The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns

  CHAPTER VIII

  RAISING A WIGWAM

  I

  A still young man--his age was thirty--with a short, strong beardpeeping out over the fur collar of a vast overcoat, emerged from a cabat the snowy corner of St Luke's Square and Brougham Street, and paidthe cabman with a gesture that indicated both wealth and the habit ofcommand. And the cabman, who had driven him over from Hanbridge throughthe winter night, responded accordingly. Few people take cabs in theFive Towns. There are few cabs to take. If you are going to a party youmay order one in advance by telephone, reconciling yourself also inadvance to the expense, but to hail a cab in the street withoutforethought and jump into it as carelessly as you would jump into atram--this is by very few done. The young man with the beard did itfrequently, which proved that he was fundamentally ducal.

  He was encumbered with a large and rather heavy parcel as he walked downBrougham Street, and, moreover, the footpath of Brougham Street wasexceedingly dirty. And yet no one acquainted with the circumstances ofhis life would have asked why he had dismissed the cab before arrivingat his destination, because every one knew. The reason was that thisducal person, with the gestures of command, dared not drive up to hismother's door in a cab oftener than about once a month. He opened thatdoor with a latch-key (a modern lock was almost the only innovation thathe had succeeded in fixing on his mother), and stumbled with hisunwieldy parcel into the exceedingly narrow lobby.

  "Is that you, Denry?" called a feeble voice from the parlour.

  "Yes," said he, and went into the parlour, hat, fur coat, parcel, andall.

  Mrs Machin, in a shawl and an antimacassar over the shawl, sat close tothe fire and leaning towards it. She looked cold and ill. Although theparlour was very tiny and the fire comparatively large, the structure ofthe grate made it impossible that the room should be warm, as all theheat went up the chimney. If Mrs Machin had sat on the roof and put herhands over the top of the chimney, she would have been much warmer thanat the grate.

  "You aren't in bed?" Denry queried.

  "Can't ye see?" said his mother. And, indeed, to ask a woman who wasobviously sitting up in a chair whether she was in bed, did seemsomewhat absurd. She added, less sarcastically: "I was expecting yeevery minute. Where have ye had your tea?"

  "Oh!" he said lightly, "in Hanbridge."

  An untruth! He had not had his tea anywhere. But he had dined richly atthe new Hotel Metropole, Hanbridge.

  "What have ye got there?" asked his mother.

  "A present for you," said Denry. "It's your birthday to-morrow."

  "I don't know as I want reminding of that," murmured Mrs Machin.

  But when he had undone the parcel and held up the contents before her,she exclaimed:

  "Bless us!"

  The staggered tone was an admission that for once in a way he hadimpressed her.

  It was a magnificent sealskin mantle, longer than sealskin mantlesusually are. It was one of those articles the owner of which can say:"Nobody can have a better than this--I don't care who she is." It wasworth in monetary value all the plain, shabby clothes on Mrs Machin'sback, and all her very ordinary best clothes upstairs, and all thefurniture in the entire house, and perhaps all Denry's dandiacalwardrobe too, except his fur coat. If the entire contents of thecottage, with the aforesaid exception, had been put up to auction, theywould not have realised enough to pay for that sealskin mantle.

  Had it been anything but a sealskin mantle, and equally costly, MrsMachin would have upbraided. But a sealskin mantle is not "showy." It"goes with" any and every dress and bonnet. And the most respectable,the most conservative, the most austere woman may find legitimatepleasure in wearing it. A sealskin mantle is the sole luxuriousostentation that a woman of Mrs Machin's temperament--and there are manysuch in the Five Towns and elsewhere--will conscientiously permitherself.

  "Try it on," said Denry.

  She rose weakly and tried it on. It fitted as well as a sealskin mantlecan fit.

  "My word--it's warm!" she said. This was her sole comment.

  "Keep it on," said Denry.

  His mother's glance withered the suggestion.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, as she left the room.

  "To put it away," said she. "I must get some moth-powder to-morrow."

