Thebustle, the hurry, the excitement were again here; the grievance that a day contained, only twenty-four hours reconstituted itself; the feeling came once more that one was a person of some importance. But Erb, spite the old environments, found himself wanting in enthusiasm. He could not deny this, although for a time he tried to do so. Face to face with a situation that a month earlier would have aroused all his most aggressive instincts, he found he was quite unable to feel any excitement in the matter. The rebuff the men had given him he could not forget; the empty space that the dispute had made could not be easily bridged. Moreover, there were other matters which seemed larger and much more important than this to occupy his consideration. Rosalind brought Louisa back to town, the vacation being over, and Camberwell desiring to go on with its lessons in voice production, and Lady Frances, hearing of this from Alice, antedated her trip to the Continent, and, in her generous way, prepared to fly off with Louisa and Jessie, the maid; Louisa, dazed by the rapidity of events, said goodbye with apparent calm to her brother and her three most recentfiancés.
“Likely as not,” said Louisa casually, “I shall marry one of you when I come back!”
“Which?” inquired the three youths eagerly.
“The one that’s got the most money.”
“Ah!” said the young baker from Rotherhithe New Road contentedly.
“And the most sense.”
“Good!” remarked the assistant from the Free Library.
“And the best temper.”
“Right-o!” said the booking clerk from Walworth Road station.
Lady Frances asked Erb to get an evening paper, and he went to the small bookstall on the platform. The train was on the point of starting, and he took up a Conservative evening paper. As he did so, he glanced at the placard that was being pinned to the stall, and observed a line “Massacre of English Commission in Morocco.” He quickly bought another journal of an earlier edition. Later, when the train had gone, he found in the “fudge” of the first journal a brief message, printed unevenly, with a similar heading:—
“The Foreign Office has received news of the massacre of the English Commission recently sent out to Morocco. No particulars are to hand, but the Commission included the Lieutenant the Hon.—”
“Her young man!” cried Erb distressedly. “Thought as much! This’ll be a fearful upset for her.”
He had some idea of going at once to Eaton Square, but this seemed of little use, and he had become so much accustomed to consulting Rosalind that he decided instead to go down to Southampton Street. Arrived there, he found commotion of such importance that this trouble concerning Lady Frances took a second place.
An ambulance stood inside the gate, near to the specimens of graveyard statuary, and on the steps of the house, a constable.
“Are you,” asks C 243, barring the way, “any relation to the deceased? By deceased,” explains the constable, giving additional information with great wariness, “he doesn’t, of course, mean deceased exactly, but nearly as good as that; he means old gentleman—white-haired old gentleman—that was knocked down by a cab in the Strand not half an hour ago, as he stooped down in the middle of the roadway to pick up a halfpenny he dropped. Happened just at the corner of Wellington Street, it did. Knew the old chap by sight. One of what C 243 ventures to call the regulars. See them every day between Bedford Street and Wellington Street. You don’t know their names, of course,” says constable argumentatively, “but, bless your soul, you know their faces so well that, when one of them drops out, it makes you feel as though you’ve lost a personal friend. Every one of them on the cadge, so C 243 understands, and apparently manage to live on by borrowing from each other. A rum life, if ever there was one; no two ways about that.”
“Is he still able to recognise—?”
“Old chap’s first words were ‘Not a hospital; take me home.’ Constable inquired where was home, and old chap managed to give the address. Whereupon constable, after deliberation with a colleague, decided to take four-wheeler and see old chap home as desired. Thought, perhaps, he was only a bit stunned. Or, perhaps, dazed. Instead of which, coming past the Obelisk, old chap suddenly lurched forward, and—”
The small servant came out and beckoned. The voice of Rosalind called gently.
“I am here,” replies Erb.
“Want you just one moment.”
A boy doctor who stood inside the room, endeavouring to wear a look of uncountable years, nodded curtly, and went to the foot of the sofa. On the sofa lay the Professor, with a rug thrown over him, the rug close up to his chin, one hand free, and travelling restlessly over the pattern.
