CHAPTER III
THE PANTECHNICON
I
"How do you do, Miss Earp?" said Denry, in a worldly manner, which hehad acquired for himself by taking the most effective features of themanners of several prominent citizens, and piecing them together sothat, as a whole, they formed Denry's manner.
"Oh! How do you do, Mr Machin?" said Ruth Earp, who had opened her doorto him at the corner of Tudor Passage and St Luke's Square.
It was an afternoon in July. Denry wore a new summer suit, whose patternindicated not only present prosperity but the firm belief thatprosperity would continue. As for Ruth, that plain but piquant girl wasin one of her simpler costumes; blue linen; no jewellery. Her hair wasin its usual calculated disorder; its outer fleeces held the light. Shewas now at least twenty-five, and her gaze disconcertingly combinedextreme maturity with extreme candour. At one moment a man would besaying to himself: "This woman knows more of the secrets of human naturethan I can ever know." And the next he would be saying to himself: "Whata simple little thing she is!" The career of nearly every man is markedat the sharp corners with such women. Speaking generally, Ruth Earp'sdemeanour was hard and challenging. It was evident that she could not besubject to the common weaknesses of her sex. Denry was glad.
A youth of quick intelligence, he had perceived all the dangers of themission upon which he was engaged, and had planned his precautions.
"May I come in a minute?" he asked in a purely business tone. There wasno hint in that tone of the fact that once she had accorded him asupper-dance.
"Please do," said Ruth.
An agreeable flouncing swish of linen skirts as she turned to precedehim down the passage! But he ignored it. That is to say, he easilysteeled himself against it.
She led him to the large room which served as her dancing academy--thebare-boarded place in which, a year and a half before, she had taughthis clumsy limbs the principles of grace and rhythm. She occupied theback part of a building of which the front part was an empty shop. Theshop had been tenanted by her father, one of whose frequent bankruptcieshad happened there; after which his stock of the latest novelties ininexpensive furniture had been seized by rapacious creditors, and MrEarp had migrated to Birmingham, where he was courting the OfficialReceiver anew. Ruth had remained solitary and unprotected, with aconsiderable amount of household goods which had been her mother's.(Like all professional bankrupts, Mr Earp had invariably had belongingswhich, as he could prove to his creditors, did not belong to him.)Public opinion had justified Ruth in her enterprise of staying inBursley on her own responsibility and renting part of the building, inorder not to lose her "connection" as a dancing-mistress. Public opinionsaid that "there would have been no sense in her going dangling afterher wastrel of a father."
"Quite a long time since we saw anything of each other," observed Ruthin rather a pleasant style, as she sat down and as he sat down.
It was. The intimate ecstasy of the supper-dance had never beenrepeated. Denry's exceeding industry in carving out his career, and hisdesire to graduate as an accomplished clubman, had prevented him fromgiving to his heart that attention which it deserved, having regard tohis tender years.
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" said Denry.
Then there was a pause, and they both glanced vaguely about theinhospitable and very wooden room. Now was the moment for Denry to carryout his pre-arranged plan in all its savage simplicity. He did so."I've called about the rent, Miss Earp," he said, and by an effortlooked her in the eyes.
"The rent?" exclaimed Ruth, as though she had never in all her lifeheard of such a thing as rent; as though June 24 (recently past) was anordinary day like any other day.
"Yes," said Denry.
"What rent?" asked Ruth, as though for aught she guessed it might havebeen the rent of Buckingham Palace that he had called about.
"Yours," said Denry.
"Mine!" she murmured. "But what has my rent got to do with you?" shedemanded. And it was just as if she had said, "But what has my rent gotto do with you, little boy?"
"Well," he said, "I suppose you know I'm a rent-collector?"
"No, I didn't," she said.
He thought she was fibbing out of sheer naughtiness. But she was not.She did not know that he collected rents. She knew that he was a card, afigure, a celebrity; and that was all. It is strange how the knowledgeof even the cleverest woman will confine itself to certain fields.
"Yes," he said, always in a cold, commercial tone, "I collect rents."
"I should have thought you'd have preferred postage-stamps," she said,gazing out of the window at a kiln that was blackening all the sky.
