IIAs mother and daughter retired, Quinney exclaimed, more to himself than to James:"When I think of what I've done for them two thankless females!""What have you done?" asked James."Slaved for 'em for twenty years! Sweated blood, I have! Thanks to me, they've lived in cotton-wool, able to take it easy all the time. Enough o' that! What you got to say to me—alone? Hey?""Can't you guess? Didn't you overhear just now what I said to Posy? I told her that I thought I could deal with you, and that the time had come to do it.""Deal away, my lad. Pull the cards out o' yer sleeve. Lay 'em on the table.""My cards, sir, are chairs.""Chairs? You gone potty, too?""Chairs. The chairs which Mr. Tomlin bought for fifty pounds; the chairs which I 'restored'; the chairs which were done up with old needlework covers taken from other chairs; the chairs which you put up at Christopher's and bought in after spirited bidding—faked bidding—for nine hundred pounds; the chairs which you sold to Mr. Hunsaker this morning for eleven hundred; the chairs which you ordered me to pack at once. Nice little tale to tell Mr. Hunsaker, when he calls to-morrow! Nice little bit of 'copy' for the newspapers."We know that this young fellow rehearsed his speeches. He had rehearsed this. It flowed smoothly from his lips."Blackmail!" gasped Quinney."I prefer to call it a weapon, sir, which you are forcing me, sorely against my will, to use.""This puts the lid on.""Yes, it does.""I understand. It's my daughter against your silence, hey? Hold hard! Does she know of this?""No. Don't you remember? She asked for information, which I withheld out of respect for you and her. Posy believes you to be scrupulously honest.""I'm damned!""I fear that you will be, if this story becomes public.""My Posy against your silence. My Posy against my reputation. My Posy against my wife!"He was profoundly moved. James perceived this, and proceeded to follow up his advantage. His tactics, admittedly, were intelligently conceived and carried out. His error—a fundamental one—lay in his ignorance of Quinney's character. Like Susan, who had been carried away by her maternal emotions; like Posy, who was still in her salad days, he had taken for granted that Quinney did prefer things to persons."May I put my case this way, sir? As your prospective son-in-law, working hard in and for your interest, do I not present serious claims upon your attention?"Quinney stared at him. This was, indeed, a "plant," skilfully prepared by a rascal and fortune-hunter. He said roughly:"Cut that prospective son-in-law cackle! As yourself, my lad, you do present very serious claims indeed upon my attention.""Have it as you please, Mr. Quinney.""That's exactly how I mean to have it.""What have you against me, sir?"Quinney had been pacing the room restlessly. He stopped suddenly, opposite James, within two feet of his pale face."You ain't honest; you ain't straight; you ain't fit to marry an honest girl!"James raised his eyebrows."Isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?""Yes, it is. We're both pots—dirty pots. How dirty I someway never saw till to-night. But my Posy is porcelain—clean, dainty porcelain. You can't touch her without defilin' her. Now—scoot!""Without settling anything?""You shall be settled to-morrow. Don't worry."The young man smiled."You are wise, sir, to take a night to sleep over it.""Done talkin'?""For to-night, yes.""Good! Because with every extra word you're givin' yourself dead away. Easier to marry money than to make it, hey? Kennel up, you puppy!"The puppy snarled at this, but withdrew.IIIAlone, Quinney opened the cupboard beneath the china cabinet, taking from it a cut-glass decanter half-filled with brown sherry, and two glasses, which he placed upon his desk. Then he summoned Susan. She drifted in rather helplessly, somewhat of a wreck after the storm. Quinney ensconced her in a chair, filled the two glasses with wine, and pushed one across the desk to Susan. She shook her head."Drink it, you old spoof-sticks! Lordy, Sue, I didn't know you had it in yer! What a spirit! What a little tigress!"He tossed off his glass, smacking his lips."I meant it, Joe.""Tch! tch! In two sticks you'll have my pore leg pulled out of shape.""I meant it, every word of it.""What? You'd leave the best and kindest hubby in the world?""I'd leave a crool, heartless father."For answer, Quinney seized his empty glass and slammed it down upon the desk, smashing it riotously. Susan said in the same weak, obstinate tone: "Do that to her dear heart, you would." He snatched at the full glass, and hurled that to the floor. Susan merely observed: "Another two shillings gone!""Two shillings? Ten! Old Bristol! Lovely stuff!""There you go again.""Ho! You really think I care about money?""Yes, I do.""Well, I don't. You say I care about things. So I do. But things have been a means to an end with me. Never mind that now. If you don't know yer luck in havin' Joe Quinney for a husband, he's too busy a man to learn ye. I want to talk about something else. This James Miggott's a bad lad. He's threatening me."The word challenged Susan's attention."Threatening you, Joe? What about?"Quinney's high colour deepened. Susan had cornered him. His voice became less masterful."Never you mind what about! He ain't goin' to down me that way."Susan glanced sharply at her husband. He tried to meet her honest eyes, but failed. The impulse surged within him to confess, to ask forgiveness, to promise to run straight for the future. The horns of the dilemma pierced his vitals. How could he expose James without revealing himself stark naked to the wife whose good opinion was dearer to him than all the treasures in his sanctuary? She beheld him squirming, and hastened to draw the wrong conclusion. James, of course—gallant youth—had threatened to take Posy without her stockings. She said tartly:"James is fighting for our Posy.""No, he ain't. He's fighting—and hittin' below the belt, too—for things. These things.""I don't believe it.""Right! You can believe this, I shall fight to a finish. No quarter—see?""Very well. Good-night!"She rose, whey-faced, but resolute."What d'ye mean by 'good-night'?""I'm going to sleep with Posy.""You ain't?""Yes, I am!"She went out slowly, not closing the door. Quinney listened to her familiar steps as she mounted the oak stairs. She ascended higher and higher till she reached Posy's room. Quinney heard the door shut, and then—significant sound—the click of a turning key.He appeared confounded.CHAPTER XXIMABEL DREDGEIQuinney telephoned early the next morning to Tom Tomlin, asking him to come to Soho Square before ten. Posy did not descend to breakfast, and during that meal Susan preserved an obstinate silence. Quinney gobbled up his bacon, drank three cups of tea, and hurried to the sanctuary, where a pile of letters left unanswered the day before awaited him. Mabel Dredge, notebook in hand, greeted him perfunctorily. Quinney, lacerated by his own anxieties, noted a dreary tone in the girl's voice. Many excellent persons never recognize trouble in others till they are suffering from trouble of their own. Of such was our hero. He had passed a wretched night, and, as he shaved, was constrained to perceive its ravages upon his face. Upon Mabel's face, also, he seemed to catch a glimpse of faint lines and shadows, as if the spider Insomnia had woven a web across it."Anything wrong?" he inquired."Nothing," replied Mabel tartly.He sat down at his desk, glancing at the morning's letters, arranged by Mabel in a neat little pile. The topmost letter contained Hunsaker's cheque for eleven hundred pounds, and a few cordial lines reminding his dear sir that he hoped to call at eleven, and that he might bring a friend with him, an expert of Chippendale furniture. Quinney frowned, resenting the introduction of an expert. But he reflected comfortably that the chairs were already cased. He opened the other letters, and then began to deal faithfully with each correspondent in turn. He dictated these letters after his own fashion. It was Mabel's task to adjust grammatical errors and to eliminate slang. He had grown fond of Mabel because she was competent and tactful."I think that will do, my dear."Mabel rose quietly, shutting her notebook. She used a small room, where she kept her machine and a copying-press and other paraphernalia appertaining to secretarial