“That bourne,” whispered the Professor, “from which no traveller— You are a good lad, and you will look after her.”
“If she’ll let me,” says Erb. “How are you feeling, sir, by this time?”
“Look after her better than I have done. See that when you arrive at my state, laddie, you—you can glance back on your life with content.”
Erb, with a kindly touch, pushed the Professor’s hair from his eyes, and the old man looked up gratefully. Erb touched his hand, and the hand grippedhis as though with desire to attach itself to something reliable.
“I’m slipping,” said the Professor simply. He closed his eyes, and presently reopened them as with difficulty. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. Give me the word, sir, give me the word. What in Heaven’s name,” with sudden indignation, “is the use of having a prompter if—”
Rosalind, keeping her tears back, came with the heavy volume, opening it quickly at the place where a ringletted youth in a steel engraving was addressing soldiers.
Erb discovering the lines with the aid of Rosalind’s finger, gave the cue. “For he to-day—” The old Professor goes on.
“‘For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my be-rother! be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition, And gentlemen in England, And gentlemen in England.’ No use,” said the Professor weakly, “my study’s gone.”
“Don’t bother about it, sir.”
“Laddie,” said the Professor, “you—you think me a thriftless, miserable wastrel.”
“No, no,” answered Erb. “Not that exactly. But we’re none of us perfect.”
“I’ve reached me last hour, and the time has come for plain speech. I’ve been—” a smile dared to creep halfway across the Professor’s face. “I’ve been a fraud.”
“Father,” said Rosalind brokenly. “You’ve always been the dearest, dearest—”
The boy doctor, snatching the opportunity to whisper to Erb, who could not lose the Professor’s hand, said that he had administered a sleeping draught: if the Professor desired to say anything it would be better to allow him to speak without interruption.
“I have been a fraud,” repeated the Professor, with something of relish. “I have been a—’Neither a borrower or a lender be. For borrowing oft—’”
“You’ve always been welcome, sir.”
“I have been the most fraudulent of all frauds. There is a note in my desk to send to the ‘Era.’ I have often, in my salad days, advertised in the ‘Era.’ I think they will put it in.”
“I’ll pay them to, if necessary.”
The Professor gave a faint echo of a chuckle. “How they will talk about it in the Strand! I’d give the remainder of my life to hear them.”
The old, old mouth, twisted in the effort to display amusement, and remained twisted; one eyelid nearly closed. The boy doctor looked anxiously from the foot of the sofa: Rosalind knelt.
“You’re going to have a nice long sleep, sir,” said Erb, bending down. “And you’ll wake up a different man, bless you.”
“I shall wake up,” repeated the Professor slowly, “wake up a different man.”
Both eyelids closing now, he turned his whitehead a little towards the wall. Presently his grip of Erb’s hand relaxed, and Erb, disengaging himself, went with the others to the window, where the three spoke in an undertone, Erb holding Rosalind’s elbows supportingly. A slight groan from the sofa called the doctor.
“All over,” announced the boy doctor, with a desperate effort to assume the air of one used to making such announcements, and rendered callous by long centuries of habit. “I’ll let the Coroner’s officer know. Don’t mind my running off, do you? Fearfully busy, just now.”
The Professor’s words were counted as the mere wandering of speech, and dismissed from memory until, when the inquest was over, and some days later the journey to Honor Oak cemetery and back at an end, Erb took upon himself the duty of examining the locked drawers of the desk. Then it was found that tardily in his life, the Professor had hinted at truth, for books entitled Post Office Savings Bank were discovered there, and it was realised that this old spendthrift, this most careless member of a careless profession, had hoarded carefully throughout his life, engaging stray half-crowns, only to add them instantly to his store, and the five brown covered books announced that to his credit stood what seemed to Erb and to Rosalind the extravagant fortune of nearly four hundred pounds. A will, drawn up in commendable order, directed that all this was left to “my dear daughter Rosalind, and may she forgive her father for manyshortcomings, and think of him if she can, with affection and regard.”
