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Therewas a mild hum of excitement in the offices of Messrs. Fairbrother. The honeymoon was over, and Mr. George Early had returned. He was already sitting in the big upstairs office, discussing business problems with a calmness and intelligent interest that surprised everybody. Those who had imagined him lolling in the armchairs, smoking expensive cigars, and telling his employés not to bother him but to look after the orders themselves, were more than astonished, and at once came to the conclusion that George Early had reformed.
The three legatees were among those who watched this business activity with satisfaction. If George Early had decided to throw all his energies into the business it was certain that he would give no thought to trivial questions of blackmail, nor waste his time in bothering about the reform of men in whom he was not interested.
Nevertheless he had not forgotten it, as Gray found out on the occasion of one of his visits upstairs.
"How's your wife, Gray?" asked the new master.
Gray replied that she was in the best of health.
"I hope she'll remain so," said George; "she's a good little woman, and she deserves a good husband. Now that you've given up the drink she ought to be very happy."
"She's happy enough," said Gray.
George said that he was glad to hear it.
"I suppose you've given up the secretaryship of the Old Friends' Club?" he said severely.
"Perhaps I have, perhaps I haven't," said Gray, who resented this catechism. "I shall give it up when it suits me; and this job, too, when I feel inclined."
"Don't do anything rash, now," said George; "I don't want to interfere with your affairs. You know that's not my way."
"Of course I do," said Gray; "you wouldn't think of such a thing."
"All I want, Gray," said George, "is to see you on the right path. You've got a good wife, a good home, and a good income. Stick fast to your business, and you'll be a successful man. Punctuality, perseverance, and temperance are the three rules for success, as you've heard me say many times. You have seen me climb the ladder step by step, until I have reached my present position. How has it been done? I need not tell you, Gray."
"No," said Gray; "I'd rather you didn't."
"Don't be afraid that I shall interfere with you," said George; "I know that I can trust you to go along the straight path. As I said to my wife the other day, 'If there's one man in the firm I can trust, it's James Gray.'"
"Thanks," said Gray. "If you've quite finished, I'll go down and send up somebody else."
Left alone, George Early smiled to himself, ruminated for a few moments, and then proceeded to examine the papers before him.
He had no intention of ruling with an iron hand, nor of exacting homage from the employés. He wanted to be in command, and at present he held that position, would be contented with it, too, while the interest lasted. By-and-by, perhaps, he would aspire to positions in the public service, become a sheriff, and eventually Lord Mayor. These things were very vague as yet, for at present the distraction of a big position, a wife, and a West End mansion he found sufficient.
He did not forget to put the head clerk and the cashier quite at their ease with respect to the legacies they were enjoying, nor to acquaint them, as he had done Gray, with the high opinion he had of their abilities. Parrott received his sermon with the stolidity one expects of a man whose sense of humour is under the average; and Busby, who knew exactly in what spirit he was being received, affected to be pleased, and wished George success in his new position.
Taking into consideration his humble start not many months previous, it must be conceded that George Early made a very good impression on his first day as proprietor of the old-established firm of Fairbrother.
It was a curious coincidence that on this very day another young bridegroom took over the affairs of an old-established firm in the City of London; and as these two firms have already had business relations sufficient to put them on a nodding acquaintance, and are likely to have further relations of an exciting nature, it will not be amiss to see how matters are proceeding with bridegroom number two, especially as his first efforts in his new post indirectly concern bridegroom number one.
Dibbs and Dubbs is a name familiar to all City youths whose business or pleasure it is to pass through St. Paul's Passage in Queen Victoria Street. The names stare at everybody from a brass plate, polished to a high degree of brilliancy, whereon it is further announced that these gentlemen follow the honourable profession of the law, and are to be found on the first floor within.
Dibbs, it may be mentioned, has long passed into the Unknown, and Dubbs, having wrestled for a considerable time with failing health, has recently followed him, leaving his son-in-law, but newly married, to attend to such clients as remain faithful, and to see that the brass plate keeps its position and its lustre.
The young lawyer, no less indefatigable than George Early, proceeded to do both these things as soon as he arrived in St. Paul's Passage. Having set the office-boy to work on the brass plate, he made a searching investigation of the contents of the office, and discovered that the firm itself was on the verge of following the lamented partners, unless some one with grit, energy, and ability was able to set to work and instil new life into it. This, without a moment's hesitation, he decided to do himself.
He sat down in the only easy-chair, and opened a long envelope labelled "Fairbrother," one of the few envelopes he had found in the safe. The contents of it were evidently of a highly interesting nature, for they drew from the reader exclamations of astonishment as from time to time he turned over the folios and re-read portions of them. Having finished, he rang a bell on the table.
"Mole," he said to the clerk who entered, "do you know anything of the affairs of Fairbrothers'?"