duties. Unconsciously, she sighed."Lookin' peaky, you are," said her employer.Mabel retorted indifferently:"Weather affects me. Seems even to have affected you, sir.""Ho! Observant young miss! But you're wrong. Weather don't affect me; and it oughtn't to affect a healthy young woman like you. Sleep badly?""Ye-es.""Same here."The need of sympathy gripped him. He was so sorry for himself that he felt sorry for this white-faced typist, whom hitherto he had regarded as a machine."Beastly, ain't it?" She nodded, and he continued, speaking rather to himself than to her: "To toss about, tinglin' all over, with one's thoughts in a ferment! Perfectly disgustin'!"Mabel smiled faintly."I've a lot on my mind just now," he went on, "a bigger load than I care to carry—immense responsibilities, see?"She opened her eyes, wondering what had evoked this amazing confidence, little guessing that the habit of years was behind it. He had always talked to Susan about his affairs, poured them into ears now deaf in the hour of sorest need."Sit down," he commanded. "There's no hurry. I'm expecting Mr. Tomlin.""I beg your pardon; I forgot to mention it. I have a message from Mr. Miggott. His respects, and he wants to see you if you can spare a few minutes.""Ho! Well, I can't see him yet. He must wait my convenience. Sit you down!"Mabel obeyed, blushing slightly, because Quinney's eyes were so piercing. She was quite unaware that she had betrayed herself in the pronunciation of a name. At no other time, probably, would Quinney have leapt to the conclusion that James was behind her trouble as certainly as he was behind his own. He hated James. It hurt him to hear his name softly murmured."Any of your people ill, my dear?""No.""Not in debt, are you?""Certainly not.""Not sufferin' from neuralgia, or toothache, or anything of that sort?""I am in excellent health, sir.""Then, my girl, you're in love."Her confusion answered him. She was angry, indignant, scornful; but she could not prevent the red blood rushing into her cheeks. She retorted sharply:"That's none of your business, sir!"Quinney chuckled. A ray of light flashed across his dark horizon."Don't be too sure o' that, my dear. Perhaps it is my business; anyway, I'm going to make it my business, because I take a fatherly interest in you.""I can manage my own affairs, Mr. Quinney.""No, you can't. Look ye here. I'm a wonderful guesser—always was. You like James Miggott. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I'll be bound he likes you!"Mabel fidgeted. Quinney's voice was kind. It rang true. The desire to confide in this odd little man, so masterful, so persuasive when he chose, grew as swiftly as Jack the Giant Killer's beanstalk."Doesn't he like you?" he asked insistently."He used to like me," she answered mournfully."Ah! Now, Mabel, there are just as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.""And what time have I to catch fish?""S'pose you was my daughter, I shouldn't like you to marry James. This is on the strict Q.T., just between me and you, James was a faker of old furniture till he came to me.""He's no better, I dare say, and no worse, than other men in his trade!""Tch! tch! He's lucky to have a nice girl to stick up for him. Now, my dear"—his voice became very soft and confidential—"you say that James used to like you. Why has he cooled off, hey?"She answered miserably:"I don't know.""Cheer up! Maybe I can help you. Lordy! Don't cry! Answer me this—straight. Do you still want him?""Ye-es."It was a doleful, long-drawn-out monosyllable, eloquent of much left unsaid. Quinney nodded sympathetically, although his small eyes were sparkling."At one time, I take it, you thought he was yours?"She was too overcome to utter a word."Do you believe that he likes somebody else?" He paused, waiting for an answer. She twisted her fingers, refused to meet his eyes, moved restlessly. He went on, playing upon her emotions:"Do you know who that somebody is? Come, be square with me, my dear. Is it a young lady who shall remain nameless—a young lady lately returned from school; a young lady whom James Miggott will never marry—never?"His suppressed excitement communicated itself to her. She was clever enough to understand exactly what he wished to convey. She glanced up and nodded. Quinney drew in his breath sharply; his manner changed."And you still want him?""Yes.""Queer creatures you women are, to be sure!""We can't pick and choose like men.""If you want him, you shall have him."She shook her head dubiously."You don't know James, sir.""Ho! Don't I? Better than you know him, better than he knows himself. I'll help you, my girl, but you must help me.""How?"He got up and stood beside her. She watched him with a certain fascination, curiously sensible of his power over her and others. The native confidence that he had in himself percolated slowly through her."Tell me truly what has passed between you and this young man."She was expecting any question except this. The audacity of it overwhelmed her, as he had foreseen that it would. She broke down, sobbing bitterly, hiding her face from the keen eyes looking down into her very soul. Quinney laid his hand upon her head tenderly. For the moment this strangely-assorted pair, linked together by an interest common to each, yet antagonistic to each, stood together upon a plane high above that on which they moved habitually."I ain't no saint," said Quinney solemnly. "And I tell you this, Mabel Dredge, I've been through hell during the past twelve hours; and I'm not out of it yet. Stand up, you poor dear! Look me in the face, for then you'll know that you can trust me. Give me your hand—so! It's a nice little hand. Ought there to be a wedding-ring on it?""Yes," she whispered.IISusan came in shortly after Mabel had gone. Her face was very troubled, but obstinacy sat enthroned upon a head carried at a higher angle than usual. Quinney said facetiously:"Come to throw yourself at my feet and ask forgiveness?""Certainly not.""Meant all you said last night?""Every word of it.""What is Posy doing?""Crying her eyes out, I dare say.""Sounds sloppy.""Mr. Tomlin is here. Hateful man! I suppose he'll side with you!""That remains to be seen. I doubt it. Ask Tom to step up."Susan went out with dignity.Tomlin had been to a banquet the night before, and bore the signs of intemperance in eating and drinking upon his large mottled face. He greeted Quinney sulkily, unable to purge his mind of the conviction that Soho Square ought to come to Bond Street. He asked thickly:"Ever suffer from indigestion?""Never.""I do," said Tomlin gloomily. He added with finality: "Port, even the best, atop o' bubbly wine is a mistake after fifty. What you want me for, young Joe?""Glad I look young, Tom. I don't feel it this morning."Tomlin stared at him."Blest if you ain't made a night of it, too.""Here's something to cheer us up."He pushed across the desk Hunsaker's cheque for eleven hundred pounds. Tomlin's heavy features relaxed into a smile. Quinney scribbled some figures on a memorandum pad, and invited his colleague to verify them. The sum represented the exact amount due to Tomlin as his share of the plunder."Quite O.K., Joe.""Like your bit o' ready now?""Never refuse cash, my lad."Quinney wrote out a cheque, and a receipt. Tomlin accepted the cheque, placing it in a bulky pocket-book. He glared askance at the receipt, which set forth that the sum just paid was a commission upon the sale of eight chairs to Cyrus P. Hunsaker, of Hunsaker."Why this receipt, Joe? Ain't a cheque a receipt?"Quinney answered curtly:"A cheque don't show what money is paid for. My way of doin' business.""No complaints."He chuckled fatly, raising his thick eyebrows when Quinney observed lightly:"What we done the day before yesterday was a leetle bit dangerous, old man. Sailin' too near the reefs—um?"Tomlin replied pompously:"Skilled navigators, my lad, do sail near the reefs. I wouldn't assume such risks with another man.""But you did!""What do you mean, Joe?""James Miggott is in the know.""Of course, but he's had his little bit.""Yes; but he wants more!""The swine!" He stared at Quinney, beholding upon the whimsical face of his pupil writing which he could not read. "What's up?" he spluttered."I am," said Quinney, rising; "and stripped for the fight of my life."Tomlin stirred uneasily."A fight, Joe? Who with?"Quinney answered