  He protested with inarticulate noises, removed his own furs, which hethrew down on to the old worn-out sofa, and drew a Windsor chair up tothe fire. After a while his mother returned, and sat down in herrocking-chair, and began to shiver again under the shawl and theantimacassar. The lamp on the table lighted up the left side of her faceand the right side of his.

  "Look here, mother," said he, "you must have a doctor."

  "I shall have no doctor."

  "You've got influenza, and it's a very tricky business--influenza is;you never know where you are with it."

  "Ye can call it influenza if ye like," said Mrs Machin. "There was noinfluenza in my young days. We called a cold a cold."

  "Well," said Denry, "you aren't well, are you?"

  "I never said I was," she answered grimly.

  "No," said Denry, with the triumphant ring of one who is about todevastate an enemy. "And you never will be in this rotten old cottage."

  "This was reckoned a very good class of house when your father and Icame into it. And it's always been kept in repair. It was good enoughfor your father, and it's good enough for me. I don't see myselfflitting. But some folks have gotten so grand. As for health, old Reubennext door is ninety-one. How many people over ninety are there in thosegimcrack houses up by the Park, I should like to know?"

  Denry could argue with any one save his mother. Always, when he wasabout to reduce her to impotence, she fell on him thus and rolled him inthe dust. Still, he began again.

  "Do we pay four-and-sixpence a week for this cottage, or don't we?" hedemanded.

  "And always have done," said Mrs Machin. "I should like to see thelandlord put it up," she added, formidably, as if to say: "I'd landlordhim, if he tried to put _my_ rent up!"

  "Well," said Denry, "here we are living in a four-and-six-a-weekcottage, and do you know how much I'm making? I'm making two thousandpounds a year. That's what I'm making."

  A second wilful deception of his mother! As Managing Director of theFive Towns Universal Thrift Club, as proprietor of the majority of itsshares, as its absolute autocrat, he was making very nearly fourthousand a year. Why could he not as easily have said four as two to hismother? The simple answer is that he was afraid to say four. It was asif he ought to blush before his mother for being so plutocratic, hismother who had passed most of her life in hard toil to gain a fewshillings a week. Four thousand seemed so fantastic! And in fact theThrift Club, which he had invented in a moment, had arrived at aprodigious success, with its central offices in Hanbridge and its branchoffices in the other four towns, and its scores of clerks and collectorspresided over by Mr Penkethman. It had met with opposition. The mightysaid that Denry was making an unholy fortune under the guise ofphilanthropy. And to be on the safe side the Countess of Chell hadresigned her official patronage of the club and given her shares to thePirehill Infirmary, which had accepted the high dividends on themwithout the least protest. As for Denry, he said that he had never setout to be a philanthropist nor posed as one, and that his uniqueintention was to grow rich by supplying a want, like the rest of them,and that anyhow there was no compulsion to belong to his Thrift Club.Then letters in his defence from representatives of the thousands andthousands of members of the club rained into the columns of the_Signal_, and Denry was the most discussed personage in the county.It was stated that such thrift clubs, under various names, existed inseveral large towns in Yorkshire and Lancashire. This disclosurerehabilitated Denry completely in general esteem, for whatever obtainsin Yorkshire and Lancashire must be right for Staffordshire; but itrather dashed Denry, who was obliged to admit to himself that after allhe had not invented the Thrift Club. Finally the hundreds of tradesmenwho had bound themselves to allow a discou
nt of twopence in the shillingto the club (sole source of the club's dividends) had endeavoured torevolt. Denry effectually cowed them by threatening to establishco-operative stores--there was not a single co-operative store in theFive Towns. They knew he would have the wild audacity to do it.