If he could have invented something clever and cutting in response tothis sally he might have made the mistake of quitting his _role_ ofhard, unsentimental man of business. But he could think of nothing. Sohe proceeded sternly:
"Mr Herbert Calvert has put all his property into my hands, and he hasgiven me strict instructions that no rent is to be allowed to remain inarrear."
No answer from Ruth. Mr Calvert was a little fellow of fifty who hadmade money in the mysterious calling of a "commission agent." Byreputation he was really very much harder than Denry could even pretendto be, and indeed Denry had been considerably startled by the advent ofsuch a client. Surely if any man in Bursley were capable of unmercifullycollecting rents on his own account, Herbert Calvert must be that man!
"Let me see," said Denry further, pulling a book from his pocket andpeering into it, "you owe five quarters' rent--thirty pounds."
He knew without the book precisely what Ruth owed, but the book kept himin countenance, supplied him with needed moral support.
Ruth Earp, without the least warning, exploded into a long peal of gaylaughter. Her laugh was far prettier than her face. She laughed well.She might, with advantage to Bursley, have given lessons in laughing aswell as in dancing, for Bursley laughs without grace. Her laughter was aproof that she had not a care in the world, and that the world for herwas naught but a source of light amusement.
Denry smiled guardedly.
"Of course, with me it's purely a matter of business," said he.
"So that's what Mr Herbert Calvert has done!" she exclaimed, amid theembers of her mirth. "I wondered what he would do! I presume you knowall about Mr Herbert Calvert," she added.
"No," said Denry, "I don't know anything about him, except that he ownssome property and I'm in charge of it. Stay," he corrected himself, "Ithink I do remember crossing his name off your programme once."
And he said to himself: "That's one for her. If she likes to be sodesperately funny about postage-stamps, I don't see why I shouldn't havemy turn." The recollection that it was precisely Herbert Calvert whom hehad supplanted in the supper-dance at the Countess of Chell's historicball somehow increased his confidence in his ability to manage theinterview with brilliance.
Ruth's voice grew severe and chilly. It seemed incredible that she hadjust been laughing.
"I will tell you about Mr Herbert Calvert;" she enunciated her wordswith slow, stern clearness. "Mr Herbert Calvert took advantage of hisvisits here for his rent to pay his attentions to me. At one time he wasso far--well--gone, that he would scarcely take his rent."
"Really!" murmured Denry, genuinely staggered by this symptom of thedistance to which Mr Herbert Calvert was once "gone."
"Yes," said Ruth, still sternly and inimically. "Naturally a woman can'tmake up her mind about these things all of a sudden," she continued."Naturally!" she repeated.
"Of course," Denry agreed, perceiving that his experience of life, anddeep knowledge of human nature were being appealed to.
"And when I did decide definitely, Mr Herbert Calvert did not behavelike a gentleman. He forgot what was due to himself and to me. I won'tdescribe to you the scene he made. I'm simply telling you this, so thatyou may know. To cut a long story short, he behaved in a very vulgarway. And a woman doesn't forget these things, Mr Machin." Her eyesthreatened him. "I decided to punish Mr Herbert
Calvert. I thought if hewouldn't take his rent before--well, let him wait for it now! I mighthave given him notice to leave. But I didn't. I didn't see why I shouldlet myself be upset because Mr Herbert Calvert had forgotten that he wasa gentleman. I said, 'Let him wait for his rent,' and I promised myselfI would just see what he would dare to do."
"I don't quite follow your argument," Denry put in.
"Perhaps you don't," she silenced him. "I didn't expect you would. Youand Mr Herbert Calvert...! So he didn't dare to do anything himself, andhe's paying you to do his dirty work for him! Very well! Very well!..."She lifted her head defiantly. "What will happen if I don't pay therent?"
"I shall have to let things take their course," said Denry with a genialsmile.
"All right, then," Ruth Earp responded. "If you choose to mix yourselfup with people like Mr Herbert Calvert, you must take the consequences!It's all the same to me, after all."
"Then it isn't convenient for you to pay anything on account?" saidDenry, more and more affable.