fiercely:"That dirty dog, James Miggott. He wants more than what we gave him. See? He wants my Posy."Tomlin exhibited marked relief."Your Posy? Don't blame him for wanting her.""You hold hard! Young Posy wants him.""Gawd bless my soul! She's not the judge o' quality he is.""And Susan backs 'em up. That fairly tears it."Tomlin looked puzzled, unable to account for the younger man's excitement. He considered that Joe, unlike himself, was incapable of managing his womenfolk."Between 'em, Tom, they've got a strangle hold on us.""Us? What have I to do with your fam'ly matters?""I sent for you to tell you. Now, first and last, they'll never have my consent, never! But, by thunder! I refuse my consent, not because the dog's my servant, but because he isn't straight. He's no better than you and me."Tomlin glared at his former pupil, who stood over him, waving a denunciatory hand."You speak for yourself, young man.""I ain't young. We're both of us old enough to know better and do better, but we've had to make our way. Maybe I've been honester than you, maybe I haven't. I ain't whining, least of all to you. We're in a deep hole of our own making. And we must get out of it. I told this James Miggott last night that we was pots, just common pots, sailin' down the stream with other pots. But my little Posy's porcelain, the finest paste, the gem o' my collection. Susan accuses me of caring for things, these things. So I do; so do you; that's why we've struggled to the front. And this son of a gun loves things, and what they stand for. He's after my things, but he's clever enough to have bluffed two innercent females into believin' that he wants my Posy without 'em."Tomlin blinked and nodded, stupefied by the terrific feeling displayed by Quinney. His headache had come back, that humiliating sense of "unfitness" which clouded his judgment, leaving him dazed and irritable. Nor, as yet, had he grasped the situation, or measured the depth of the hole to which Quinney alluded. The little man went on:"I've called his bluff, if it is bluff. I've told him that he can take Posy, march her out of this house as she is.""What did he say to that?""I should have downed him, but, by Gum, the old lady butted in. Swore solemn she'd leave my house, if I turned Posy out. She means it, too!""A good riddance," snarled Tomlin.Quinney exploded, shaking his clenched fist in front of the huge, red face."What? I'd have you to know, Tom Tomlin, that my Susan and me have stuck together through thick and thin. I think the world of her, but she's without guile, bless her, and as obstinate as Balaam's ass!""S'pose you tell me where I come in?""Here and now, by the back-door! This dirty dog threatens to down me with the true story of them chairs. And he'll do it, too. Now, let this soak in together with all that port and champagne you swallered last night. If he downs me, he downs you! Got it?"Assuredly Tomlin had "got it." He began to shake with impotent rage, growling out:"Threatens to split? I'd like to tell that young man exactly what I think of him.""You can," said Quinney derisively; "but it will do you more good than him, I reckon. We'll send for him in a jiffy. Ever notice my typist and stenographer, Miss Dredge?""Yes, many a time. Nice-lookin' gal.""This maggot of a Miggott has been eatin' into her young affections, see?""Has he? The young man has taste, Joe. Reg'lar lady-killer!"Quinney lowered his voice:"It's a weapon, but I don't rely on it. I can't use it, in fairness to Mabel, till we stand in the last ditch.""Why not? Got to think of ourselves, ain't we?"Tomlin pulled out an immense silk bandana, and mopped a heated brow."It's two-edged, Tom. You ain't yourself this morning, or you'd see, with your knowledge of the fair sex, that Posy might be keener on gettin' this scamp, if she learned that another woman was after him. We'll try to handle Master Miggott first."He crossed to the speaking-tube, and summoned James to the sanctuary. Then he sat down, very erect and austere, at his desk.IIIPresently James entered, carrying his head at the angle affected by Susan, looking very bland and self-confident."Good-morning, Mr. Tomlin! Good-morning, Mr. Quinney!"Quinney acknowledged this salutation with a derisive grin."Mornin', Mr. Chesty! Bin usin' a Sandow's exerciser?""No, sir; Indian clubs. Am I to state my case before Mr. Tomlin?""Yes. Go ahead and state it. Don't waste my time, or his, or your own."James addressed himself suavely to Tomlin, selecting his words carefully, speaking slowly, with the utmost respect."Last night, Mr. Quinney threatened to turn his daughter into the street, because she's engaged to be married to me.""My hand was forced, my lad. Go on.""I can support a wife, and Miss Quinney is ready to marry me by special licence this afternoon.""Quite sure o' that?""Ab—solutely. Unhappily, I'm not yet in a financial position to support two ladies.""Two ladies?" echoed Quinney, thinking of Mabel Dredge."I allude, sir, to Mrs. Quinney. She insists upon leaving you, if her child is turned out. That rather complicates matters.""It does," said Quinney grimly."Under these circumstances, gentlemen, I feel justified in bringing pressure to bear. Mr. Hunsaker, who bought certain chairs yesterday, will call again this morning. He is naturally interested in the history of the chairs; and he might make trouble if he knew all the facts about them as known to you, Mr. Tomlin, to Mr. Quinney, and to me. I may add that my responsibility in the affair is negligible.""Slick talker," muttered Quinney. He could see that Tomlin was much impressed by James's manner. The big fellow grunted uneasily:"What do you propose?""A compromise, Mr. Tomlin."Quinney lost something of his dignity, when he jerked out:"He's compromised my Posy, and many another pore girl, I'll be bound!""Pardon me, sir. That sort of talk before a witness is libellous."The last rag of Quinney's dignity fluttered away."I'll down you, my lad; yes, I will!""Self-preservation being the first law, sir, I must—sorely against the grain—down you first. Excuse plain speaking."Quinney jumped up."I like plain speaking! I was weaned on it, short-coated on it! By Gum! my father damned me before I was born!""Easy all," murmured Tomlin nervously. He addressed James with a civility which the young man acknowledged with a faint smile. "Do I understand that you threaten to down your master because he refuses to sanction an engagement between you and his daughter?"James shrugged his shoulders."It's a case of 'pull, devil—pull, baker!' I mean to pull for all I'm worth."Quinney interrupted furiously:"And what are you worth, Lord Rothschild?"Tomlin held up a large hand, not too clean, upon which sparkled a diamond ring."You spoke of compromise, James?""Yes, sir. I suggest that my engagement to Miss Quinney should be sanctioned and recognized. I will stay on here, and demonstrate to Mr. Quinney my claims to be taken on later as a junior partner. Unless Miss Quinney of her own will cancels the engagement, the marriage will take place——""Never!" shouted Quinney.James smiled deprecatingly."Shall I retire, gentlemen? You have time to talk things over. Mr. Hunsaker will not be here for another hour yet."Tomlin nodded portentously:"Yes, yes; leave us."IVTomlin was the first to break an ominous silence:"The long and short of it is, Joe, that this young feller can ruin us, rob us of our hard-earned reputations. We must square him.""Money? He wants money and Posy!"Tomlin stroked his chin pensively. It occurred to him that so sharp a practitioner as James Miggott would never come to grief. As a suitor for one of his three daughters, he would not consider him too rashly as ineligible."Posy might do worse," he muttered."Ho! That's it. Sidin' with them? Thought you might!""Face the music, Joe! We're hanged, high as Haman, unless the ladies come to the rescue. It's a bit thick his threatenin' you. How does Posy take that—um?""How can I tell her what he's threatening to do? James knows that, the dog!""You can hint at unpleasantness. Posy ought to know that her young man is buckin' about ruining you.""Maybe you'd like to talk to Susan and Posy?""I should. I understand women; you don't.""You shall talk to 'em."He hurried to the door, and through it on to the landing."Susan!