  Thenceforward the progress of the Thrift Club had been unruffled. Denrywaxed amazingly in importance. His mule died. He dared not buy a properhorse and dogcart, because he dared not bring such an equipage to thefront door of his mother's four-and-sixpenny cottage. So he had taken tocabs. In all exterior magnificence and lavishness he equalled even thegreat Harold Etches, of whom he had once been afraid; and like Etches hebecame a famous _habitue_ of Llandudno pier. But whereas Etcheslived with his wife in a superb house at Bleakridge, Denry lived withhis mother in a ridiculous cottage in ridiculous Brougham Street. He hada regiment of acquaintances and he accepted a lot of hospitality, but hecould not return it at Brougham Street. His greatness fizzled intonothing in Brougham Street. It stopped short and sharp at the corner ofSt Luke's Square, where he left his cabs. He could do nothing with hismother. If she was not still going out as a sempstress the reason was,not that she was not ready to go out, but that her old clients hadceased to send for her. And could they be blamed for not employing atthree shillings a day the mother of a young man who wallowed inthousands sterling? Denry had essayed over and over again to instilreason into his mother, and he had invariably failed. She was tooindependent, too profoundly rooted in her habits; and her character hadmore force than his. Of course, he might have left her and set up asuitably gorgeous house of his own.

  But he would not.

  In fact, they were a remarkable pair.

  On this eve of her birthday he had meant to cajole her into some step,to win her by an appeal, basing his argument on her indisposition. Buthe was being beaten off once more. The truth was that a cajoling,caressing tone could not be long employed towards Mrs Machin. She wasnot persuasive herself, nor; favourable to persuasiveness in others.

  "Well," said she, "if you're making two thousand a year, ye can spend itor save it as ye like, though ye'd better save it. Ye never know whatmay happen in these days. There was a man dropped half-a-crown down agrid opposite only the day before yesterday."

  Denry laughed.

  "Ay!" she said; "ye can laugh."

  "There's no doubt about one thing," he said, "you ought to be in bed.You ought to stay in bed for two or three days at least."

  "Yes," she said. "And who's going to look after the house while I'mmoping between blankets?"

  "You can have Rose Chudd in," he said.

  "No," said she. "I'm not going to have any woman rummaging about myhouse, and me in bed."

  "You know perfectly well she's been practically starving since herhusband died, and as she's going out charing, why can't you have her andput a bit of bread into her mouth?"

  "Because I won't have her! Neither her nor any one. There's naught toprevent you giving her some o' your two thousand a year if you've amind. But I see no reason for my house being turned upside down by her,even if I _have_ got a bit of a cold."

  "You're an unreasonable old woman," said Denry.

  "Happen I am!" said she. "There can't be two wise ones in a family. ButI'm not going to give up this cottage, and as long as I am standing onmy feet I'm not going to pay any one for doing what I can do bettermyself." A pause. "And so you needn't think it! You can't come round mewith a fur mantle." She retired to rest. On the following morning he wasvery glum.

  "You needn't be so glum," she said.

  But she was rather pleased at his glumness. For in him glumness was asign that he recognised defeat.

  II

  The next episode between them was curiously brief. Denry had influenza.He said that naturally he had caught hers.

  He went to bed and stayed there. She nursed him all day, and grew angryin a vain attempt to force him to eat. Towards night he tossed furiouslyon the little bed in the little bedroom, complaining of fearfulheadaches. She remained by his side most of the night. In the morning hewas easier. Neither of them mentioned the word "doctor." She spent theday largely on the stairs. Once more towards night he grew worse, andshe remained most of the second night by his side.

  In the sinister winter dawn Denry murmured in a feeble tone:

  "Mother, you'd better send for him."

  "Doctor?" she said. And secretly she thought that she _had_ bettersend for the doctor, and that there must be after all some differencebetween influenza and a cold.

  "No," said Denry; "send for young Lawton."

  "Young Lawton!" she exclaimed. "What do you want young Lawton to come_here_ for?"

  "I haven't made my will," Denry answered.

  "Pooh!" she retorted.

  Nevertheless she was the least bit in the world frightened. And she sentfor Dr Stirling, the aged Harrop's Scotch partner.

  Dr Stirling, who was full-bodied and left little space for anybody elsein the tiny, shabby bedroom of the man with four thousand a year, gazedat Mrs Machin, and he gazed also at Denry.

  "Ye must go to bed this minute," said he.

  "But he's _in_ bed," cried Mrs Machin.

  "I mean yerself," said Dr Stirling.

