism in MissHamilton's smile, which flashed across her still deep eyes like a sunnywind, for he murmured, apologetically:

  "We poor writers of plays must always wait upon our masters."

  He tried to convey that Sir Percy was only a mortal like himself, but hefailed somehow to eliminate the deep-rooted respect, almost it might becalled awe of the actor that was perceptible under the assumedcarelessness of the author.

  "You see, it may be that he is anxious to hear some of my plans for thenear future," he added.

  If Sir Percy Mortimer was impressive in the smoking-room of the GarrickClub as himself, he was dumbfounding in his dressing-room as LordClaridge, the ambassador, about to enter Princess Thingumabobski's salonand with diplomatic wiles and smiles to settle the future of severalcouples, incidentally secure for himself the heart and hand of a youngheiress. His evening-dress had achieved an immaculation that even Ouidanever dreamed of; he wore the Grand Cross of the Victorian Order with aseasy an assurance as his father had worn the insignia of a localfriendly society in Birmingham; he was the quintessential diplomat ofgirlish dreams, and it was not surprising that women were ready toremove even their hats to see him perform at matinees.

  "Ah, it's very good of you to look me up, my dear fellow. I have just aquarter-of-an-hour. Godfrey!" He turned to address his valet, who mighthave been a cardinal driven by an ecclesiastical crisis like the spreadof Modernism into attendance upon an actor.

  "Sir Percy?"

  "I do not wish to be disturbed until I am called for the third act."

  "Very good, Sir Percy."

  "And Godfrey!"

  "Sir Percy?"

  "The whisky and soda for Mr. Touchwood. Oh, and Godfrey!"

  "Sir Percy?"

  "If the Duke of Shropshire comes behind, tell His Grace that I amunavoidably prevented from seeing him until after the third act. I will_not_ be interrupted."

  "No, Sir Percy. I quite understand, Sir Percy."

  The valet set the decanter at John's elbow and vanished like the ghostof a king.

  "It's just this, my dear fellow," the actor-manager began, when John whohad been trying to decide whether he should suggest Peter the Great orAugustus the Strong as the next part for his host was inclining towardsAugustus. "It's just this. I believe that Miss Cartright, a formermember of my company, is _also_ a relation of yours."

  "She is my sister-in-law," admitted John, swallowing both Peter andAugustus in a disappointed gulp.

  "In fact, I believe that in private life she is Mrs. George Touchwood.Correct me if I am wrong in my names."

  Sir Percy waited, but John did not avail himself of the offer, and hewent on.

  "Well, my dear fellow, she has approached me upon a matter which Iconfess I have found somewhat embarrassing, referring as it does toanother man's private affairs; but as one of the--as--how shall Idescribe myself?--" He fingered the ribbon of the Victorian Order forinspiration. "As an actor-manager of some standing, I felt that youwould prefer me to hear what she had to say in order that I mightthereby adjudicate--yes, I think that is the word--without any--no,forgive me--adjudicate is _not_ the word. Adjudicate is too strong. Whatis the word for outsiders of standing who are called in to assist at thesettlement of a trade dispute? Whatever the word is, that is the word Iwant. I understand from Miss Cartright--Mrs. George Touchwood in privatelife--that her husband is in a very grave state of health and entirelywithout means." Sir Percy looked at himself in the glass and dabbed hisface with the powder-puff. "Miss Cartright asked me to use my influencewith you to take some steps to mitigate this unpleasant situation uponwhich, it appears, people are beginning to comment rather unfavorably.Now, you and I, my dear fellow, are members of the same club. You and Ihave high positions in our respective professions. Is it wise? There mayof course be a thousand reasons for leaving your brother to starve withan incurable disease. But is it wise? As a man of the world, I thinknot." He touched his cheeks with the hare's-foot and gave them a richerbloom. "Don't allow me to make any suggestion that even borders upon theimpertinent, but if you care to accept my mediation--_that_ is the wordI couldn't remember." In his enthusiasm Sir Percy smacked his leg, whichcaused him a momentary anxiety for the perfection of his trousers."Mediation! Of course, that's it--if you care, as I say, to accept mymediation I am willing to mediate."

  John stared at the actor-manager in angry amazement. Then he let himselfgo:

  "My brother is not starving--he eats more than any human being I know.Nor is he suffering from anything incurable except laziness. I do notwish to discuss with you or anybody else the affairs of my relations,which I regret to say are in most cases only too much my own affairs."

  "Then there is nothing for me to do," Sir Percy sighed, deriving whatconsolation he could from being unable to find a single detail of hisdress that could be improved.

  "Nothing whatever," John agreed, emphatically.

  "But what shall I say to Miss Cartright, who you _must_ remember is aformer member of my company, as well as your sister-in-law?"

  "I leave that to you."

  "It's very awkward," Sir Percy murmured. "I thought you would be sure tosee that it is always better to settle these unpleasant matters--out ofcourt, if I may use the expression. I'm so afraid that Miss Cartrightwill air her grievance."

  "She can wash as much dirty linen as she likes and air it every day inyour theater," said John, fiercely. "But my brother George shall _not_go on a voyage round the world. You've nothing else to ask me? Nothingabout my plans for the near future?"

  "No, no. I've a success, as you know, and I don't expect I shall wantanother play for months. You've seen my performance, of course?"

  "No," said John, curtly, "I've not."

  And when he left the actor-manager's dressing-room he knew that he hadwounded him more deeply by that simple negative than by all the mightyinsults imaginable.

  However, notwithstanding his successful revenge John left the theater ina rage and went off to his club with the hope of finding a sympatheticlistener into whose ears he could pour the tale of Sir Percy'smegalomania; but by ill luck there was nobody suitable in thesmoking-room that night. To be sure, Sir Philip Cranbourne was snoringin an armchair, and Sir Philip Cranbourne was perhaps a bigger man inthe profession than Sir Percy Mortimer. Yet, he was not so much biggerbut that he would have welcomed a tale against the younger theatricalknight whose promotion to equal rank with himself he had resented verymuch. Sir Philip, however, was fast asleep, and John doubted if he hatedSir Percy sufficiently to welcome being woken up to hear a story againsthim--particularly a story by a playwright, one of that miserable classfor which Sir Philip as an actor had naturally a very profound contempt.Moreover, thinking the matter over, John came to the conclusion thatthe story, while it would tell against Sir Percy would also tell againsthimself, and he decided to say nothing about it. When he was leaving theclub he ran into Mr. Winnington-Carr, who greeted him airily.

  "Evening, Touchwood!"

  "Good evening."

  "What's this I hear about Hugh g
oing to Sierra Leone? Bit tough, isn'tit, sending him over to a plague spot like that? You saw that paragraphin _The Penguin_? Things we should like to know, don't you know? WhyJohn Touchwood's brother is taking up a post in the tropics and whetherJohn himself is really sorry to see him go."

  "No, I did not see that paragraph," said John, icily.

  Next morning a bundle of press-cuttings arrived.

  "There is nothing here but stupid gossip," said John to his secretary,flinging the packet into the fire. "Nothing that is worth preserving inthe album, I mean to say."

  Miss Hamilton smiled to herself.