"Convenient!" she cried. "It's perfectly convenient, only I don't careto. I won't pay a penny until I'm forced. Let Mr Herbert Calvert do hisworst, and then I'll pay. And not before! And the whole town shall hearall about Mr Herbert Calvert!"
"I see," he laughed easily.
"Convenient!" she reiterated, contemptuously. "I think everybody inBursley knows how my _clientele_ gets larger and larger everyyear!... Convenient!"
"So that's final, Miss Earp?"
"Perfectly!" said Miss Earp.
He rose. "Then the simplest thing will be for me to send round a bailiffto-morrow morning, early." He might have been saying: "The simplestthing will be for me to send round a bunch of orchids."
Another man would have felt emotion, and probably expressed it. But notDenry, the rent-collector and manager of estates large and small. Therewere several different men in Denry, but he had the great gift of notmixing up two different Denrys when he found himself in a complicatedsituation.
Ruth Earp rose also. She dropped her eyelids and looked at him fromunder them. And then she gradually smiled.
"I thought I'd just see what you'd do," she said, in a low, confidentialvoice from which all trace of hostility had suddenly departed. "You're astrange creature," she went on curiously, as though fascinated by theproblems presented by his individuality. "Of course, I shan't let it goas far as that. I only thought I'd see what you'd say. I'll write youto-night."
"With a cheque?" Denry demanded, with suave, jolly courtesy. "I don'tcollect postage-stamps."
(And to himself: "She's got her stamps back.")
She hesitated. "Stay!" she said. "I'll tell you what will be better. Canyou call to-morrow afternoon? The bank will be closed now."
"Yes," he said, "I can call. What time?"
"Oh!" she answered, "any time. If you come in about four, I'll give youa cup of tea into the bargain. Though you don't deserve it!" After aninstant, she added reassuringly: "Of course I know business is businesswith you. But I'm glad I've told you the real truth about your preciousMr Herbert Calvert, all the same."
And as he walked slowly home Denry pondered upon the singular, erratic,incalculable strangeness of woman, and of the possibly magic effect ofhis own personality on women.
II
It was the next afternoon, in July. Denry wore his new summer suit, butwith a necktie of higher rank than the previous day's. As for Ruth, thatplain but piquant girl was in one of her more elaborate and foamiercostumes. The wonder was that such a costume could survive even for anhour the smuts that lend continual interest and excitement to theatmosphere of Bursley. It was a white muslin, spotted with spots ofopaque white, and founded on something pink. Denry imagined that he hadseen parts of it before--at the ball; and he had; but it was now atea-gown, with long, languishing sleeves; the waves of it broke at hershoulders, sending lacy surf high up the precipices of Ruth's neck.Denry did not know it was a tea-gown. But he knew that it had a mostpeculiar and agreeable effect on himself, and that she had promised himtea. He was glad that he had paid her the homage of his best necktie.
Although the month was July, Ruth wore a kind of shawl over thetea-gown. It was not a shawl, Denry noted; it was merely about two yardsof very thin muslin. He puzzled himself as to its purpose. It could notbe for warmth, for it would not have helped to melt an icicle. Could itbe meant to fulfil the same function as muslin in a confectioner's shop?She was pale. Her voice was weak and had an imploring quality.
She led him, not into the inhospitable wooden academy, but into a verysmall room which, like herself, was dressed in muslin and bows ofribbon. Photographs of amiable men and women decorated the pinkish-greenwalls. The mantelpiece was concealed in drapery as though it had been asin. A writing-desk as green as a leaf stood carelessly in one corner;on the desk a vase containing some Cape gooseberries. In the middle ofthe room a small table, on the table a spirit-lamp in full blast, and onthe lamp a kettle practising scales; a tray occupied the remainder ofthe table. There were two easy chairs; Ruth sank delicately into one,and Denry took the other with precautions.
He was nervous. Nothing equals muslin for imparting nervousness to thenaive. But he felt pleased.
"Not much of the Widow Hullins touch about this!" he reflectedprivately.
And he wished that all rent-collecting might be done with such ease, andamid such surroundings, as this particular piece of rent-collecting. Hesaw what a fine thing it was to be a free man, under orders from nobody;not many men in Bursley were in a position to accept invitations to fouro'clock tea at a day's notice. Further 5 per cent. on thirty pounds wasthirty shillings, so that if he stayed an hour--and he meant to stay anhour--he would, while enjoying himself, be earning money steadily at therate of sixpence a minute.