“This,” said Erb, when he had reckoned up the amounts on a slip of paper, “this is very satisfactory for you, but it makes all the difference to me.”
“It’s going to make no sort of difference whatever,” said Rosalind emphatically.
“Money matters always do.”
“Depends on the people who have the money. Money in itself doesn’t bring happiness, but it doesn’t follow that it destroys it. Your Lady Frances, for instance—”
“What makes you call her my Lady Frances?”
“She looks upon you as her property,” said Rosalind, turning away.
“If I hadn’t got such a stiff collar on I’d laugh,” declared Erb. “By the bye, I’m very glad to see by to-day’s papers that her sweetheart was on his way back before that nasty affair took place out near Tetuan; mysterious thing, rather. Been telegraphed for apparently, by somebody.”
“I know.”
“You saw about it in the paper?”
“No,” said Rosalind.
“Well, but how—”
“Isent the telegram,” she said quietly. “I thought it better he should be back here. I didn’t want her to get you.”
Erb took her hands. She tried to keep her lips from his, but she tried for a moment only.
“This simplifies matters,” he said. “I never could tell whether you liked me or not.”
“You never asked!”
“People will say I married you for your money,” he said half jokingly.
“And I shall know,” replied Rosalind, patting his face, “that you married me because—because you liked me.”
Silkhatted men were hurrying to and fro in the lobby, each with an air of bearing the responsibilities of the Empire on his shoulders; cards were being sent in by the attendants: a few country visitors stood about near to the statue of Mr. Gladstone waiting awkwardly for the arrival of their member. Swing-doors moved unceasingly: now and again two members would encounter each other and consult furtively with wrinkled foreheads, and visitors stood back from the round space at the centre with awe and respect, giving them room. Erb, in a morning coat and a necktie of such gaiety, that alone it betrayed the fact of his wedding-day, was an event not yet forgotten, strolled about, less appalled by the surroundings than most, so that provincials came to him now and again and made inquiries. Whenever he had been to the House before he had always felt wistful, and had looked through corridor to the inner lobby with anticipation; this evening the feeling was absent.
“Haven’t kept you waiting I hope, Barnes?” The white-haired Labour member bustling out was conspicuous by reason of his bowler hat. “Rather a lot of things to do one way and another. Whenyou get here you’ll find—I can’t see him now,” answering a messenger. “Tell him I’m going down to Bermondsey to put something straight that has got crooked, and I shall not be back till ten. Tell him that!”
“Cab or ’bus?” inquired Erb, as they went down the broad steps.
“’Bus,” said the Labour member, promptly. “Somebody might see us if we took a hansom. You’ll find that you can’t be too careful. And there’s another thing, too. Flower in your coat, you know—”
With axiom and words of counsel, the white-haired member shortened the journey from Westminster to the rooms in Grange Road; Erb listening with a proper deference, and refraining from all but appropriate and well-chosen interruptions. The member appeared stimulated by the task before him, and Erb felt quite mature in remembering the time when he, too, would have found his blood run quicker at the prospect of argument. His companion hurried up the corkscrew staircase of the coffee-house, Erb following slowly, nodding to a few of the men who, with anxious expression of countenance stood about on the landing. He went into a room at the side, where he hoped to be alone. Spanswick, however, had seen him, and Spanswick, following in, took a wooden chair on the opposite side of the table. But Erb’s old van boy interposed, big with a message. The chief had sent him (said William Henry) to mention in confidence that, ifErb cared to come back to his former position—“Extraordinary thing,” said Erb, “how much the world wants you when you show that you don’t want the world. No answer, William Henry, only thanks.”