  She was very nearly at the end of her resources. And the proof was thatshe had no strength left to fight Dr Stirling. She did go to bed. Andshortly afterwards Denry got up. And a little later, Rose Chudd, thatprim and efficient young widow from lower down the street, came into thehouse and controlled it as if it had been her own. Mrs Machin, whoseconstitution was hardy, arose in about a week, cured, and duly dismissedRose with wages and without thanks. But Rose had been. Like the_Signal's_ burglars, she had "effected an entrance." And the househad not been turned upside down. Mrs Machin, though she tried, could notfind fault with the result of Rose's uncontrolled activities.

  III

  One morning--and not very long afterwards, in such wise did Fate seem tofavour the young at the expense of the old--Mrs Machin received twoletters which alarmed and disgusted her. One was from her landlord,announcing that he had sold the house in which she lived to a MrWilbraham of London, and that in future she must pay the rent to thesaid Mr Wilbraham or his legal representatives. The other was from afirm of London solicitors announcing that their client, Mr Wilbraham,had bought the house, and that the rent must be paid to their agent,whom they would name later.

  Mrs Machin gave vent to her emotion in her customary manner: "Bless us!"

  And she showed the impudent letters to Denry.

  "Oh!" said Denry. "So he has bought them, has he? I heard he was goingto."

  "Them?" exclaimed Mrs Machin. "What else has he bought?"

  "I expect he's bought all the five--this and the four below, as far asDownes's. I expect you'll find that the other four have had notices justlike these. You know all this row used to belong to the Wilbrahams. Yousurely must remember that, mother?"

  "Is he one of the Wilbrahams of Hillport, then?"

  "Yes, of course he is."

  "I thought the last of 'em was Cecil, and when he'd beggared himselfhere he went to Australia and died of drink. That's what I always heard.We always used to say as there wasn't a Wilbraham left."

  "He did go to Australia, but he didn't die of drink. He disappeared, andwhen he'd made a fortune he turned up again in Sydney, so it seems. Iheard he's thinking of coming back here to settle. Anyhow, he's buyingup a lot of the Wilbraham property. I should have thought you'd haveheard of it. Why, lots of people have been talking about it."

  "Well," said Mrs Machin, "I don't like it."

  She objected to a law which permitted a landlord to sell a house overthe head of a tenant who had occupied it for more than thirty years. Inthe course of the morning she discovered that Denry was right--the othertenants had received notices exactly similar to hers.

  Two days later Denry arrived home for tea with a most surprising articleof news. Mr Cecil Wilbraham had been down to Bursley from London, andhad visited him, Denry. Mr Ce
cil Wilbraham's local information wasevidently quite out of date, for he had imagined Denry to be arent-collector and estate agent, whereas the fact was that Denry hadabandoned this minor vocation years ago. His desire had been that Denryshould collect his rents and watch over his growing interests in thedistrict.

  "So what did you tell him?" asked Mrs Machin.

  "I told him I'd do it." said Denry.

  "Why?"

  "I thought it might be safer for _you_," said Denry, with a certainemphasis. "And, besides, it looked as if it might be a bit of a lark.He's a very peculiar chap."

  "Peculiar?"

  "For one thing, he's got the largest moustaches of any man I ever saw.And there's something up with his left eye. And then I think he's a bitmad."

  "Mad?"

  "Well, touched. He's got a notion about building a funny sort of a housefor himself on a plot of land at Bleakridge. It appears he's fond ofliving alone, and he's collected all kind of dodges for doing withoutservants and still being comfortable."

  "Ay! But he's right there!" breathed Mrs Machin in deep sympathy. As shesaid about once a week, "She never could abide the idea of servants.""He's not married, then?" she added.

  "He told me he'd been a widower three times, but he'd never had anychildren," said Denry.

  "Bless us!" murmured Mrs Machin.