It was the ideal of a business career.
When the kettle, having finished its scales, burst into song with anaccompaniment of castanets and vapour, and Ruth's sleeves rose and fellas she made the tea, Denry acknowledged frankly to himself that it wasthis sort of thing, and not the Brougham Street sort of thing, that hewas really born for. He acknowledged to himself humbly that this sort ofthing was "life," and that hitherto he had had no adequate idea of what"life" was. For, with all his ability as a card and a rising man, withall his assiduous frequenting of the Sports Club, he had not penetratedinto the upper domestic strata of Bursley society. He had never beeninvited to any house where, as he put it, he would have had to mind hisp's and q's. He still remained the kind of man whom you familiarly chatwith in the street and club, and no more. His mother's fame as aflannel-washer was against him; Brougham Street was against him; and,chiefly, his poverty was against him. True, he had gorgeously given ahouse away to an aged widow! True, he succeeded in transmitting to hisacquaintances a vague idea that he was doing well and waxing financiallyfrom strength to strength! But the idea was too vague, too much in theair. And save by a suit of clothes, he never gave ocular proof that hehad money to waste. He could not. It was impossible for him to competewith even the more modest of the bloods and the blades. To keep asatisfactory straight crease down the middle of each leg of his trouserswas all he could accomplish with the money regularly at his disposal.The town was wafting for him to do something decisive in the matter ofwhat it called "the stuff."
Thus Ruth Earp was the first to introduce him to the higher intimatecivilisations, the refinements lurking behind the foul walls of Bursley.
"Sugar?" she questioned, her head on one side, her arm uplifted, hersleeve drooping, and a bit of sugar caught like a white mouse betweenthe claws of the tongs.
Nobody before had ever said "Sugar?" to him like that. His mother neversaid "Sugar?" to him. His mother was aware that he liked three pieces,but she would not give him more than two. "Sugar?" in that slightlyweak, imploring voice seemed to be charged with a significance at oncetremendous and elusive.
"Yes, please."
"Another?"
And the "Another?" was even more delicious.
He sa
id to himself: "I suppose this is what they call flirting."
When a chronicler tells the exact truth, there is always a danger thathe will not be believed. Yet, in spite of the risk, it must be saidplainly that at this point Denry actually thought of marriage. An absurdand childish thought, preposterously rash; but it came into his mind,and--what is more--it stuck there! He pictured marriage as a perpetualafternoon tea alone with an elegant woman, amid an environment ofribboned muslin. And the picture appealed to him very strongly. And Ruthappeared to him in a new light. It was perhaps the change in her voicethat did it. She appeared to him at once as a creature very feminine andenchanting, and as a creature who could earn her own living in a mannerthat was both original and ladylike. A woman such as Ruth would be adelight without being a drag. And, truly, was she not a remarkablewoman, as remarkable as he was a man? Here she was living amid therefinements of luxury. Not an expensive luxury (he had an excellentnotion of the monetary value of things), but still luxury. And the wholeaffair was so stylish. His heart went out to the stylish.
The slices of bread-and-butter were rolled up. There, now, was apleasing device! It cost nothing to roll up a slice of bread-and-butter--her fingers had doubtless done the rolling--and yet it gave quite adifferent taste to the food.
"What made you give that house to Mrs Hullins?" she asked him suddenly,with a candour that seemed to demand candour.
"Oh," he said, "just a lark! I thought I would. It came to me all in asecond, and I did."
She shook her head. "Strange boy!" she observed.
There was a pause.
"It was something Charlie Fearns said, wasn't it?" she inquired.
She uttered the name "Charlie Fearns" with a certain faint hint ofdisdain, as if indicating to Denry that of course she and Denry werequite able to put Fearns into his proper place in the scheme of things.
"Oh!" he said. "So you know all about it?"
"Well," said she, "naturally it was all over the town. Mrs Fearns'sgirl, Annunciata--what a name, eh?--is one of my pupils--the youngest,in fact."