—Su—san!"Susan's voice was heard descending from above:"Is that you calling, Joe?""Who did yer think it was? The Archbishop o' Canterbury or the First Lord of the Admiralty? Come you down quick, and bring Posy with you."He stumped back into the sanctuary to confront Tomlin's scornful face."That the way you talk to an angry woman? Had any words with Mrs. Quinney this morning?""I've been talking to her and at her, off and on, ever since breakfast.""Pore, dear soul!" ejaculated Tomlin.CHAPTER XXIIA TESTIPosy may have been crying, but the colour and sparkle remained in her eyes; and she had arrayed herself in a smart and becoming costume, which Quinney recognized as "Sunday best." Let women decide what motive animated this preening. If she were to be turned out of Soho Square, Posy, not unreasonably, may have decided to take her prettiest frock with her. On the other hand, with equal wisdom, she may have thought that the sight of a charming young woman in all her bravery is likely to melt the heart of the sternest man. Because she appeared on this momentous morning fresh and alluring, let us not accuse her of heartlessness. If destined by Fate to lose a father, she would gain a husband. Poor Susan, limp and bedraggled, was miserably sensible that victory for her would inflict consequences more crushing than defeat."Goin' to church?" Quinney inquired of his daughter.Posy replied respectfully:"Only if driven there by you."Tomlin, rumbling and grumbling after his dietical indiscretions, greeted the young lady with a phrase often on his lips:"Seasonable weather for the time of year?"Susan glanced at him scornfully, and said audibly:"Fiddle!"Quinney apologized for this breach of politeness after his own fashion:"Be'ind the door, she was, Tom, when they collected threepence a head for manners. Now, sit you down!"Tomlin waved a half-consumed cigar, addressing Susan:"Any objections to my smoking, ma'am?""Not she," replied her husband, "neither in this world nor the next. You go on and talk to her. You understand women. Open fire on 'em!""May I say a few words, ma'am?""Provided they are few, you may, Mr. Tomlin."Driven to the wall, she made no effort to conceal her dislike of this big fat man, whom she had ever regarded as an evil influence in her Joe's life. Quinney exclaimed:"'Ark to Mrs. Don't-care-a-damn!"Tomlin raised a protesting finger."Tut, tut, Joe. You leave this to me."He continued majestically, picking his words:"I don't think you can be aware, ma'am, that James Miggott is threatening your husband, and"—he turned to Posy—"your dear father."Susan snapped out:"Joe told me as much last night. I know well what James is threatening. He's not the only man of his word in this house. He's threatening to take the girl he loves as she is. He's not thinking of anything else. He's made it plain that he's only to hold up his finger, and Posy'll go to him gladly.""Just what I told you, Tom," remarked Quinney."You're under a misapprehension, ma'am. Miggott is threatening us—me and Joe."At this Posy became more alert, listening attentively to Tomlin, but keeping her clear eyes upon her sire. Susan betrayed astonishment."Threatening you, Mr. Tomlin? Why should he threaten you, and why should you care tuppence whether he threatens you or not?"Very deprecatingly, Tomlin spread out his large hands, palm uppermost, as if he wished the ladies to infer that he came empty-handed into a fight not of his seeking."I repeat, ma'am, he's threatening us. He's talking of trying to ruin us.""Talkin' through his hat," murmured Quinney.Susan tossed her head impatiently."You'll have to speak more plainly, Mr. Tomlin, if you wish me to understand what you're driving at."Tomlin, cornered by Susan's direct methods in striking opposition to his own, fetched a compass, and began again more warily:"Is it possible that you contemplate leaving the most faithful husband in the world, ma'am?"Quinney chuckled, rubbing his hands."That's better. Now, Susie, you listen to Tom, if you won't listen to me.""I've listened patiently to you, Joe, for just twenty years. It's about time I did a bit of talking, and that you did the listening.""Ho! Been bottling things up, have you?" She nodded. "Then you uncork yourself, old dear! But, before you begin, I'll try to impress this on your female mind. This dirty dog of a James Miggott is threatening me and Tom. He believes that he can injure our reputations in the trade. See? Tom, here, thinks that he'll do it, if I refuse to surrender. Well, I don't. That's where he and me differ. But, just as sure as the Lord made little apples and small, mean souls, it's the solid truth that this young man is tryin' to blackmail me! Now you have the text, dearie. Get you up and preach a sermon on it. Posy, in her Sunday clothes, will listen, and so will I. But bear in mind that you took me for better or worse."Tomlin added unctuously:"And please remember, ma'am, that you have to consider me."Susan eyed Tomlin with chill indifference. Her voice was almost vitriolic, as she remarked:"If I'm driven from house and home, Mr. Tomlin, 'tain't likely I shall waste much time considering you!""Who's driving you, ma'am, from house and home?""My husband is, more shame to him!"She collected her energies for a supreme effort, turning in her chair to look at the tyrant."Blaze away!" said the tyrant."Joe"—her voice trembled in spite of a gallant effort to control it—"you are forcing me to do the cruellest thing in all the world—to choose between my own child and you. I ain't got your brains, but I've something much better—a heart. Posy wants me, and you don't. Let me finish. It's bitter aloes to me, but I swallow the gall of it for my dear child's sake. You used to love me!""Used?""Between you and me, that's over and done with."She spoke very mournfully, brushing a tear from her cheek."No, it ain't, Susie. Seemin'ly, what I've done to show my love for you ain't enough. S'pose you tell me what more I might do?"She answered swiftly:"Give your consent to Posy marrying, as I did—marrying the man of her choice. Have you anything against his moral character?""He's a wrong 'un; take that from me!""Not without proof. What's he done that's wrong? He don't muddle his wits with food and drink. He don't use filthy tobacco. He attends Divine Service.""Ho! Poor in this world's goods, but a moral millionaire, hey?""It's hateful to hear you sneer at him!""You ask me to give my daughter to a dog that's trying to bite the hand that fed him?""Posy might do worse," said Tomlin hoarsely."Now you've torn it!" said Quinney viciously. "I'm alone against the lot of you. Good! I'll down the lot of you, I'll——"Posy interrupted:"Father!""Well, my girl?"She spoke incisively, with something of his manner:"You won't answer one important question. What is James threatening to do to you and Mr. Tomlin?"Poor Quinney! He had only to speak with entire frankness to win his Susan back. But at what a cost! Could he roll in the dust of a humiliating confession? Unconsciously he clenched his fists, setting his firm jaw at an even more aggressive angle. In desperation he clutched at a straw. If he must be dragged down from his high estate as the honestest dealer in the world, let that iconoclastic deed be done by another hand."Look ye here, my girl, suppose you ask James that question.""I want to ask him," she replied calmly."Fine!" muttered Tomlin. "Yes, my dear, you ask him why he dares to threaten your dear father.""And you," said Posy."That's right. And me. More than one good tip he's had from me.""Tips? Why should you tip him?""You can ask him. There's no time to waste.""No time to waste?"The situation had become tenser. Quinney perceived with a certain pride that Posy was demonstrating the quality of brains inherited from him."Go to him," said Quinney. "He's in his room. We'll wait here."She obeyed.
II
As mother and daughter retired, Quinney exclaimed, more to himself than to James:
"When I think of what I've done for them two thankless females!"
"What have you done?" asked James.
"Slaved for 'em for twenty years! Sweated blood, I have! Thanks to me, they've lived in cotton-wool, able to take it easy all the time. Enough o' that! What you got to say to me—alone? Hey?"
"Can't you guess? Didn't you overhear just now what I said to Posy? I told her that I thought I could deal with you, and that the time had come to do it."
"Deal away, my lad. Pull the cards out o' yer sleeve. Lay 'em on the table."
"My cards, sir, are chairs."