  Denry was the one person in the town who enjoyed the acquaintance andthe confidence of the thrice-widowed stranger with long moustaches. Hehad descended without notice on Bursley, seen Denry (at the branchoffice of the Thrift Club), and then departed. It was understood thatlater he would permanently settle in the district. Then the wonderfulhouse began to rise on the plot of land at Bleakridge. Denry had generalcharge of it, but always subject to erratic and autocratic instructionsfrom London. Thanks to Denry, who, since the historic episode atLlandudno, had remained very friendly with the Cotterill family, MrCotterill had the job of building the house; the plans came from London.And though Mr Cecil Wilbraham proved to be exceedingly watchful againstany form of imposition, the job was a remunerative one for Mr Cotterill,who talked a great deal about the originality of the residence. The townjudged of the wealth and importance of Mr Cecil Wilbraham by the factthat a person so wealthy and important as Denry should be content to actas his agent. But then the Wilbrahams had been magnates in the Bursleyregion for generations, up till the final Wilbraham smash in the lateseventies. The town hungered to see those huge moustaches and thatpeculiar eye. In addition to Denry, only one person had seen the madman,and that person was Nellie Cotterill, who had been viewing thehalf-built house with Denry one Sunday morning when the madman had mostastonishingly arrived upon the scene, and after a few minutes vanished.The building of the house strengthened greatly the friendship betweenDenry and the Cotterills. Yet Denry neither liked Mr Cotterill nortrusted him. The next incident in these happening was thatMrs Machin received notice from the London firm to quit herfour-and-sixpence-a-week cottage. It seemed to her that not merelyBrougham Street, but the world, was coming to an end. She was very angrywith Denry for not protecting her more successfully. He was MrWilbraham's agent, he collected the rent, and it was his duty to guardhis mother from unpleasantness. She observed, however, that he wasremarkably disturbed by the notice, and he assured her that Mr Wilbrahamhad not consulted him in the matter at all. He wrote a letter to London,which she signed, demanding the reason of this absurd notice flung at anancient and perfect tenant. The reply was that Mr Wilbraham intended topull the houses down, beginning with Mrs Machin's, and rebuild.

  "Pooh!" said Denry. "Don't you worry your head, mother; I shall arrangeit. He'll be down here soon to see his new house--it's practicallyfinished, and the furniture is coming in--and I'll just talk to him."

  But Mr Wilbraham did not come, the explanation doubtless being that hewas mad. On the other hand, fresh notices came with amazing frequency.Mrs Machin just handed them over to Denry. And then Denry received atelegram to say that Mr Wilbraham would be at his new house that nightand wished to see Denry there. Unfortunately, on the same day, by theafternoon post, while Denry was at his offices, there arrived a sort ofsupreme and ultimate notice from London to Mrs Machin, and it was onblue paper. It stated, baldly, that as Mrs Machin had failed to complywith all the previous notices, had, indeed, ignored them, she and hergoods would now be ejected into the street, according to the law. Itgave her twenty-four hours to flit. Never had a respectable dame been soinsulted as Mrs Machin was insulted by that notice. The prospect ofcamping out in Brougham Street confronted her. When Denry reached homethat evening, Mrs Machin, as the phrase is, "gave it him."

  Denry admitted frankly that he was nonplussed, staggered and outraged.But the thing was simply another proof of Mr Wilbraham's madness. Aftertea he decided that his mother must put on her best clothes, and go upwith him to see Mr Wilbraham and firmly expostulate--in fact, they wouldarrange the situation between them; and if Mr Wilbraham was obstinatethey would defy Mr Wilbraham. Denry explained to his mother that anEnglishwoman's cottage was her castle, that a landlord's minions had noright to force an entrance, and that the one thing that Mr Wilbrahamcould do was to begin unbuilding the cottage from the top outside....And he would like to see Mr Wilbraham try it on!

  So the sealskin mantle (for it was spring again) went up with Denry toBleakridge.

  IV

  The moon shone in the chill night. The house stood back from TrafalgarRoad in the moonlight--a squarish block of a building.

  "Oh!" said Mrs Machin, "it isn't so large."

  "No! He didn't want it large. He only wanted it large enough," saidDenry, and pushed a button to the right of the front door. There was noreply, though they heard the ringing of the bell inside. They waited.Mrs Machin was very nervous, but thanks to her sealskin mantle she wasnot cold.

  "This is a funny doorstep," she remarked, to kill time.

  "It's of marble," said Denry.

  "What's that for?" asked his mother.

  "So much easier to keep clean," said Denry.