"Well," said he, after another pause, "I wasn't going to have Fearnscoming the duke over me!" She smiled sympathetically. He felt that theyunderstood each other deeply.
"You'll find some cigarettes in that box," she said, when he had beenthere thirty minutes, and pointed to the mantelpiece.
"Sure you don't mind?" he murmured.
She raised her eyebrows.
There was also a silver match-box in the larger box. No detail lacked.It seemed to him that he stood on a mountain and had only to walk down awinding path in order to enter the promised land. He was decidedlypleased with the worldly way in which he had said: "Sure you don'tmind?"
He puffed out smoke delicately. And, the cigarette between his lips, aswith his left hand he waved the match into extinction, he demanded:
"You smoke?"
"Yes," she said, "but not in public. I know what you men are."
This was in the early, timid days of feminine smoking.
"I assure you!" he protested, and pushed the box towards her. But shewould not smoke.
"It isn't that I mind _you_," she said, "not at all. But I'm notwell. I've got a frightful headache."
He put on a concerned expression.
"I _thought_ you looked rather pale," he said awkwardly.
"Pale!" she repeated the word. "You should have seen me this morning: Ihave fits of dizziness, you know, too. The doctor says it's nothing butdyspepsia. However, don't let's talk about poor little me and my sillycomplaints. Perhaps the tea will do me good."
He protested again, but his experience of intimate civilisation was toobrief to allow him to protest with effectiveness. The truth was, hecould not say these things naturally. He had to compose them, and thenpronounce them, and the result failed in the necessary air ofspontaneity. He could not help thinking what marvellous self-controlwomen had. Now, when he had a headache--which happily was seldom--hecould think of nothing else and talk of nothing else; the entireuniverse consisted solely of his headache. And here she was overcomewith a headache, and during more than half-an-hour had not evenmentioned it!
She began talking gossip about the Fearnses and the Swetnams, and shementioned rumours concerning Henry Mynors (who had scruples againstdancing) and Anna Tellwright, the daughter of that rich old skinflintEphraim Tellwright. No mistake; she was on the inside of things inBursley society! It was just as if she had removed the front walls ofevery house and examined every room at her leisure, with minuteparticularity. But of course a teacher of dancing had opportunities....Denry had to pretend to be nearly as omniscient as she was.
Then she broke off, without warning, and lay back in her chair.
"I wonder if you'd mind going into the barn for me?" she murmured.
She generally referred to her academy as the barn. It had once been awarehouse.
He jumped up. "Certainly," he said, very eager.
"I think you'll see a small bottle of eau-de-Cologne on the top of thepiano," she said, and shut her eyes.
He hastened away, full of his mission, and feeling himself to be aterrific cavalier and guardian of weak women. He felt keenly that hemust be equal to the situation. Yes, the small bottle of eau-de-Colognewas on the top of the piano. He seized it and bore it to her on thewings of chivalry. He had not been aware that eau-de-Cologne was aremedy for, or a palliative of, headaches.
She opened her eyes, and with a great effort tried to be bright andbetter. But it was a failure. She took the stopper out of the bottle andsniffed first at the stopper and then at the bottle; then she spilled afew drops of the liquid on her handkerchief and applied the handkerchiefto her temples.
"It's easier," she said.
"Sure?" he asked. He did not know what to do with himself--whether tosit down and feign that she was well, or to remain standing in anattitude of respectful and grave anxiety. He thought he ought to depart;yet would it not be ungallant to desert her under the circumstances? Shewas alone. She had no servant, only an occasional charwoman.
She nodded with brave, false gaiety. And then she had a relapse.
"Don't you think you'd better lie down?" he suggested in more masterfulaccents. And added; "And I'll go....? You ought to lie down. It's theonly thing." He was now speaking to her like a wise uncle.
"Oh no!" she said, without conviction. "Besides, you can't go till I'vepaid you."
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "Oh! don't bother about thatnow!" But he restrained himself. There was a notable core ofcommon-sense in Denry. He had been puzzling how he might neatly mentionthe rent while departing in a hurry so that she might lie down. And nowshe had solved the difficulty for him.
She stretched out her arm, and picked up a bunch of keys from a basketon a little table.