"Chairs? You gone potty, too?"
"Chairs. The chairs which Mr. Tomlin bought for fifty pounds; the chairs which I 'restored'; the chairs which were done up with old needlework covers taken from other chairs; the chairs which you put up at Christopher's and bought in after spirited bidding—faked bidding—for nine hundred pounds; the chairs which you sold to Mr. Hunsaker this morning for eleven hundred; the chairs which you ordered me to pack at once. Nice little tale to tell Mr. Hunsaker, when he calls to-morrow! Nice little bit of 'copy' for the newspapers."
We know that this young fellow rehearsed his speeches. He had rehearsed this. It flowed smoothly from his lips.
"Blackmail!" gasped Quinney.
"I prefer to call it a weapon, sir, which you are forcing me, sorely against my will, to use."
"This puts the lid on."
"Yes, it does."
"I understand. It's my daughter against your silence, hey? Hold hard! Does she know of this?"
"No. Don't you remember? She asked for information, which I withheld out of respect for you and her. Posy believes you to be scrupulously honest."
"I'm damned!"
"I fear that you will be, if this story becomes public."
"My Posy against your silence. My Posy against my reputation. My Posy against my wife!"
He was profoundly moved. James perceived this, and proceeded to follow up his advantage. His tactics, admittedly, were intelligently conceived and carried out. His error—a fundamental one—lay in his ignorance of Quinney's character. Like Susan, who had been carried away by her maternal emotions; like Posy, who was still in her salad days, he had taken for granted that Quinney did prefer things to persons.
"May I put my case this way, sir? As your prospective son-in-law, working hard in and for your interest, do I not present serious claims upon your attention?"
Quinney stared at him. This was, indeed, a "plant," skilfully prepared by a rascal and fortune-hunter. He said roughly:
"Cut that prospective son-in-law cackle! As yourself, my lad, you do present very serious claims indeed upon my attention."
"Have it as you please, Mr. Quinney."
"That's exactly how I mean to have it."
"What have you against me, sir?"
Quinney had been pacing the room restlessly. He stopped suddenly, opposite James, within two feet of his pale face.
"You ain't honest; you ain't straight; you ain't fit to marry an honest girl!"
James raised his eyebrows.
"Isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?"
"Yes, it is. We're both pots—dirty pots. How dirty I someway never saw till to-night. But my Posy is porcelain—clean, dainty porcelain. You can't touch her without defilin' her. Now—scoot!"
"Without settling anything?"
"You shall be settled to-morrow. Don't worry."
The young man smiled.
"You are wise, sir, to take a night to sleep over it."
"Done talkin'?"
"For to-night, yes."
"Good! Because with every extra word you're givin' yourself dead away. Easier to marry money than to make it, hey? Kennel up, you puppy!"
The puppy snarled at this, but withdrew.
III
Alone, Quinney opened the cupboard beneath the china cabinet, taking from it a cut-glass decanter half-filled with brown sherry, and two glasses, which he placed upon his desk. Then he summoned Susan. She drifted in rather helplessly, somewhat of a wreck after the storm. Quinney ensconced her in a chair, filled the two glasses with wine, and pushed one across the desk to Susan. She shook her head.
"Drink it, you old spoof-sticks! Lordy, Sue, I didn't know you had it in yer! What a spirit! What a little tigress!"
He tossed off his glass, smacking his lips.
"I meant it, Joe."
"Tch! tch! In two sticks you'll have my pore leg pulled out of shape."
"I meant it, every word of it."
"What? You'd leave the best and kindest hubby in the world?"
"I'd leave a crool, heartless father."
For answer, Quinney seized his empty glass and slammed it down upon the desk, smashing it riotously. Susan said in the same weak, obstinate tone: "Do that to her dear heart, you would." He snatched at the full glass, and hurled that to the floor. Susan merely observed: "Another two shillings gone!"
"Two shillings? Ten! Old Bristol! Lovely stuff!"
"There you go again."
"Ho! You really think I care about money?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, I don't. You say I care about things. So I do. But things have been a means to an end with me. Never mind that now. If you don't know yer luck in havin' Joe Quinney for a husband, he's too busy a man to learn ye. I want to talk about something else. This James Miggott's a bad lad. He's threatening me."
The word challenged Susan's attention.
"Threatening you, Joe? What about?"
Quinney's high colour deepened. Susan had cornered him. His voice became less masterful.
"Never you mind what about! He ain't goin' to down me that way."
Susan glanced sharply at her husband. He tried to meet her honest eyes, but failed. The impulse surged within him to confess, to ask forgiveness, to promise to run straight for the future. The horns of the dilemma pierced his vitals. How could he expose James without revealing himself stark naked to the wife whose good opinion was dearer to him than all the treasures in his sanctuary? She beheld him squirming, and hastened to draw the wrong conclusion. James, of course—gallant youth—had threatened to take Posy without her stockings. She said tartly:
"James is fighting for our Posy."
"No, he ain't. He's fighting—and hittin' below the belt, too—for things. These things."
"I don't believe it."
"Right! You can believe this, I shall fight to a finish. No quarter—see?"
"Very well. Good-night!"
She rose, whey-faced, but resolute.
"What d'ye mean by 'good-night'?"
"I'm going to sleep with Posy."
"You ain't?"
"Yes, I am!"
She went out slowly, not closing the door. Quinney listened to her familiar steps as she mounted the oak stairs. She ascended higher and higher till she reached Posy's room. Quinney heard the door shut, and then—significant sound—the click of a turning key.
He appeared confounded.
CHAPTER XXI
MABEL DREDGE
I
Quinney telephoned early the next morning to Tom Tomlin, asking him to come to Soho Square before ten. Posy did not descend to breakfast, and during that meal Susan preserved an obstinate silence. Quinney gobbled up his bacon, drank three cups of tea, and hurried to the sanctuary, where a pile of letters left unanswered the day before awaited him. Mabel Dredge, notebook in hand, greeted him perfunctorily. Quinney, lacerated by his own anxieties, noted a dreary tone in the girl's voice. Many excellent persons never recognize trouble in others till they are suffering from trouble of their own. Of such was our hero. He had passed a wretched night, and, as he shaved, was constrained to perceive its ravages upon his face. Upon Mabel's face, also, he seemed to catch a glimpse of faint lines and shadows, as if the spider Insomnia had woven a web across it.
"Anything wrong?" he inquired.
"Nothing," replied Mabel tartly.
He sat down at his desk, glancing at the morning's letters, arranged by Mabel in a neat little pile. The topmost letter contained Hunsaker's cheque for eleven hundred pounds, and a few cordial lines reminding his dear sir that he hoped to call at eleven, and that he might bring a friend with him, an expert of Chippendale furniture. Quinney frowned, resenting the introduction of an expert. But he reflected comfortably that the chairs were already cased. He opened the other letters, and then began to deal faithfully with each correspondent in turn. He dictated these letters after his own fashion. It was Mabel's task to adjust grammatical errors and to eliminate slang. He had grown fond of Mabel because she was competent and tactful.
"I think that will do, my dear."
Mabel rose quietly, shutting her notebook. She used a small room, where she kept her machine and a copying-press and other paraphernalia appertaining to secretarial duties. Unconsciously, she sighed.
"Lookin' peaky, you are," said her employer.
Mabel retorted indifferently:
"Weather affects me. Seems even to have affected you, sir."
"Ho! Observant young miss! But you're wrong. Weather don't affect me; and it oughtn't to affect a healthy young woman like you. Sleep badly?"
"Ye-es."
"Same here."
The need of sympathy gripped him. He was so sorry for himself that he felt sorry for this white-faced typist, whom hitherto he had regarded as a machine.