"No, sir," said the clerk, promptly.
"Nothing whatever?"
"Never heard the name before, sir," said the young man, decisively.
"Good," replied the lawyer; "be ready in half an hour to go out for me on an important mission."
"Yes, sir," said the clerk, with alacrity. An important mission was evidently of very rare occurrence at Dibbs and Dubbs, for the clerk promptly retired to his obscure office and executed a war-dance.
In half an hour the bell rang, and he returned to the outer office.
"Read that carefully," said his master, handing him a brief note.
Mole proceeded to do so with knitted brows.
"You understand thoroughly what you have to do?"
"I've got it pat," said the clerk, putting the note in his pocket.
"Good," said the lawyer again. "Here's half a sovereign. Now go, and report to me as soon as you return."
The importance of this mysterious mission can only be seen by following in the footsteps of the departing clerk. That he is to act the part of a sleuth-hound is evident at once from his movements.
On reaching the dark landing of the narrow staircase, his first act was to look carefully about him. Being assured that he was alone, he struck a match, and by its flickering light read carefully the note given him in the office. This seemed a superfluous performance, with the sun shining outside; but the detective knows his own business best. The next act of Mr. Mole was to pull off his trilby hat and tuck it behind the gas-meter, its place being supplied by a cloth cap drawn from a back trouser pocket. With the peak of this cap pulled well down over his eyes, and his coat collar turned up, Mole descended the staircase on tiptoe and reached the door. He looked up and down the court without turning his head, a feat only possible by turning the eyes till scarcely any part was visible but the whites. Apparently satisfied that all was well, he started off in the direction of St. Paul's, keeping to the sides with the same pertinacity that a mariner hugs the shore.
He avoided St. Paul's Churchyard, but kept to the narrow thoroughfare until he reached Paternoster Row, where he threaded his way through numerous courts and emerged on Ludgate Hill, near the Old Bailey. Giving a familiar nod to the old building, he darted across the road, and made his way along Water Lane to Upper Thames Street. Here a quick change was effected, which consisted in pulling the cap-peak rakishly over one eye, undoing the bottom buttons of his waistcoat, and covering his collar with a shabby muffler. Then, producing a clay pipe, he slouched along for some distance, taking note of the buildings with apparent carelessness.
He halted before a gateway labelled "Iron Wharf," beneath which was the well-known name of Fairbrother. This was evidently Mr. Mole's destination, for he entered the gateway and walked towards the warehouse, where a number of vans were loading.
Inside the roomy ground floor stacks of iron gutters and rows of stoves lined the walls. Pulley wheels and new sinks lay in heaps, marked with mysterious chalk hieroglyphics. Trollies trundled over the floor, and cries of "Below!" and "Take a turn!" resounded from the upper regions, where goods were being lowered to the vans.
"What are you after, mister?"
A bearded man in a disreputable-looking coat and a sack apron accosted Mole.
"Bit of old iron," said Mole. "That the way up?" nodding to a wooden staircase.
"That's the way until we get wings. What floor do you want?"
"Don't want a floor," said Mole; "got two at home. Guess again."
"P'raps you want something else?" said the man, looking hard at Mole's nose. "If so, you can have it."
"Thanks," said Mole. "I'll see you when I come down."
He ascended the staircase to the first floor. It appeared to be deserted, except for stacks of gas-stoves and iron mantelpieces. Mole walked round and examined the mechanism of the cooking apparatus until a footstep sounded.
"Hallo, there," said a voice. "Want a stove?"
Another bearded and ragged ruffian appeared.
"How much?" asked Mole.
"What size do you want?"—pulling out a rule.
"Never mind about the size," said Mole. "I'm looking for somebody."
"You won't find any one in there," said the man, as Mole opened a small oven door.
"Looking for a man name o' Bray," continued Mole.
"Jay? There's plenty of them about here. They're in every day, pulling the stuff about—tons of 'em."
"Almost as plentiful as whiskers, I suppose," said Mole. "Got a man here name o' Bray?"
The ragged salesman had turned to a small desk, and was poring deeply over a long order sheet marked "To-day certain" in bold writing.
"What d'yer think of that?" said Mole, producing a long cigar, and putting it on the desk. "Try it after dinner."
The man examined it closely and at a distance.
"Name o' Bray you said, didn't you?"
"Bray," said Mole.
"Don' know 'im," said the man. "No Bray here. It wouldn't be Wilkinson, I s'pose?"
Mole intimated with some heat that it was as likely to be Sasselovitch as Wilkinson.
"Bray, Bray, Bray. Don't mean Gray, do you?" said the man.
"Gray? Now, that's near it," said Mole. "I wonder if it could be Gray! Never seen the man myself, but a friend of mine in South Africa asked me to find him if I could when I got home. Is there a man here named Gray?"