"You might just unlock that desk for me, will you?" she said. And,further, as she went through the keys one by one to select the rightkey: "Each quarter I've put your precious Mr Herbert Calvert's rent in adrawer in that desk. ... Here's the key." She held up the whole ring bythe chosen key, and he accepted it. And she lay back once more in herchair, exhausted by her exertions.
"You must turn the key sharply in the lock," she said weakly, as hefumbled at the locked part of the desk.
So he turned the key sharply.
"You'll see a bag in the little drawer on the right," she murmured.
The key turned round and round. It had begun by resisting, but now ityielded too easily.
"It doesn't seem to open," he said, feeling clumsy.
The key clicked and slid, and the other keys rattled together.
"Oh yes," she replied. "I opened it quite easily this morning. It_is_ a bit catchy."
The key kept going round and round.
"Here! I'll do it," she said wearily.
"Oh no!" he urged.
But she rose courageously, and tottered to the desk, and took the bunchfrom him.
"I'm afraid you've broken something in the lock," she announced, withgentle r
esignation, after she had tried to open the desk and failed.
"Have I?" he mumbled. He knew that he was not shining.
"Would you mind calling in at Allman's," she said, resuming her chair,"and tell them to send a man down at once to pick the lock? There'snothing else for it. Or perhaps you'd better say first thing to-morrowmorning. And then as soon as he's done it I'll call and pay you themoney myself. And you might tell your precious Mr Herbert Calvert thatnext quarter I shall give notice to leave."
"Don't you trouble to call, please," said he. "I can easily pop inhere."
She sped him away in an enigmatic tone. He could not be sure whether hehad succeeded or failed, in her estimation, as a man of the world and apartaker of delicate teas.
"Don't _forget_ Allman's!" she enjoined him as he left the room. Hewas to let himself out.
III
He was coming home late that night from the Sports Club, from adelectable evening which had lasted till one o'clock in the morning,when just as he put the large door-key into his mother's cottage he grewaware of peculiar phenomena at the top end of Brougham Street, where itruns into St Luke's Square. And then in the gas-lit gloom of the warmsummer night he perceived a vast and vague rectangular form in the slowmovement towards the slope of Brougham Street.
It was a pantechnicon van.
But the extraordinary thing was, not that it should be a pantechniconvan, but that if should be moving of its own accord and power. For therewere no horses in front of it, and Denry saw that the double shafts hadbeen pushed up perpendicularly, after the manner of carmen when theyoutspan. The pantechnicon was running away. It had perceived the wrathto come and was fleeing. Its guardians had evidently left it imperfectlyscotched or braked, and it had got loose.
It proceeded down the first bit of Brougham Street with a dignity worthyof its dimensions, and at the same time with apparently a certain senseof the humour of the situation. Then it seemed to be saying to itself:"Pantechnicons will be pantechnicons." Then it took on the absurdgravity of a man who is perfectly sure that he is not drunk.Nevertheless it kept fairly well to the middle of the road, but asthough the road were a tight-rope.
The rumble of it increased as it approached Denry. He withdrew the keyfrom his mother's cottage and put it in his pocket. He was always at hisfinest in a crisis. And the onrush of the pantechnicon constituted aclear crisis. Lower down the gradient of Brougham Street was moredangerous, and it was within the possibilities that people inhabitingthe depths of the street might find themselves pitched out of bed by thesharp corner of a pantechnicon that was determined to be a pantechnicon.A pantechnicon whose ardour is fairly aroused may be capable ofsurpassing deeds. Whole thoroughfares might crumble before it.