"Beastly, ain't it?" She nodded, and he continued, speaking rather to himself than to her: "To toss about, tinglin' all over, with one's thoughts in a ferment! Perfectly disgustin'!"
Mabel smiled faintly.
"I've a lot on my mind just now," he went on, "a bigger load than I care to carry—immense responsibilities, see?"
She opened her eyes, wondering what had evoked this amazing confidence, little guessing that the habit of years was behind it. He had always talked to Susan about his affairs, poured them into ears now deaf in the hour of sorest need.
"Sit down," he commanded. "There's no hurry. I'm expecting Mr. Tomlin."
"I beg your pardon; I forgot to mention it. I have a message from Mr. Miggott. His respects, and he wants to see you if you can spare a few minutes."
"Ho! Well, I can't see him yet. He must wait my convenience. Sit you down!"
Mabel obeyed, blushing slightly, because Quinney's eyes were so piercing. She was quite unaware that she had betrayed herself in the pronunciation of a name. At no other time, probably, would Quinney have leapt to the conclusion that James was behind her trouble as certainly as he was behind his own. He hated James. It hurt him to hear his name softly murmured.
"Any of your people ill, my dear?"
"No."
"Not in debt, are you?"
"Certainly not."
"Not sufferin' from neuralgia, or toothache, or anything of that sort?"
"I am in excellent health, sir."
"Then, my girl, you're in love."
Her confusion answered him. She was angry, indignant, scornful; but she could not prevent the red blood rushing into her cheeks. She retorted sharply:
"That's none of your business, sir!"
Quinney chuckled. A ray of light flashed across his dark horizon.
"Don't be too sure o' that, my dear. Perhaps it is my business; anyway, I'm going to make it my business, because I take a fatherly interest in you."
"I can manage my own affairs, Mr. Quinney."
"No, you can't. Look ye here. I'm a wonderful guesser—always was. You like James Miggott. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I'll be bound he likes you!"
Mabel fidgeted. Quinney's voice was kind. It rang true. The desire to confide in this odd little man, so masterful, so persuasive when he chose, grew as swiftly as Jack the Giant Killer's beanstalk.
"Doesn't he like you?" he asked insistently.
"He used to like me," she answered mournfully.
"Ah! Now, Mabel, there are just as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it."
"And what time have I to catch fish?"
"S'pose you was my daughter, I shouldn't like you to marry James. This is on the strict Q.T., just between me and you, James was a faker of old furniture till he came to me."
"He's no better, I dare say, and no worse, than other men in his trade!"
"Tch! tch! He's lucky to have a nice girl to stick up for him. Now, my dear"—his voice became very soft and confidential—"you say that James used to like you. Why has he cooled off, hey?"
She answered miserably:
"I don't know."
"Cheer up! Maybe I can help you. Lordy! Don't cry! Answer me this—straight. Do you still want him?"
"Ye-es."
It was a doleful, long-drawn-out monosyllable, eloquent of much left unsaid. Quinney nodded sympathetically, although his small eyes were sparkling.
"At one time, I take it, you thought he was yours?"
She was too overcome to utter a word.
"Do you believe that he likes somebody else?" He paused, waiting for an answer. She twisted her fingers, refused to meet his eyes, moved restlessly. He went on, playing upon her emotions:
"Do you know who that somebody is? Come, be square with me, my dear. Is it a young lady who shall remain nameless—a young lady lately returned from school; a young lady whom James Miggott will never marry—never?"
His suppressed excitement communicated itself to her. She was clever enough to understand exactly what he wished to convey. She glanced up and nodded. Quinney drew in his breath sharply; his manner changed.
"And you still want him?"
"Yes."
"Queer creatures you women are, to be sure!"
"We can't pick and choose like men."
"If you want him, you shall have him."
She shook her head dubiously.
"You don't know James, sir."
"Ho! Don't I? Better than you know him, better than he knows himself. I'll help you, my girl, but you must help me."
"How?"
He got up and stood beside her. She watched him with a certain fascination, curiously sensible of his power over her and others. The native confidence that he had in himself percolated slowly through her.
"Tell me truly what has passed between you and this young man."
She was expecting any question except this. The audacity of it overwhelmed her, as he had foreseen that it would. She broke down, sobbing bitterly, hiding her face from the keen eyes looking down into her very soul. Quinney laid his hand upon her head tenderly. For the moment this strangely-assorted pair, linked together by an interest common to each, yet antagonistic to each, stood together upon a plane high above that on which they moved habitually.
"I ain't no saint," said Quinney solemnly. "And I tell you this, Mabel Dredge, I've been through hell during the past twelve hours; and I'm not out of it yet. Stand up, you poor dear! Look me in the face, for then you'll know that you can trust me. Give me your hand—so! It's a nice little hand. Ought there to be a wedding-ring on it?"
"Yes," she whispered.
II
Susan came in shortly after Mabel had gone. Her face was very troubled, but obstinacy sat enthroned upon a head carried at a higher angle than usual. Quinney said facetiously:
"Come to throw yourself at my feet and ask forgiveness?"
"Certainly not."
"Meant all you said last night?"
"Every word of it."
"What is Posy doing?"
"Crying her eyes out, I dare say."
"Sounds sloppy."
"Mr. Tomlin is here. Hateful man! I suppose he'll side with you!"
"That remains to be seen. I doubt it. Ask Tom to step up."
Susan went out with dignity.
Tomlin had been to a banquet the night before, and bore the signs of intemperance in eating and drinking upon his large mottled face. He greeted Quinney sulkily, unable to purge his mind of the conviction that Soho Square ought to come to Bond Street. He asked thickly:
"Ever suffer from indigestion?"
"Never."
"I do," said Tomlin gloomily. He added with finality: "Port, even the best, atop o' bubbly wine is a mistake after fifty. What you want me for, young Joe?"
"Glad I look young, Tom. I don't feel it this morning."
Tomlin stared at him.
"Blest if you ain't made a night of it, too."
"Here's something to cheer us up."
He pushed across the desk Hunsaker's cheque for eleven hundred pounds. Tomlin's heavy features relaxed into a smile. Quinney scribbled some figures on a memorandum pad, and invited his colleague to verify them. The sum represented the exact amount due to Tomlin as his share of the plunder.
"Quite O.K., Joe."
"Like your bit o' ready now?"
"Never refuse cash, my lad."
Quinney wrote out a cheque, and a receipt. Tomlin accepted the cheque, placing it in a bulky pocket-book. He glared askance at the receipt, which set forth that the sum just paid was a commission upon the sale of eight chairs to Cyrus P. Hunsaker, of Hunsaker.
"Why this receipt, Joe? Ain't a cheque a receipt?"
Quinney answered curtly:
"A cheque don't show what money is paid for. My way of doin' business."
"No complaints."
He chuckled fatly, raising his thick eyebrows when Quinney observed lightly:
"What we done the day before yesterday was a leetle bit dangerous, old man. Sailin' too near the reefs—um?"
Tomlin replied pompously:
"Skilled navigators, my lad, do sail near the reefs. I wouldn't assume such risks with another man."
"But you did!"
"What do you mean, Joe?"
"James Miggott is in the know."
"Of course, but he's had his little bit."
"Yes; but he wants more!"
"The swine!" He stared at Quinney, beholding upon the whimsical face of his pupil writing which he could not read. "What's up?" he spluttered.
"I am," said Quinney, rising; "and stripped for the fight of my life."
Tomlin stirred uneasily.
"A fight, Joe? Who with?"
Quinney answered fiercely:
"That dirty dog, James Miggott. He wants more than what we gave him. See? He wants my Posy."