"Down in the office," said the man.
"Ah! What sort of a' chap is he, now? I didn't want to see him especially, I just want——"
"Tommy!"
A yell came from the yard below.
"Hallo!" said the whiskered man, shuffling to the goods door that overlooked the yard. "Hallo there!"
There was no response.
"Here you are," he said suddenly to Mole. "That's Gray, going up the yard. Tail coat—see! Going out to lunch."
"Good," said Mole. "I think I'll go after him."
He scuttled down the stairs, and reached the street just as Gray turned up a court on the opposite side of the thoroughfare. Like a bloodhound, Mole followed him. Along Queen Victoria Street went the pair, the guileless Gray in front, his relentless pursuer twenty paces behind. Gray stopped at the windows of a typewriting establishment; Mole became absorbed in a new system of drainage displayed at an estate agent's. Gray went on a bit further, and stopped again; Mole did the same. Presently Gray, having dived into a passage, came out in Cannon Street and entered a restaurant; Mole waited long enough to stow away his pipe and muffler, turn down his collar and set the cloth cap at a proper elevation, and then followed.
Gray had seated himself at an unoccupied table in a cosy corner, and was reading the bill of fare. Mole proceeded with caution. Having hesitated between a seat near the front window and one by the fireplace, he finally settled himself opposite Gray at the same table.
Gray ordered a steak, and Mole decided on a chop. As the waiter was departing, Mole called him back and gave minute directions about the cooking, intimating at the same time that he would like something to drink.
A precocious youth with hair elaborately oiled and brushed rushed forward.
"Get me some whisky," said Mole; "and, look here!"—eyeing him sternly—"I don't want any of your cheap wash. Ask for 'Tommy Morgan.'"
"You won't get that about here," said the boy, decisively. "Can get you 'Killarney' or 'McNab' or 'Jimmy Jenkins.'"
"Look here," said Mole, gripping his arm; "you can get 'Tommy Morgan' if you try. But it's no good you going to common public-houses. Try a high-class place, and remember that there's twopence for yourself. Cut off!"
"Isn't it a funny thing, now," said Mole, addressing his remarks to the cruet and Gray, "that I have all this trouble to get a drop of good whisky? Mind you"—boldly addressing Gray—"I don't wonder at it, for the price is high, and it isn't everybody that can appreciate the flavour of 'Tommy Morgan!' It knocks 'em over. It's all strength and flavour."
"Must be pretty good," said Gray.
"It is," said Mole, "to those who understand whisky. To others it's nothing out of the ordinary."
"They say 'McNab' is good stuff," ventured Gray.
"Ordinary men may drink 'McNab!'" said Mole, picking up theTimesand looking at it severely. "The whisky-drinker who has once tried 'Tommy Morgan' will never touch anything else. I've taken whisky since I was seven years old—was brought up on it; father drank it—grandfather too, and great-grandfather. We've been in the trade for generations. I don't suppose there's another man of my age who's a better judge of whisky than I am."
The precocious youth returned with the whisky in a tumbler.
"I got it, sir. Had to go to the Blue Crown. They charged a penny extra."
"Good," said Mole. "Now I can enjoy my dinner. If they'd charged a shilling for it," he said to Gray, speaking as a connoisseur, "it would have been worth the money."
He took a mouthful of the whisky-and-water, and closed his eyes with dreamy satisfaction. Gray called out to the retreating boy.
"How far do you have to go for whisky?" he asked.
"Not far, sir," said the boy. "Shan't be five minutes."
"Well, get me some whisky—the same," pointing to Mole's glass.
"I beg your pardon," said Mole, suddenly. "Allow me to say a word. Don't," lowering his voice, "don't take this unless you are used to whisky. Don't take it merely as a spirit, either. But——" he put one finger on Gray's sleeve and paused significantly, "if you want flavour—flavour, then try it."
Gray did try it, and was obliged to confess that he didn't notice anything special about it. Mole was not surprised; in fact, he said that he should have been surprised if Gray had noticed the flavour. Whiskies like "Tommy Morgan" were an acquired taste, you had to get used to them. When once you were used to them—when once you were used to "Tommy Morgan," then—
"It's like nectar," said Mole, draining his glass.
Gray agreed that good whisky was hard to get, and confessed that he had tried many sorts in his time. He didn't drink it regularly, but liked it good when he did have it.
"I drink nothing else but 'Tommy,'" said Mole, in confidence; "and I carry it with me always. I've just been round the country, and have run out of it till I get home. Got heaps at home, my brother-in-law is a partner in the firm."
"I must try a bottle," said Gray; "where's the London office?"
"No," said Mole, lifting his hand; "I introduced it. You must allow me to send you a bottle free. Try that, and if you like it, order as many bottles as you please."