As the pantechnicon passed Denry, at the rate of about three and a halfmiles an hour, he leaped, or rather he scrambled, on to it, losingnothing in the process except his straw hat, which remained a witness athis mother's door that her boy had been that way and departed underunusual circumstances. Denry had the bright idea of dropping the shaftsdown to act as a brake. But, unaccustomed to the manipulation of shafts,he was rather slow in accomplishing the deed, and ere the first pair ofshafts had fallen the pantechnicon was doing quite eight miles an hourand the steepest declivity was yet to come. Further, the dropping of theleft-hand shafts jerked the van to the left, and Denry dropped the otherpair only just in time to avoid the sudden uprooting of a lamp-post. Thefour points of the shafts digging and prodding into the surface of theroad gave the pantechnicon something to think about for a few seconds.But unfortunately the precipitousness of the street encouraged itshead-strong caprices, and a few seconds later all four shafts werebroken, and the pantechnicon seemed to scent the open prairie. (What itreally did scent was the canal.) Then Denry discovered the brake, andfuriously struggled with the iron handle. He turned it and turned it,some forty revolutions. It seemed to have no effect. The miracle wasthat the pantechnicon maintained its course in the middle of the street.Presently Denry could vaguely distinguish the wall and double woodengates of the canal wharf. He could not jump off; the pantechnicon wasnow an express, and I doubt whether he would have jumped off, even ifjumping off had not been madness. His was the kind of perseverance that,for the fun of it, will perish in an attempt. The final fifty or sixtyyards of Brougham Street were level, and the pantechnicon slightlyabated its haste. Denry could now plainly see, in the radiance of agas-lamp, the gates of the wharf, and on them the painted letters:--
SHROPSHIRE UNION CANAL COY., LTD..
GENERAL CARRIERS.
_No Admittance except on Business_
He was heading straight for those gates, and the pantechnicon evidentlyhad business within. It jolted over the iron guard of theweighing-machine, and this jolt deflected it, so that instead of aimingat the gates it aimed for part of a gate and part of a brick pillar.Denry ground his teeth together and clung to his seat. The gate mighthave been paper, and the brick pillar a cardboard pillar. Thepantechnicon went through them as a sword will go through a ghost, andDenry was still alive. The remainder of the journey was brief andviolent, owing partly to a number of bags of cement, and partly to thepropinquity of the canal basin. The pantechnicon jumped into the canallike a mastodon, and drank.
Denry, clinging to the woodwork, was submerged for a moment, but, bystanding on the narrow platform from which sprouted the splintered endsof the shafts, he could get his waist clear of the water. He was not aswimmer.
All was still and dark, save for the faint stream of starlight on thebroad bosom of the canal basin. The pantechnicon had encountered nobodywhatever _en route_. Of its strange escapade Denry had been thesole witness.
"Well, I'm dashed!" he murmured aloud.
And a voice replied from the belly of the pantechnicon:
"Who is there?"
All Denry's body shook.
"It's me!" said he.
"Not Mr Machin?" said the voice.
"Yes," said he. "I jumped on as it came down the street--and here weare!"
"Oh!" cried the voice. "I do wish you could get round to me."
Ruth Earp's voice.
He saw the truth in a moment of piercing insight. Ruth had been playingwith him! She had performed a comedy for him in two acts. She had meantto do what is called in the Five Towns "a moonlight flit." Thepantechnicon (doubtless from Birmingham, where her father was) had beenbrought to her door late in the evening, and was to have been filled andtaken away during the night. The horses had been stabled, probably inRuth's own yard, and while the carmen were reposing the pantechnicon hadgot off, Ruth in it. She had no money locked in her unlockable desk. Herreason for not having paid the precious Mr Herbert Calvert was not thereason which she had advanced.
His first staggered thought was:
"She's got a nerve! No mistake!"
Her duplicity, her wickedness, did not shock him. He admired hertremendous and audacious enterprise; it appealed strongly to every cellin his brain. He felt that she and he were kindred spirits.
He tried to clamber round the side of the van so as to get to the doorsat the back, but a pantechnicon has a wheel-base which forbids leapingfrom wheel to wheel, especially, when the wheels are under water. Hencehe was obliged to climb on to the roof, and so slide down on to the topof one of the doors, which was swinging loose. The feat was not simple.At last he felt the floor of the van under half a yard of water.
"Where are you?"
"I'm here," said Ruth, very plaintively. "I'm on a table. It was theonly thing they had put into the van before they went off to have theirsupper or something. Furniture removers are always like that. Haven'tyou got a match?"
"I've got scores of matches," said Denry. "But what good do you supposethey'll be now, all soaked through?"
A short silence. He noticed that she had offered no explanation of herconduct towards himself. She seemed to take it for granted that he wouldunderstand.
