XVII
Duringthe week which followed, the behaviour of William Jordan, Junior, was very closely scrutinized by his fellow-labourers in the vineyard of No. 24 Trafalgar Square. One and all were freely inoculated with the “traditions of the house.” Each member of the counting-house staff, from Mr. Dodson, who might be of any age and standing, to Mr. Walter Pater Walkinshaw, Mr. Aristophanes Luff, Mr. Leslie Stephen Sandars, and Mr. T. B. Macaulay Jenkins, who unmistakably were of one particular period and degree, were infected by a generous jealousy for the name and fame “of the first publishing house in London, and therefore of the civilized world.”
“It ain’t, you know,” Mr. James Dodson communicated to William Jordan, Junior, in his second or unofficial manner, “but Octavius thinks so, and what Octavius thinks the staff has got d—— well to believe.”
Mr. William Jordan, Junior, was honoured with this confidence while proceeding to a luncheon to be partaken of in Mr. Dodson’s company, and by his express invitation, at the refreshment buffet annexed to the Brontë Hotel, which was situated in a by-street off Trafalgar Square. Mr. Dodson, who needless to say selected this house of refreshment and led the way thereto, ordered of a gorgeous lady in a scarlet blouse and large yellow earrings, whom he addressed as “Chrissie” with that inimitableflairthat never forsook him on public occasions, “two lean ham-sandwiches and two tankards of half-and-half with plenty of top.”
The reception accorded by Mr. William Jordan, Junior, to these viands, for which the buffet of the Brontë Hotel was justly famous, filled Mr. Dodson with astonishment and Chrissie with consternation not unmingled with protest.
“Your fat friend needn’t look as though he’s tasted vitriol,” said the lady in the scarlet blouse, as the boy recoiled with horror at the moment he was saluted by the fumes from the tankard. “That’s the best half-and-half in London, young man, and he who says it is not is a perverter of the truth.”
“Is—is it h-hemlock?” gasped the boy, as tragically he replaced the tankard upon the marble slab.
With that presence of mind for which he was notorious, Mr. Dodson bent across the counter and whispered something in the ear of the lady in the scarlet blouse, which was not audible to Mr. William Jordan, Junior. To lend colour to his statement, in whatever it might consist, Mr. Dodson tapped his forehead in an impersonal and mystical manner.
“Get him a small milk, Chrissie,” said Mr. Dodson with a most engaging air, which had long been the despair and the envy of his wide circle of acquaintance.
When this beverage had been produced and the lady in the scarlet blouse had been thanked profusely,but not altogether mollified by the recipient of this signal act of condescension, both she and Mr. Dodson gazed at him curiously while he looked nervously at the plate containing the ham-sandwich which had been set before him.
“If you’d like a bit of bread-and-butter, you can have it you know,” said the lady in the scarlet blouse.
“Oh, t-thank you, t-thank you, if you will have the g-g-great kindness,” said the boy. He was relieved beyond expression; yet his embarrassment at being addressed publicly by a mysterious kind of creature of whom his friends, the ancient authors, had invariably formed such remarkable opinions, caused a deep tawny blush to overspread his pale and hollow cheeks.
“You may well look so fat,” said the lady in the scarlet blouse, with her indignation melting. She felt that his agitation was a frank testimonial to the impact of her own overpowering personality.
During these transactions, Mr. Dodson, having dispatched his own ham-sandwich and “tankard of half-and-half with plenty of top” with great success, proceeded to deal in like manner with those of his strange companion. And further, at the conclusion of these operations he disclosed, mainly for the information of the lady in the scarlet blouse, the true basis upon which two such diverse elements as Mr. James Dodson and Mr. William Jordan, Junior, were wont to co-operate.
“Luney,” he said to the boy, while he fixed the lady in the scarlet blouse with a steady and unsmiling gaze, “you can lend me two and a kickpro tem.Matchbox has gone down in the big race, and he carried my shirt.”
“I—I b-beg your p-pardon, sir,” stammered the boy. The limit to his knowledge in the practical sciences had presented itself rather abruptly.
“Lend me half-a-dollar, you cuckoo,” said Mr. Dodson sternly, “and don’t be so darnation polite.”
“I—I b-beg your p-pardon, sir,” stammered the boy, “I—I d-don’t t-think I k-know what you mean.”
The lady in the scarlet blouse regarded him with eyes of wonder. Mr. Dodson, however, still retained his self-possession in the presence of an unknowingness that transcended all that had previously come within his purview.
“He comes of a rather good family,” said Mr. Dodson in an eloquent aside to the lady in the scarlet blouse.
“Oh, does he?” said the lady in the scarlet blouse, opening her lazy eyes a little wider—“a gilt mug.”
“What silver have you got about you, Luney?” said Mr. Dodson.
This request was sufficiently intelligible to the boy to cause him to produce a collection of silver pieces which his father insisted on his carrying about with him. Mr. Dodson selected five shillings in a leisurely and impartial manner.
“I’ll make it a dollar,” he said, “and mind, my son, that you don’t forget to ask me for it. I’ve got such a weak memory for small things that one of these days I shall forget to attend my own funeral.”
Upon this utterance, which the boy was fain to consider as very remarkable, Mr. Dodson disbursed the sum of one shilling and sixpence to the lady in the scarlet blouse, and at the same time took the opportunity of transferring a dahlia, which approximated to the size of a small cauliflower, from his own person to the ample bosom of this already sufficiently gorgeous creature.
“So long, Chrissie,” he said. “See you at the Tivoli at a quarter to nine.”
With a great air, which the lesser luminaries of his circle were apt to interpret as swagger, Mr. Dodson made for the door.
“Come on, Luney,” said he, “let me take you back to your governess.”
This speech, delivered in a very audible manner, was not altogether for the guidance of Mr. William Jordan, Junior, but rather for that of two young gentlemen of a similar type to Mr. Dodson himself, who at that moment were entering the buffet.
“’Ow are yer, Jimmy?” said one of these with a nod of easy familiarity.
Mr. Dodson gave a curt nod to embrace them both, and looked them down with a cold, straight glance.
“Cheek,” said Mr. Dodson, in a half-audible aside to Mr. William Jordan, Junior. “Infernal cheek!”
“Who’s Jimmy touting around with this morning?” said the first of these gentlemen to the lady in the scarlet blouse.
“A gilt mug,” said that superb creature coldly from behind her dahlia.
“Thought as much,” said the first gentleman with a quizzical look at his companion. “Between you and me and the mustard pot, Chrissie, it’s my opinion Jimmy Dodson gets a bigger snob every day.”
“Jimmy’s all right,” said the lady. “If either ofyouhad got halfhisstyle, you’d do.”
“Yes, I suppose we should.”
Each of the young men gave a sigh that was so imperfectly repressed, that it lent poignant expression to the unattainable.