Gray and Mole parted with enthusiasm, Mole promising to send a bottle of "Tommy Morgan" to the address given him. Mole could not be certain when they would next meet, as he was off to Liverpool and Ireland the next day, and might be travelling for months.
"Lucky meeting that," said Gray, as he went back to the office.
"What sort of man was he?" said Mrs. Gray, when she heard of the affable stranger. "Not very nice really I should think. Seems to me rather unlucky to meet a man named Mole on a Friday."
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"Oh, George dear, do be careful!" cried Mrs. Early.
"No harm done," said George.
"There is, you bad boy! You've upset the salt. Throw a bit over your left shoulder—quick!"
George obeyed.
"Coffee or tea, dear?"
"Coffee," said George, briskly; "plenty of it."
Mrs. Early took up the coffee-pot and put it down again quickly with an expression of horror.
"Oh, look what you've done now!" she cried.
"What? Upset the mustard?" said George.
"You've crossed the knives. Separate them; it's terribly unlucky."
Again George obeyed.
"It's made me quite nervous," said Mrs. Early, pouring out the coffee. "I'm sure something is going to happen. There!" as a spoon slipped off the table, "a stranger's coming!"
George looked across the table into the wide-open eyes of his wife.
"I know," he said intelligently: "it's the sweep; these chimneys are in a terrible state. I told Martha about it the other day."
"It isn't the sweep," said Mrs. Early; "its a stranger who brings bad news. Something's happened."
George pondered for a moment, and then said—
"It must be that hat you sent to the milliner. Shop burnt out, I expect."
"It's worse than that," said Mrs. Early, pressing one hand cautiously to her heart. "I can feel it."
"You're right," said George, as he opened a letter brought in by Martha. "It's worse than that."
Mrs. Early grasped the table with both hands.
"Is it too bad for me to hear?" she whispered.
George leant his head upon one hand, and frowned heavily at the tablecloth.
"I suppose I'd better tell you," he said hoarsely. "Give me your hand. Are you calm now?"
"Quite," said Mrs. Early, shaking. "Tell me."
"Are you sure you won't faint?"
"I'll—I'll try not to."
"Then, listen," said George. "Your Aunt Phœbe is coming to stay with us."
He threw a letter across the table, and drew back in time to dodge the serviette thrown by his indignant spouse.
"George," said Mrs. Early, tragically, "I hate you!"
"Then come and give me a kiss," said George.
For answer Mrs. Early tossed her head, which necessitated her husband's going round the table to kiss her. This he continued to do until his wife reversed her decision.
"And yet," said Mrs. Early, "I can't get over the feeling that something is going to happen."
George looked up with the light of intelligence in his eyes.
"What is it?" said his wife.
"Perhaps Martha's going to give notice. I've seen a soldier hanging about the front lately, and she asked me yesterday if the flats in the suburbs were very dear?"
Mrs. Early gasped, and closed her mouth ominously.
"That must be it," she said in a terrible whisper.
"Don't worry," said George; "it hasn't happened yet."
As he left for Upper Thames Street his wife told him brightly that she believed that Martha was quite safe, as she had asked to have her bedroom whitewashed at Christmas.
"Funny creatures, women," thought George, as he bowled along in a hansom to the office. "Always getting some queer notions in their heads, always making mountains out of molehills. Good creatures, too," he mused. "Only got to be fond of 'em and tell 'em so, and they're ready to do anything for you. Well, I'm a lucky brute!"
The last thought was sufficiently good for George for the rest of the journey, and it was still strong upon him as he looked round the magnificent room he occupied at Fairbrothers'.
"Big and roomy," said he, standing with his back to the fire; "warm, cosy, and comfortable. Easy-chairs, cigars, drinks, and amusement in the shape of work. After work, a gorgeous house in Kensington, a good dinner, and a charming wife to talk to. What more could a man wish for?"
He lit a cigarette and looked about him.
"I took to this room from the first, something seemed to draw me to it; it's been my lucky room from the very beginning. I didn't think on the morning I came up here and overheard that little conversation that it was going to be the foundation of my fortune. It was a Friday, too, if I remember rightly. That's one for the people who say that Friday isn't a lucky day."
A knock came at the door, and Gray entered.
"Ah, Gray," said George, seating himself at a desk, "I was ruminating over things when you entered and broke the spell."
"I've got something to ruminate over myself," said Gray, bitterly. "I want to have a little talk with you."
George looked up and waited for him to continue.
"You needn't look so innocent," said Gray; "you can't bluff me now. I'm used to it."
George raised his eyebrows, and endeavoured to find a solution to the mystery in the countenance of his visitor.
"Have a good look," said Gray, "so that you'll know me again."