"I'm frightfully bumped, and I believe my nose is bleeding," said Ruth,still more plai
ntively. "It's a good thing there was a lot of straw andsacks here."
Then, after much groping, his hand touched her wet dress.
"You know you're a very naughty girl," he said.
He heard a sob, a wild sob. The proud, independent creature had brokendown under the stress of events. He climbed out of the water on to thepart of the table which she was not occupying. And the van was as blackas Erebus.
Gradually, out of the welter of sobs, came faint articulations, andlittle by little he learnt the entire story of her difficulties, hermisfortunes, her struggles, and her defeats. He listened to a frankconfession of guilt. But what could she do? She had meant well. But whatcould she do? She had been driven into a corner. And she had her fatherto think of! Honestly, on the previous day, she had intended to pay therent, or part of it. But there had been a disappointment! And she hadbeen so unwell. In short...
The van gave a lurch. She clutched at him and he at her. The van wassettling down for a comfortable night in the mud.
(Queer that it had not occurred to him before, but at the first visitshe had postponed paying him on the plea that the bank was closed, whileat the second visit she had stated that the actual cash had been slowlyaccumulating in her desk! And the discrepancy had not struck him. Suchis the influence of a teagown. However, he forgave her, in considerationof her immense audacity.)
"What can we do?" she almost whispered.
Her confidence in him affected him.
"Wait till it gets light," said he.
So they waited, amid the waste of waters. In a hot July it is notunpleasant to dangle one's feet in water during the sultry dark hours.She told him more and more.
When the inspiring grey preliminaries of the dawn began, Denry saw thatat the back of the pantechnicon the waste of waters extended for at mosta yard, and that it was easy, by climbing on to the roof, to jumptherefrom to the wharf. He did so, and then fixed a plank so that Ruthcould get ashore. Relieved of their weight the table floated out afterthem. Denry seized it, and set about smashing it to pieces with hisfeet.
"What _are_ you doing?" she asked faintly. She was too enfeebled toprotest more vigorously.
"Leave it to me," said Denry. "This table is the only thing that cangive your show away. We can't carry it back. We might meet some one."
He tied the fragments of the table together with rope that was afloat inthe van, and attached the heavy iron bar whose function was to keep thedoors closed. Then he sank the faggot of wood and iron in a distantcorner of the basin.
"There!" he said. "Now you understand. Nothing's happened except that afurniture van's run off and fallen into the canal owing to the men'scarelessness. We can settle the rest later--I mean about the rent and soon."
They looked at each other.
Her skirts were nearly dry. Her nose showed no trace of bleeding, butthere was a bluish lump over her left eye. Save that he was hatless, andthat his trousers clung, he was not utterly unpresentable.
They were alone in the silent dawn.
"You'd better go home by Acre Lane, not up Brougham Street," he said."I'll come in during the morning."
It was a parting in which more was felt than said.
They went one after the other through the devastated gateway, baptisingthe path as they walked. The Town Hall clock struck three as Denry creptup his mother's stairs. He had seen not a soul.
IV
The exact truth in its details was never known to more than twoinhabitants of Bursley. The one thing clear certainly appeared to bethat Denry, in endeavouring to prevent a runaway pantechnicon fromdestroying the town, had travelled with it into the canal. The romantictrip was accepted as perfectly characteristic of Denry. Around thisisland of fact washed a fabulous sea of uninformed gossip, in whichassertion conflicted with assertion, and the names of Denry and Ruthwere continually bumping against each other.
Mr Herbert Calvert glanced queerly and perhaps sardonically at Denrywhen Denry called and handed over ten pounds (less commission) which hesaid Miss Earp had paid on account.
"Look here," said the little Calvert, his mean little eyes gleaming."You must get in the balance at once."
"That's all right," said Denry. "I shall."
"Was she trying to hook it on the q.t.?" Calvert demanded.
"Oh, no!" said Denry. "That was a very funny misunderstanding. The onlyexplanation I can think of is that that van must have come to the wronghouse."
"Are you engaged to her?" Calvert asked, with amazing effrontery.
Denry paused. "Yes," he said. "Are you?"
Mr Calvert wondered what he meant.
He admitted to himself that the courtship had begun in a mannersurpassingly strange.