Tomlin exhibited marked relief.
"Your Posy? Don't blame him for wanting her."
"You hold hard! Young Posy wants him."
"Gawd bless my soul! She's not the judge o' quality he is."
"And Susan backs 'em up. That fairly tears it."
Tomlin looked puzzled, unable to account for the younger man's excitement. He considered that Joe, unlike himself, was incapable of managing his womenfolk.
"Between 'em, Tom, they've got a strangle hold on us."
"Us? What have I to do with your fam'ly matters?"
"I sent for you to tell you. Now, first and last, they'll never have my consent, never! But, by thunder! I refuse my consent, not because the dog's my servant, but because he isn't straight. He's no better than you and me."
Tomlin glared at his former pupil, who stood over him, waving a denunciatory hand.
"You speak for yourself, young man."
"I ain't young. We're both of us old enough to know better and do better, but we've had to make our way. Maybe I've been honester than you, maybe I haven't. I ain't whining, least of all to you. We're in a deep hole of our own making. And we must get out of it. I told this James Miggott last night that we was pots, just common pots, sailin' down the stream with other pots. But my little Posy's porcelain, the finest paste, the gem o' my collection. Susan accuses me of caring for things, these things. So I do; so do you; that's why we've struggled to the front. And this son of a gun loves things, and what they stand for. He's after my things, but he's clever enough to have bluffed two innercent females into believin' that he wants my Posy without 'em."
Tomlin blinked and nodded, stupefied by the terrific feeling displayed by Quinney. His headache had come back, that humiliating sense of "unfitness" which clouded his judgment, leaving him dazed and irritable. Nor, as yet, had he grasped the situation, or measured the depth of the hole to which Quinney alluded. The little man went on:
"I've called his bluff, if it is bluff. I've told him that he can take Posy, march her out of this house as she is."
"What did he say to that?"
"I should have downed him, but, by Gum, the old lady butted in. Swore solemn she'd leave my house, if I turned Posy out. She means it, too!"
"A good riddance," snarled Tomlin.
Quinney exploded, shaking his clenched fist in front of the huge, red face.
"What? I'd have you to know, Tom Tomlin, that my Susan and me have stuck together through thick and thin. I think the world of her, but she's without guile, bless her, and as obstinate as Balaam's ass!"
"S'pose you tell me where I come in?"
"Here and now, by the back-door! This dirty dog threatens to down me with the true story of them chairs. And he'll do it, too. Now, let this soak in together with all that port and champagne you swallered last night. If he downs me, he downs you! Got it?"
Assuredly Tomlin had "got it." He began to shake with impotent rage, growling out:
"Threatens to split? I'd like to tell that young man exactly what I think of him."
"You can," said Quinney derisively; "but it will do you more good than him, I reckon. We'll send for him in a jiffy. Ever notice my typist and stenographer, Miss Dredge?"
"Yes, many a time. Nice-lookin' gal."
"This maggot of a Miggott has been eatin' into her young affections, see?"
"Has he? The young man has taste, Joe. Reg'lar lady-killer!"
Quinney lowered his voice:
"It's a weapon, but I don't rely on it. I can't use it, in fairness to Mabel, till we stand in the last ditch."
"Why not? Got to think of ourselves, ain't we?"
Tomlin pulled out an immense silk bandana, and mopped a heated brow.
"It's two-edged, Tom. You ain't yourself this morning, or you'd see, with your knowledge of the fair sex, that Posy might be keener on gettin' this scamp, if she learned that another woman was after him. We'll try to handle Master Miggott first."
He crossed to the speaking-tube, and summoned James to the sanctuary. Then he sat down, very erect and austere, at his desk.
III
Presently James entered, carrying his head at the angle affected by Susan, looking very bland and self-confident.
"Good-morning, Mr. Tomlin! Good-morning, Mr. Quinney!"
Quinney acknowledged this salutation with a derisive grin.
"Mornin', Mr. Chesty! Bin usin' a Sandow's exerciser?"
"No, sir; Indian clubs. Am I to state my case before Mr. Tomlin?"
"Yes. Go ahead and state it. Don't waste my time, or his, or your own."
James addressed himself suavely to Tomlin, selecting his words carefully, speaking slowly, with the utmost respect.
"Last night, Mr. Quinney threatened to turn his daughter into the street, because she's engaged to be married to me."
"My hand was forced, my lad. Go on."
"I can support a wife, and Miss Quinney is ready to marry me by special licence this afternoon."
"Quite sure o' that?"
"Ab—solutely. Unhappily, I'm not yet in a financial position to support two ladies."
"Two ladies?" echoed Quinney, thinking of Mabel Dredge.
"I allude, sir, to Mrs. Quinney. She insists upon leaving you, if her child is turned out. That rather complicates matters."
"It does," said Quinney grimly.
"Under these circumstances, gentlemen, I feel justified in bringing pressure to bear. Mr. Hunsaker, who bought certain chairs yesterday, will call again this morning. He is naturally interested in the history of the chairs; and he might make trouble if he knew all the facts about them as known to you, Mr. Tomlin, to Mr. Quinney, and to me. I may add that my responsibility in the affair is negligible."
"Slick talker," muttered Quinney. He could see that Tomlin was much impressed by James's manner. The big fellow grunted uneasily:
"What do you propose?"
"A compromise, Mr. Tomlin."
Quinney lost something of his dignity, when he jerked out:
"He's compromised my Posy, and many another pore girl, I'll be bound!"
"Pardon me, sir. That sort of talk before a witness is libellous."
The last rag of Quinney's dignity fluttered away.
"I'll down you, my lad; yes, I will!"
"Self-preservation being the first law, sir, I must—sorely against the grain—down you first. Excuse plain speaking."
Quinney jumped up.
"I like plain speaking! I was weaned on it, short-coated on it! By Gum! my father damned me before I was born!"
"Easy all," murmured Tomlin nervously. He addressed James with a civility which the young man acknowledged with a faint smile. "Do I understand that you threaten to down your master because he refuses to sanction an engagement between you and his daughter?"
James shrugged his shoulders.
"It's a case of 'pull, devil—pull, baker!' I mean to pull for all I'm worth."
Quinney interrupted furiously:
"And what are you worth, Lord Rothschild?"
Tomlin held up a large hand, not too clean, upon which sparkled a diamond ring.
"You spoke of compromise, James?"
"Yes, sir. I suggest that my engagement to Miss Quinney should be sanctioned and recognized. I will stay on here, and demonstrate to Mr. Quinney my claims to be taken on later as a junior partner. Unless Miss Quinney of her own will cancels the engagement, the marriage will take place——"
"Never!" shouted Quinney.
James smiled deprecatingly.
"Shall I retire, gentlemen? You have time to talk things over. Mr. Hunsaker will not be here for another hour yet."
Tomlin nodded portentously:
"Yes, yes; leave us."
IV
Tomlin was the first to break an ominous silence:
"The long and short of it is, Joe, that this young feller can ruin us, rob us of our hard-earned reputations. We must square him."
"Money? He wants money and Posy!"
Tomlin stroked his chin pensively. It occurred to him that so sharp a practitioner as James Miggott would never come to grief. As a suitor for one of his three daughters, he would not consider him too rashly as ineligible.
"Posy might do worse," he muttered.
"Ho! That's it. Sidin' with them? Thought you might!"
"Face the music, Joe! We're hanged, high as Haman, unless the ladies come to the rescue. It's a bit thick his threatenin' you. How does Posy take that—um?"
"How can I tell her what he's threatening to do? James knows that, the dog!"
"You can hint at unpleasantness. Posy ought to know that her young man is buckin' about ruining you."