"I know you, Gray," said his master, pleasantly, "and I must remind you that I am the principal of this establishment. If you have any complaint to lodge you had better make it by letter. My time is precious."
"It was a low-down trick," said Gray, fiercely.
He began to pace up and down the apartment.
"What's a low-down trick? Explain yourself."
"Oh, don't come that game with me," said Gray, irritably. "You've been giving me away, and you know it!"
"I don't," said George. "I beg your pardon, Gray, but I don't know it."
"Do you mean to say you haven't been putting the lawyers on my track?" he asked in a terrible voice.
"Lawyers? What lawyers?"
Gray snatched a blue paper from his pocket, and threw it on the table.
"Look at that," he demanded, "and then get out of it if you can!"
George Early picked up the paper and read—
"To Mr. James Gray."WARNING!"Sir,"We are empowered under the will of the late Joseph Fairbrother to give you fair warning that you are not abiding by the rules of the agreement under which you received a legacy from the said gentleman hereinbefore mentioned. It having come to our knowledge that you, in the presence of a witness, did partake of alcoholic liquor on a date subsequent to that on which the legacy came into operation, you are hereby warned to discontinue the practice under pain of losing the said legacy, and forfeiting all moneys forthwith."We are, sir,"Yours faithfully,"Dibbs & Dubbs."FIRST WARNING."
"To Mr. James Gray.
"WARNING!
"Sir,
"We are empowered under the will of the late Joseph Fairbrother to give you fair warning that you are not abiding by the rules of the agreement under which you received a legacy from the said gentleman hereinbefore mentioned. It having come to our knowledge that you, in the presence of a witness, did partake of alcoholic liquor on a date subsequent to that on which the legacy came into operation, you are hereby warned to discontinue the practice under pain of losing the said legacy, and forfeiting all moneys forthwith.
"We are, sir,
"Yours faithfully,
"Dibbs & Dubbs.
"FIRST WARNING."
George turned over the paper and stared at it.
"Well, I'm hanged!" he said.
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Gray, sullenly.
"Do?" said George. "Nothing. Gray," he continued quietly, "upon my soul I haven't breathed a word of your secret to any person but yourself. Somebody must have told the lawyers, but, believe me, I had no hand in it."
"Then who is it?" said Gray.
"Perhaps the lawyers themselves are doing it."
"They've left me alone previously. Why should they begin now? If I find the man who did it," said Gray in a low, terrible voice, "Heaven help him!"
It was not possible to tell Mrs. Gray of this misfortune, so her husband, to account for his worried look, was forced to give out that he had lost the secretaryship of the Old Friends' Club. Some miscreant had libelled him and declared that he was a great drinker, and the club handed over the secretaryship to a temperance member.
"Just what I thought," said Mrs. Gray, sorrowfully; "Friday's an unlucky day, Jimmy; and when you told me his name, I had a creepy feeling all over me. I'm not surprised."
"What are you talking about?" said her husband, irritably. "Told you whose name?"
"Why, that man, Jimmy; 'Mould,' wasn't it?"
Gray smothered a profane word. "The skulking hound! Why, of course, he's the man who did it. Let me set eyes on him again. Him and his wonderful 'Tommy Morgan.' I'll give him 'Tommy Morgan'—I'll break his head!"
"Oh, Jimmy, do be careful of yourself!" pleaded little Mrs. Gray.
"I'll be right enough, Em. I'll give him 'Tommy Morgan'!"
Gray kept a keen eye open for the versatile Mole, but he never appeared again in the Cannon Street restaurant; nor was Gray sharp enough to catch a glimpse of him in St. Paul's Passage, although he haunted that place in a revengeful spirit for some days.
Probably a week of temperance and an abnormal sense of safety were responsible for the yearning to taste liquor that seized Gray one evening as he returned home. He determined to try his luck, so instead of journeying to Leytonstone he got out at Stratford, and struck off into a by-street. Having traversed one street after another, looking cautiously behind him at intervals, he selected an ill-lighted public-house and slipped into the private bar. Luck favoured him, the compartment was quite empty.
The stiff glass of whisky-and-water seemed the sweetest he had ever tasted, it warmed the heart and left a delightful flavour in the mouth. As Gray turned to depart, the partition shook, and a cough arrested his attention. He looked up and saw the face of Mole peering over the top.
Gray was furious. All the enmity he had engendered in the past week appeared in full force at a second's command. He rushed to the door of the next compartment. It was empty. He tried the next bar, and caught sight of a figure disappearing down the street. As Gray followed, the man began to run. It was an exciting chase, but Mole was too slippery for his pursuer, and Gray, after a vigorous hunt, was forced to confess himself beaten.
When George Early went through his morning letters an officious-looking blue envelope happened to be on the top. It bore the mark of Dibbs and Dubbs, and was addressed to "James Gray, Esq." It had evidently been put there by mistake.