“I’ve been telling a lot of ’em,” said Spanswick, jerking his hand in the direction of the other room as the young diplomatist went, “that if they take my advice, Erb, they’ll ask you to come back.”
“I see!”
“I’ve pointed out to ’em that they’ve blundered all along. That matter of the cheque, for instance—it’s proved that it’s never been cashed and, therefore, as I say, the money could never have come into your pocket. On the top of that,” said Spanswick, with something like indignation, “they go and select a bounder like old Doubleday. Why I could see what the man was like from the very start. I took his measure the first time I came across him. A talkative, interfering, muddle-headed gas-bag—I told some of ’em that it was a wonder they got men to take the trouble to lead them at all.”
“Itisa wonder!”
“And here they are now,” said Spanswick, rising to go and join in the deliberations of the next room, “here they are now down on their ’ands and knees without a single penny in the cash-box, worse off than they’ve ever been ever since the Society started, and not one amongst ’em capable of taking what you may call the reins of government in hand. It all comes,” concluded Spanswick,tapping at his nose with his forefinger, “it all comes through people not listening to the advice of the few of us,” here he struck his waistcoat impressively, “the few of us, either me and you, that know.”
Through the partition Erb could hear the voice of the Labour member. Impossible to distinguish the words, but clearly there was reproof in the tones at first; this gave place later to the quieter key of counsel. The men who had hitherto been silent began to applaud; fists struck the table with approval, and presently there came the sound of emphatic cheering that had often made Erb warm with pleasure.
“You’re wanted, old man,” said Payne, opening the door importantly. “Foller me into the next room, will you?”
The old scent of gas and cheap tobacco and corduroys. The old faces looking round as he entered, elbows resting on the table, some of the men with tumblers before them, others, wearing the stern look of sobriety, had been making notes of the speech to which they had just listened. Circular stains on the long wooden T-shaped tables; the impaled advertisements on the wall awry as though affected by the perfumes coming up from the bar downstairs. The dulled mirrors at the end reflected the room mistily with its frame protected eternally by tissue paper. The barman waiting for orders at the doorway gave Erb a tap of encouragement as he went in.
“Bravo! vo! vo! vo!” murmured the room.
“Order! order!” said the Chairman. “I call on our old and trusted friend—I forget his blessed name—from Paddington Parcels, at any rate, to address the meeting.”
The Paddington Parcels member cleared his throat and rose. He had been one of the first to go over, and this he frankly admitted. “Gives me all the more title,” said Paddington Parcels determinedly, “to undertake what I’m undertaking of now.”
Paddington Parcels handsomely offered to cut a long story short, and the room gave encouragement to this proposal, whereupon he proceeded to speak at intolerable length with ever, “Just one word and I’ve done,” and “Let me add a couple of words more,” and “Finally, I should like to remark,” and other phrases all suggesting an immediate finish, anticipation not justified by results.
Summarised, the argument was that the society had made a grievous blunder; that when a chap made a mistake he should apologise for it and set it right; that a society was like a chap, and should behave as a chap would, and that in the present deplorable state of the society there was only one thing they could do, namely, to ask Erb Barnes to let byegones be byegones, and to come back and resume the secretaryship. When, after many feints of sitting down, thus arousing the oratorical desires of those anxious to second the resolution, and always thinking of more words that retained him in a standing position, Paddington Parcels did unexpectedly resume his seat, there was greatcompetition for the honour of speaking next, and twenty faces looked gloomy and disappointed when Payne was selected. Payne spoke briefly. Every society had its ups and downs: this society was just now all in the downs, as the song had it. But it was well worth while to have such an experience, if only to see his old chum, his good old chum Erb, righted in the eyes of everybody and restored to a position that he ought never to have quitted.