  "Well," said Mrs Machin, "it's pretty dirty now, anyway."

  It was.

  "Quite simple to clean," said Denry, bending down. "You just turn thistap at the side. You see, it's so arranged that it sends a flat jetalong the step. Stand off a second."

  He turned the tap, and the step was washed pure in a moment.

  "How is it that that water steams?" Mrs Machin demanded.

  "Because it's hot," said Denry. "Did you ever know water steam for anyother reason?"

  "Hot water outside?"

  "Just as easy to have hot water outside as inside, isn't it?" saidDenry.

  "Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs Machin. She was impressed.

  "That's how everything's dodged up in this house," said Denry. He shutoff the water.

  And he rang once again. No answer! No illumination within the abode!

  "I'll tell you what I shall do," said Denry at length. "I shall letmyself in. I've got a key of the back door."

  "Are you sure it's all right?"

  "I don't care if it isn't all right," said Denry, defiantly. "He askedme to be up here, and he ought to be here to meet me. I'm not going tostand any nonsense from anybody."

  In they went, having skirted round the walls of the house.

  Denry closed the door, pushed a switch, and the electric light shone.Electric light was then quite a novelty in Bursley. Mrs Machin had neverseen it in action. She had to admit that it was less complicated thanoil-lamps. In the kitchen the electric light blazed upon walls tiled ingrey and a floor tiled in black and white. There was a gas range and amarble slopstone with two taps. The woodwork was dark. Earthenwaresaucepans stood on a shelf. The cupboards were full of gear chiefly inearthenware. Denry began to exhibit to his mother a tank provided withledges and shelves and grooves, in which he said that everything exceptknives could be washed and dried automatically.

  "Hadn't you better go and find your Mr Wilbraham?" she interrupted.

  "So I had," said Denry; "I was f
orgetting him."

  She heard him wandering over the house and calling in divers tones uponMr Wilbraham. But she heard no other voice. Meanwhile she examined thekitchen in detail, appreciating some of its devices and failing tocomprehend others.

  "I expect he's missed the train," said Denry, coming back. "Anyhow, heisn't here. I may as well show you the rest of the house now."

  He led her into the hall, which was radiantly lighted.

  "It's quite warm here," said Mrs Machin.

  "The whole house is heated by steam," said Denry. "No fireplaces."

  "No fireplaces!"

  "No! No fireplaces. No grates to polish, ashes to carry down, coals tocarry up, mantelpieces to dust, fire-irons to clean, fenders to polish,chimneys to sweep."

  "And suppose he wants a bit of fire all of a sudden in summer?"

  "Gas stove in every room for emergencies," said Denry.

  She glanced into a room.

  "But," she cried, "it's all complete, ready! And as warm as toast."

  "Yes," said Denry, "he gave orders. I can't think why on earth he isn'there."

  At that moment an electric bell rang loud and sharp, and Mrs Machinjumped.

  "There he is!" said Denry, moving to the door.

  "Bless us! What will he think of us being here like?" Mrs Machinmumbled.

  "Pooh!" said Denry, carelessly. And he opened the door.

  V

  Three persons stood on the newly-washed marble step--Mr and MrsCotterill and their daughter.

  "Oh! Come in! Come in! Make yourselves quite at home. That's what_we're_ doing," said Denry in blithe greeting; and added, "I supposehe's invited you too?"

  And it appeared that Mr Cecil Wilbraham had indeed invited them too. Hehad written from London saying that he would be glad if Mr and MrsCotterill would "drop in" on this particular evening. Further, he hadmentioned that, as be had already had the pleasure of meeting MissCotterill, perhaps she would accompany her parents.

  "Well, he isn't here," said Denry, shaking hands. "He must have missedhis train or something. He can't possibly be here now till to-morrow.But the house seems to be all ready for him...."

  "Yes, my word! And how's yourself, Mrs Cotterill?" put in Mrs Machin.

  "So we may as well look over it in its finished state. I suppose that'swhat he asked us up for," Denry concluded.

  Mrs Machin explained quickly and nervously that she had not beencomprised in any invitation; that her errand was pure business.