George called a boy and sent the letter downstairs. Later in the day he was able, by careful observation, to conclude that Gray had received a second warning from the lawyers.
"For Mrs. Gray's sake," said George to himself, "I must see into this matter. It won't do for Gray to lose that legacy. I must talk to him seriously—threaten him, if necessary. He'll be careful for a few days; I'll wait, and when he's in the right mood point out the terrible consequences of his keeping to the drink."
With this virtuous resolution George Early dismissed the question, but bethought himself to mention it at the dinner-table that evening.
"Gray has had his second warning," he said, looking across at Aunt Phœbe. "I've given him plenty of advice. I suppose I shall have to threaten him now."
Aunt Phœbe looked very cross, and said that she really had no patience with men.
"Well, it serves him right, that's all I can say. I shouldn't threaten him. Let him go on. It's to your interest; it will punish him to lose the money, and I'm not sure that it won't do you some good to have it. I really think you'd be better as a teetotaler, too."
"What's all that to do with Gray?" asked George in astonishment. "For goodness' sake turn over to me all your knowledge of the complications of these Fairbrother wills and legacies. I'm continually getting surprises."
"I thought you knew all the complications of the legacies," said Aunt Phœbe, raising her eyebrows.
"It seems to me that I don't," said George.
"Why, don't you know that if Mr. Gray loses his legacy, it reverts to you, and that you get the money, and have to abide by the conditions as he did?"
"What!"
George leapt out of his seat like a man shot, and had to hold the table to steady himself. His wife and aunt shrieked simultaneously.
"What's that you say!" roared George. "Me take the legacy? Me be a teetotaler, and take over the—the——"
He sat down in his seat at the earnest request of his aunt, who declared that he ought to be ashamed of himself to frighten his poor darling wife by roaring like a lion.
"I don't understand," said George, in a dazed fashion. "Me take the—Gray lose his legacy, and me take it?"
Mrs. Early having recovered and scolded her "naughty boy," Aunt Phœbe begged her nephew to be calm, and repeated her former statement. It was quite correct; if the legacies were lost while Miss Fairbrother remained unmarried, they were to go to charities, but in the event of Miss Fairbrother being married the legacies, together with the conditions, would revert to her husband. It was Mr. Fairbrother's express wish, because he said his daughter's husband might need reforming, and if he didn't there would be no harm done.
"Very kind of him," said George; "and what about the husband? I suppose he can't lose the legacies—he's got them for life?"
"No," said Aunt Phœbe; "if he loses them the money goes to charities."
George gave a sigh of relief. "I'm afraid I should lose them," he said. "However, it wouldn't much matter?"
It was Aunt Phœbe's turn to be surprised. "Wouldn't much matter, do you say?" she almost shrieked. "Do you mean to tell me that you don't know all the terrible conditions attached to these legacies?"
George turned pale, and his wife was threatened with hysterics.
"What are the conditions?" asked George, hoarsely.
Aunt Phœbe rose to her feet.
"The conditions," she said, in an awesome voice, "are these: If the legacies revert to you, and you lose them, the Fairbrother fortune goes too.Every penny of your wife's income goes to charities!"
George Early's jaw dropped, and he sat in a helpless heap. His little wife burst into tears.
Presently George roused himself and took a glass of wine.
"Aunt Phœbe," he said; "did Old Fairbrother put those conditions in his will with regard to the three legacies?"
"I have said so," was the reply. "They were entirely the idea of Mr. Joseph Fairbrother himself."
"Then all I can say," said George—"all I can say is that he was aSILLY OLD FOOL!"
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Master Cacklinwas perched upon a high stool, eagerly devouring a report of the match between Teddy Sneffler and The Midget, for the Bantam championship, when a succession of soft squeaky footsteps fell on his ear. As they ascended the stairs he turned his head. The paper was quickly thrust into his desk, and the Cacklin pen began to move with marvellous rapidity.
A bell rang, loudly and impatiently.
"Who's that?" said William Budd, appearing from an obscure corner.
"Guvnor," said Cacklin. "Upstairs—sharp!"
"Who said the guvnor was here?" inquired Busby, coming forward and looking at the clock, which pointed to a quarter past nine.
"It's right enough," said Cacklin; "just come in. Something on the board, I expect."
William Budd entered the upstairs room with that feeling of suppressed excitement which always arises when the "guvnor" appears in the office an hour before his usual time.
"I want Mr. Gray," said George, sharply.
"Yes, sir." The boy disappeared.
In five minutes he reappeared. "Mr. Gray's out, sir."
"Say I want him as soon as he comes in."
"Yes, sir."