The Labour member begged leave (his tones intimating nothing of humility) to say a few words before this was put to the vote. The society had been compared to a man, but the society, as a society, was, so to speak, a mere child, and it had recently behaved in the impulsive wrong-headed manner of a child. That might be overlooked once; it would not be overlooked a second time. Mind that! Brains had been served out to one and all, but some hadn’t quite got their proper share with the result that others had more than the average supply, and if the man who had come out rather short in the matter had not sufficient sense, when in a position of difficulty, to ask advice from those fully equipped, why the men with the short supply would have to put up with the consequences of their own blundering. And there was another thing. The success of the labour movement as a whole depended on the loyalty of the men to those who were doing brain work on their behalf; let that loyalty once exhibit anything of doubt and the whole scheme, the whole business, the wholemovement—the Labour member struck the wooden table emphatically at each variant of the phrase—the whole show would go to pot. All the same, he congratulated them on the wise decision at which they were about to arrive, and he strongly urged his friend Erb Barnes, “in consideration of certain prospective events,” said the white-haired member, lowering his voice mysteriously, “of whichheis aware, but cannot at the present time be made public,” to accept good-temperedly the invitation of the men.
The men had kept silent whilst receiving criticism; at these last words they rose from the Windsor chairs and shouted approval. The shirt sleeved waiter went up and down the tables, culling empty glasses and making them into a bouquet. Erb went to the mantelpiece, and resting one hand there, spoke quietly. Every face turned in his direction. “I think,” said the Chairman importantly, “I think I may say carriedper se—I meannem. con.”
“I’m not going to occupy your time for long,” said Erb from the fireplace when the renewed cheering had ceased. “You’ll have other business to do—(No, no)—and, contrary to my usual practice I’m going to be very brief indeed. There have been times when you’ve heard me speak at a considerable length, and for all your kindness to me under those circumstances I give you my thanks. I shan’t ever trouble you again to that extent. A month or so ago you met here—you, just the same men that you are now—and you gave me the sack.You never gave me a chance of defending myself or explaining my actions; you just pushed me off.”
The room murmured an unintelligible protest.
“You just pushed me off. You jilted me. You broke off the engagement. Chaps, that broken engagement can’t be mended. We’re all constituted differently, I suppose, but I’m like this: if anybody’s faithful to me I should be glad of the opportunity of going through fire and water for them, if they’re not, then fire and water are things they can go through for themselves. I reckon I’ve been in love with this society for the last year, and I’ve been loyal to it; now I’m in love with somebody else.”
“Who?” demanded the room.
“I’m in love,” said Erb, turning to glance at himself contentedly in the clouded mirror, “in love with my wife.”
“In love with hiswife!” said the members to each other amazedly.
“Some people possess a stock of enthusiasm that’s got no limits; mine all vanished, I find, directly you treated me unfairly. My friend who’s kindly come down from Westminster to talk to you knows that I’m giving up prospects that would tempt a good many; it’s only honest to tell you that those prospects, which a month since would have made my head swell, at this moment don’t allure me in the slightest degree. I think—I don’t know, mind—I think I’m seeing things clearer than I did. I thought all the right and all the justice and all theeverything was on our side; I’ve come to see that, as a matter of fact, it’s about fairly divided. I’m going to take up a little business on my own account down in Wandsworth as a master carman, and I should be very glad, chaps, if you could manage to—to wish me luck. I’m going now. I’m going to leave you to go on with the business of appointing a secretary. There’s plenty of capable men in the world, and the opportunity always finds them. So I wish you every prosperity, and I wish we may always keep friends, because some day we might find ourselves shoulder to shoulder again. And I wish you—” Erb hesitated for a moment in order to steady his voice, “I wish you good-bye.”
The men crowded towards the doorway as Erb went in that direction.
“Come back to us, old man,” they cried. “We want you. Can’t you see that—”
On the opposite side of the roadway below, warmly jacketed in view of the coolness of an autumn evening, a pleasant figure walked to and fro. Regardless of the circumstances that faces looked down from the windows, Erb hurried across and kissed her.
Up the street they walked, arm-in-arm with each other, and arm-in-arm with happiness.
THE END