  "Come on upstairs," Denry called out, turning switches and addingradiance to radiance.

  "Denry!" his mother protested, "I'm sure I don't know what Mr and MrsCotterill will think of you! You carry on as if you owned everything inthe place. I wonder _at_ you!"

  "Well," said Denry, "if anybody in this town is the owner's agent I am.And Mr Cotterill has built the blessed house. If Wilbraham wanted tokeep his old shanty to himself, he shouldn't send out invitations. It'ssimple enough not to send out invitations. Now, Nellie!"

  He was hanging over the balustrade at the curve of the stairs.

  The familiar ease with which he said, "Now, Nellie," and especially thespontaneity of Nellie's instant response, put new thoughts into the mindof Mrs Machin. But she neither pricked up her ears, nor started back,nor accomplished any of the acrobatic feats which an ordinary mother ofa wealthy son would have performed under similar circumstances. Her earsdid not even tremble. And she just said:

  "I like this balustrade knob being of black china."

  "Every knob in the house is of black china," said Denry. "Never showsdirt. But if you should take it into your head to clean it, you can doit with a damp cloth in a second."

  Nellie now stood beside him. Nellie had grown up since the Llandudnoepisode. She did not blush at a glance. When spoken to suddenly shecould answer without torture to herself. She could, in fact, maintain aconversation without breaking down for a much longer time than, a fewyears ago, she had been able to skip without breaking down. She nolonger imagined that all the people in the street were staring at her,anxious to find faults in her appearance. She had temporarily ruined thelives of several amiable and fairly innocent young men by refusing tomarry them. (For she was pretty, and her father cut a figure in thetown, though her mother did not.) And yet, despite the immenseaccumulation of her experiences and the weight of her varied knowledgeof human nature, there was something very girlish and timidly roguishabout her as she stood on the stairs near Denry, waiting for the eldergeneration to follow. The old Nellie still lived in her.

  The party passed to the first floor.

  And the first floor exceeded the ground floor in marvels. In eachbedroom two aluminium taps poured hot and cold water respectively into amarble basin, and below the marble basin was a sink. No porterage ofwater anywhere in the house. The water came to you, and every roomconsumed its own slops. The bedsteads were of black enamelled iron andvery light. The floors were covered with linoleum, with a few rugs thatcould be shaken with one hand. The walls were painted with grey enamel.Mrs Cotterill, with her all-seeing eye, observed a detail that MrsMachin had missed. There were no sharp corners anywhere. Every corner,every angle between wall and floor or wall and wall, was rounded, tofacilitate cleaning. And every wall, floor, ceiling, and fixture couldbe washed, and all the furniture was enamelled and could be wiped with acloth in a moment instead of having to be polished with three cloths andmany odours in a day and a half. The bath-room was absolutelywaterproof; you could spray it with a hose, and by means of a gasapparatus you could produce an endless supply of hot water independentof the general supply. Denry was apparently familiar with each detail ofMr Wilbraham's manifold contrivances, and he explained them with anenormous gusto.

  "Bless us!" said Mrs Machin.

  "Bless us!" said Mrs Cotterill (doubtless the force of example).

  They descended to the dining-room, where a supper-table had been laid byorder of the invisible Mr Cecil Wilbraham. And there the ladies laudedMr Wilbraham's wisdom in eschewing silver. Everything of the tableservice that could be of earthenware was of earthenware. The forks andspoons were electro-plate.

  "Why," Mrs Cotterill said, "I could run this house without a servant andhave myself tidy by ten o'clock in a morning."

  And Mrs Machin nodded.

  "And then when you want a regular turn-out, as you call it," said Denry,"there's the vacuum-cleaner."

  The vacuum-cleaner was at that period the last word of civilisation, andthe first agency for it was being set up in Bursley. Denry explained thevacuum-cleaner to the housewives, who had got no further than a Ewbank.And they again called down blessings on themselves.

  "What price this supper?" Denry exclaimed. "We ought to eat it. I'm surehe'd like us to eat it. Do sit down, all of you. I'll take theconsequences."

  Mrs Machin hesitated even more than the other ladies.