George fingered the letters on his desk, looked at the post-marks, and put them down without opening any. He walked to the window and stood for five minutes looking at the traffic outside. His usual imperturbability had deserted him to-day, chased away by the events of the previous evening. He walked up and down the big office, lit a cigarette, and paused at intervals to look in the mirror over the mantelshelf.
"Lucky thing I got that information last night," he said presently. "That ass Gray is sure to make a fool of himself unless I take him in hand—sure to do it. And that old idiot, too! 'Legacies revert to his daughter's husband.' Never heard of such rot in my life."
He touched the bell again, and again the surprised Budd appeared.
"Mr. Gray," said George.
"Not come back, sir," said the boy.
"Find him—find him!" said the new master.
"When did he go out—how long ago?"
"Dunno, sir," said the boy.
"Find out. Be sharp!"
The offices below were aroused into activity by the peremptory orders to find Gray. William Budd's version of his brief interview created some excitement. He described George Early as walking up and down the office with arms waving, and eyes starting from his head. He ordered Gray to be found, dead or alive. Budd was not sure that he didn't see a revolver lying on the desk.
Ten o'clock struck, but no Gray appeared. Office-boys and junior clerks had spurted east and west. Nobody knew where Gray had gone, and there appeared to be no reason why he should leave the office. He might have gone out on the firm's business, but if so nobody knew of it. Wild were the conjectures as to what was in store for him when he returned, and why he had disappeared.
At lunch-time Gray was still absent, and the latest news in the counting-house was that the "guvnor" had gone out to lunch with a slow, firm step, and a Napoleonic sternness of brow.
While this excitement was rife in Upper Thames Street, Mrs. Gray was busy with her work in the little Leytonstone house. If her husband had important business of his own to transact, it was clear she did not know it. She had just put up a pair of clean curtains to the front window, and lovingly caressed a pink bow that held one of them back, when a sharp knock came at the front door.
Mrs. Gray opened it, and started back in surprise, "Well, I never! This is a surprise! How do you do, Mr. Early? Won't you come in?"
George Early did go in. Moreover, he shook hands, and said that it was a pleasure to him to find Mrs. Gray looking so well. His smile was perhaps not so brilliant as of yore, but Mrs. Gray put that down to the worries of managing a large business, and the severity necessary to his position.
Mrs. Gray thought it very kind of her old lodger not to forget his landlady. She hoped Mrs. Early was well. George was pleased to say that Mrs. Early was in excellent health and spirits.
"And how are you getting on now?" said George, when he had passed as lightly as possible over his change of position. "You have another lodger, I suppose?"
Mrs. Gray was sorry to say that she hadn't. Jimmy was very well, but some horrid person had accused him of drinking, and he had lost the secretaryship of the club.
"It's a shame!" said George. "But, between ourselves, I'm afraid there's some truth in it."
"Truth in what?" said Mrs. Gray, fearfully.
"He drinks," said George, solemnly. "Now, what did he have this morning?"
"Nothing but his breakfast," cried Mrs. Gray. "He had his breakfast and went off as usual."
"Good," thought George; "then he isn't here?"
"The fact is," he said, "I came down especially to see you about this. He must be got to sign the pledge, and we must keep the closest watch upon him to see that he never takes anything."
"Is it so bad as that?" said Mrs. Gray, with wide-open eyes.
"It is," said George, mysteriously, "for you."
"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Gray.
"He has always been a friend of mine," said George, absently, "and I'll never let it be said that I haven't stretched out a hand to help him. Besides, he doesn't do it of his own accord, as you may say. And it isn't as if you weren't a good wife to him, because I know that you are."
"Whatever is the matter?" cried Mrs. Gray, clasping her hands frantically.
"He must sign the pledge," said George again. "You're a good wife to him, and he doesn't do it willingly."
"Doesn't do what?"—wildly.
George laid one hand upon Mrs. Gray's sleeve, and looked steadily into her eyes.
"Does he ever talk in his sleep?" he asked.
"I don't think so—not much. I haven't noticed."
"Never mentions the name Flora, Alice, or May, I suppose?"
"I don't think—you don't mean to say——"
"Never speaks of Christabel—Chrissy, does he?"
Mrs. Gray burst into tears. George sighed, and tried to comfort her by little pats on the shoulder.
"There, there; you mustn't blame him," he said. "It isn't his fault, you know."
Mrs. Gray cried louder, and her little form shook with emotion.
"He—he goes with other girls. I k-know he does!" she cried. "Oh! oh! oh!"
"'Tisn't Jimmy," said George, soothingly. "It's the whisky."
"Oh! oh!" cried Mrs. Gray. "He—he goes with other girls!"
"He doesn't," said George, boldly. "I won't hear it. You shan't blame him. It isn't fair!"
Mrs. Gray grew calmer, but still continued to sob. She was always prepared to back up the opinions of George, whom she held to be a man of excellent qualities, with an idolatrous affection for her husband.