"Maybe you'd like to talk to Susan and Posy?"
"I should. I understand women; you don't."
"You shall talk to 'em."
He hurried to the door, and through it on to the landing.
"Susan!—Su—san!"
Susan's voice was heard descending from above:
"Is that you calling, Joe?"
"Who did yer think it was? The Archbishop o' Canterbury or the First Lord of the Admiralty? Come you down quick, and bring Posy with you."
He stumped back into the sanctuary to confront Tomlin's scornful face.
"That the way you talk to an angry woman? Had any words with Mrs. Quinney this morning?"
"I've been talking to her and at her, off and on, ever since breakfast."
"Pore, dear soul!" ejaculated Tomlin.
CHAPTER XXII
A TEST
I
Posy may have been crying, but the colour and sparkle remained in her eyes; and she had arrayed herself in a smart and becoming costume, which Quinney recognized as "Sunday best." Let women decide what motive animated this preening. If she were to be turned out of Soho Square, Posy, not unreasonably, may have decided to take her prettiest frock with her. On the other hand, with equal wisdom, she may have thought that the sight of a charming young woman in all her bravery is likely to melt the heart of the sternest man. Because she appeared on this momentous morning fresh and alluring, let us not accuse her of heartlessness. If destined by Fate to lose a father, she would gain a husband. Poor Susan, limp and bedraggled, was miserably sensible that victory for her would inflict consequences more crushing than defeat.
"Goin' to church?" Quinney inquired of his daughter.
Posy replied respectfully:
"Only if driven there by you."
Tomlin, rumbling and grumbling after his dietical indiscretions, greeted the young lady with a phrase often on his lips:
"Seasonable weather for the time of year?"
Susan glanced at him scornfully, and said audibly:
"Fiddle!"
Quinney apologized for this breach of politeness after his own fashion:
"Be'ind the door, she was, Tom, when they collected threepence a head for manners. Now, sit you down!"
Tomlin waved a half-consumed cigar, addressing Susan:
"Any objections to my smoking, ma'am?"
"Not she," replied her husband, "neither in this world nor the next. You go on and talk to her. You understand women. Open fire on 'em!"
"May I say a few words, ma'am?"
"Provided they are few, you may, Mr. Tomlin."
Driven to the wall, she made no effort to conceal her dislike of this big fat man, whom she had ever regarded as an evil influence in her Joe's life. Quinney exclaimed:
"'Ark to Mrs. Don't-care-a-damn!"
Tomlin raised a protesting finger.
"Tut, tut, Joe. You leave this to me."
He continued majestically, picking his words:
"I don't think you can be aware, ma'am, that James Miggott is threatening your husband, and"—he turned to Posy—"your dear father."
Susan snapped out:
"Joe told me as much last night. I know well what James is threatening. He's not the only man of his word in this house. He's threatening to take the girl he loves as she is. He's not thinking of anything else. He's made it plain that he's only to hold up his finger, and Posy'll go to him gladly."
"Just what I told you, Tom," remarked Quinney.
"You're under a misapprehension, ma'am. Miggott is threatening us—me and Joe."
At this Posy became more alert, listening attentively to Tomlin, but keeping her clear eyes upon her sire. Susan betrayed astonishment.
"Threatening you, Mr. Tomlin? Why should he threaten you, and why should you care tuppence whether he threatens you or not?"
Very deprecatingly, Tomlin spread out his large hands, palm uppermost, as if he wished the ladies to infer that he came empty-handed into a fight not of his seeking.
"I repeat, ma'am, he's threatening us. He's talking of trying to ruin us."
"Talkin' through his hat," murmured Quinney.
Susan tossed her head impatiently.
"You'll have to speak more plainly, Mr. Tomlin, if you wish me to understand what you're driving at."
Tomlin, cornered by Susan's direct methods in striking opposition to his own, fetched a compass, and began again more warily:
"Is it possible that you contemplate leaving the most faithful husband in the world, ma'am?"
Quinney chuckled, rubbing his hands.
"That's better. Now, Susie, you listen to Tom, if you won't listen to me."
"I've listened patiently to you, Joe, for just twenty years. It's about time I did a bit of talking, and that you did the listening."
"Ho! Been bottling things up, have you?" She nodded. "Then you uncork yourself, old dear! But, before you begin, I'll try to impress this on your female mind. This dirty dog of a James Miggott is threatening me and Tom. He believes that he can injure our reputations in the trade. See? Tom, here, thinks that he'll do it, if I refuse to surrender. Well, I don't. That's where he and me differ. But, just as sure as the Lord made little apples and small, mean souls, it's the solid truth that this young man is tryin' to blackmail me! Now you have the text, dearie. Get you up and preach a sermon on it. Posy, in her Sunday clothes, will listen, and so will I. But bear in mind that you took me for better or worse."
Tomlin added unctuously:
"And please remember, ma'am, that you have to consider me."
Susan eyed Tomlin with chill indifference. Her voice was almost vitriolic, as she remarked:
"If I'm driven from house and home, Mr. Tomlin, 'tain't likely I shall waste much time considering you!"
"Who's driving you, ma'am, from house and home?"
"My husband is, more shame to him!"
She collected her energies for a supreme effort, turning in her chair to look at the tyrant.
"Blaze away!" said the tyrant.
"Joe"—her voice trembled in spite of a gallant effort to control it—"you are forcing me to do the cruellest thing in all the world—to choose between my own child and you. I ain't got your brains, but I've something much better—a heart. Posy wants me, and you don't. Let me finish. It's bitter aloes to me, but I swallow the gall of it for my dear child's sake. You used to love me!"
"Used?"
"Between you and me, that's over and done with."
She spoke very mournfully, brushing a tear from her cheek.
"No, it ain't, Susie. Seemin'ly, what I've done to show my love for you ain't enough. S'pose you tell me what more I might do?"
She answered swiftly:
"Give your consent to Posy marrying, as I did—marrying the man of her choice. Have you anything against his moral character?"
"He's a wrong 'un; take that from me!"
"Not without proof. What's he done that's wrong? He don't muddle his wits with food and drink. He don't use filthy tobacco. He attends Divine Service."
"Ho! Poor in this world's goods, but a moral millionaire, hey?"
"It's hateful to hear you sneer at him!"
"You ask me to give my daughter to a dog that's trying to bite the hand that fed him?"
"Posy might do worse," said Tomlin hoarsely.
"Now you've torn it!" said Quinney viciously. "I'm alone against the lot of you. Good! I'll down the lot of you, I'll——"
Posy interrupted:
"Father!"
"Well, my girl?"
She spoke incisively, with something of his manner:
"You won't answer one important question. What is James threatening to do to you and Mr. Tomlin?"
Poor Quinney! He had only to speak with entire frankness to win his Susan back. But at what a cost! Could he roll in the dust of a humiliating confession? Unconsciously he clenched his fists, setting his firm jaw at an even more aggressive angle. In desperation he clutched at a straw. If he must be dragged down from his high estate as the honestest dealer in the world, let that iconoclastic deed be done by another hand.
"Look ye here, my girl, suppose you ask James that question."
"I want to ask him," she replied calmly.
"Fine!" muttered Tomlin. "Yes, my dear, you ask him why he dares to threaten your dear father."
"And you," said Posy.
"That's right. And me. More than one good tip he's had from me."
"Tips? Why should you tip him?"
"You can ask him. There's no time to waste."
"No time to waste?"
The situation had become tenser. Quinney perceived with a certain pride that Posy was demonstrating the quality of brains inherited from him.
"Go to him," said Quinney. "He's in his room. We'll wait here."
She obeyed.