"It isn't fair that you should go against him when he is not to blame," said George. "You should save him from them."
Mrs. Gray wiped her eyes meekly.
"What you must do," said George, "is to insist on his signing the pledge. That's the only way. And you must make him promise you never to touch another drop of drink. When he's had a glass he's a different man, and isn't responsible for his actions."
"Does it—does it make him look at other girls?" asked Mrs. Gray, tremblingly.
"It does," said George. "You've guessed it at once. It makes him terribly affectionate, too. Why, when Alice—you see, it's a very peculiar disease, very common in Turkey. As soon as you begin to drink, you get an idea that every girl's in love with you. And the worst of it is that a man might propose without knowing it. Now, Flora—well, the only thing for him to do is to sign the pledge and keep it."
"He shall sign it to-morrow," said Mrs. Gray, firmly.
"I shouldn't let him know that I've been here," said George. "He'll only worry himself, thinking there's something wrong with his work."
"Who's Flora?" asked Mrs. Gray, the fierce light of jealousy kindling in her eye.
"Don't you bother about her. She won't come down here."
"She'd better not," said Mrs. Gray, with compressed lips. "I'd give her Flora—or May—or Chrissy, if she came here!"
"I believe you would," said George, with admiration.
"I'll smash every whisky-bottle in the place," said Mrs. Gray, whose indignation was now rising to fever pitch. "Not another drop shall he touch if I know it! I'll soon see about Flora!"
George prepared to depart, perfectly satisfied that his mission had been a success. He took the hand of his old landlady, and said, with some emotion—
"Don't be too hard on him. You don't know how—how it cuts me to the heart to see him do wrong. But remember that he's my old chum. Together we'll drag him away from this curse. He's my chum and your husband—the best fellow that ever lived. Let us save him, and be gentle to him at the same time. Goodbye, good-bye!"
George wrung her hand, and hurried off, to all appearances only just in time to prevent the tears coming.
Mrs. Gray looked after him down the street, and felt her heart glow.
"Ah, Jimmy," she murmured, shaking her head, "you don't realize how much that friend has done for you!"
George travelled back to the office, and reached it just as the office staff was preparing to give up work for the day.
"I suppose Gray's here," he said, summoning a junior clerk. "What time did he get back?"
The clerk coughed discreetly. "'Fraid he hasn't come back yet, sir," he said.
"Send Mr. Busby to me."
The youth departed.
"Not back yet!" said George, looking hard at the fireplace. "I wonder what he's up to. If the lunatic is out drinking, they'll be on his track, as sure as Fate. Busby," he said, as the cashier entered, "what has become of Gray?"
Busby could give no solution to the problem. "He put on his hat and went off about half-past eight," he said. "I didn't notice anything peculiar about him, except that he swore rather more than usual. I noticed that he looked several times at a blue paper he got by this morning's post, and——"
"What!" yelled the master, springing out of his chair.
"A blue paper," repeated Busby, dodging behind the desk in alarm.
George grasped him by the collar fiercely. "You say he got a blue paper this morning!" he cried.
"Y-yes," said Busby, promptly putting himself in the defensive.
George cast him off. "Enough!" he said. "Go!"
"It was a blue envelope," said Busby, "and when he opened it——"
"Go, will you!"
"There was a long blue paper inside," said the cashier, moving across the carpet. "So I——"
George picked up a heavy bill file and flung it just as Busby skipped out of the door.
"He's done it!—the silly, stupid idiot has done it, and it's on me! And I've been down to his house and made a fool of myself!"
On arriving at Brunswick Terrace George Early's fears were confirmed by the sight of a formidable blue envelope addressed to himself. A document inside set forth the fact, in legal phraseology, that James Gray had forfeited his claim to the Fairbrother's annuity, and that the said annuity had now fallen to Mr. George Early, husband of Ellen Fairbrother. The said George Early was duly warned of the terrible issues at stake, consequent upon his not observing the rules of the legacy, the aforesaid issues leading to the ultimate forfeiture of the Fairbrother estates by the said George Early's wife.
"Well, I'm a teetotaler now," said George, resignedly. "There's no getting out of it."
"It's better for you," said Aunt Phœbe. "I never did believe in drink."
"Nobody asked you to," said her nephew. "I don't believe in it. I take it for my health."
Nevertheless, he interviewed the smart young lawyer at Dibbs and Dubbs, who confirmed everything that had been said on the forfeiture of the estate.
"We shall watch you closely," he said brightly to George, rubbing his hands. "On behalf of the trustees of the 'Very Dark African Mission,' who will benefit by the estate, I am directed to watch—you—very—closely."
"That's right," said George. "You keep your eye on me. I wish you luck!"