  "It's really very strange, him not being here." She shook her head.

  "Don't I tell you he's quite mad," said Denry.

  "I shouldn't think he was so mad as all that," said Mrs Machin, dryly."This is the most sensible kind of a house I've ever seen."

  "Oh! Is it?" Denry answered. "Great Scott! I never noticed those threebottles of wine on the sideboard."

  At length he succeeded in seating them at the table. Thenceforward therewas no difficulty. The ample and diversified cold supper began todisappear steadily, and the wine with it. And as the wine disappeared sodid Mr Cotterill (who had been pompous and taciturn) grow talkative,offering to the company the exact figures of the cost of the house, andso forth. But ultimately the sheer joy of life killed arithmetic.

  Mrs Machin, however, could not quite rid herself of the notion that shewas in a dream that outraged the proprieties. The entire affair, for anunromantic spot like Bursley, was too fantastically and wickedlyromantic.

  "We must be thinking about home, Denry," said she.

  "Plenty of time," Denry replied. "What! All that wine gone! I'll see ifthere's any more in the sideboard."
/>
  He emerged, with a red face, from bending into the deeps of theenamelled sideboard, and a wine-bottle was in his triumphant hand. Ithad already been opened.

  "Hooray!" he proclaimed, pouring a white wine into his glass and raisingthe glass: "here's to the health of Mr Cecil Wilbraham."

  He made a brave tableau in the brightness of the electric light.

  Then he drank. Then he dropped the glass, which broke.

  "Ugh! What's that?" he demanded, with the distorted features of agargoyle.

  His mother, who was seated next to him, seized the bottle. Denry's hand,in clasping the bottle, had hidden a small label, which said:

  "_POISON--Nettleship's Patent Enamel-Cleaning Fluid. One wipe does it_."

  Confusion! Only Nellie Cotterill seemed to be incapable of realisingthat a grave accident had occurred. She had laughed throughout thesupper, and she still laughed, hysterically, though she had drunkscarcely any wine. Her mother silenced her.

  Denry was the first to recover.

  "It'll be all right," said he, leaning back in his chair. "They alwaysput a bit of poison in those things. It can't hurt me, really. I nevernoticed the label."

  Mrs Machin smelt at the bottle. She could detect no odour, but the factthat she could detect no odour appeared only to increase her alarm.

  "You must have an emetic instantly," she said.

  "Oh no!" said Denry. "I shall be all right." And he did seem to besuddenly restored.

  "You must have an emetic instantly," she repeated.

  "What can I have?" he grumbled. "You can't expect to find emetics here."

  "Oh yes, I can," said she. "I saw a mustard tin in a cupboard in thekitchen. Come along now, and don't be silly."

  Nellie's hysteric mirth surged up again.

  Denry objected to accompanying his mother into the kitchen. But he wasforced to submit. She shut the door on both of them. It is probable thatduring the seven minutes which they spent mysteriously together in thekitchen, the practicability of the kitchen apparatus for carrying offwaste products was duly tested. Denry came forth, very pale and verycross, on his mother's arm.

  "There's no danger now," said his mother, easily.

  Naturally the party was at an end. The Cotterills sympathised, andprepared to depart, and inquired whether Denry could walk home.

  Denry replied, from a sofa, in a weak, expiring voice, that he wasperfectly incapable of walking home, that his sensations were in thehighest degree disconcerting, that he should sleep in that house, as thebedrooms were ready for occupation, and that he should expect his motherto remain also.

  And Mrs Machin had to concur. Mrs Machin sped the Cotterills from thedoor as though it had been her own door. She was exceedingly angry andagitated. But she could not impart her feelings to the suffering Denry.He moaned on a bed for about half-an-hour, and then fell asleep. And inthe middle of the night, in the dark, strange house, she also fellasleep.

  VI

  The next morning she arose and went forth, and in about half-an-hourreturned. Denry was still in bed, but his health seemed to have resumedits normal excellence. Mrs Machin burst upon him in such a state ofcomplicated excitement as he had never before seen her in.

  "Denry," she cried, "what do you think?"

  "What?" said he.

  "I've just been down home, and they're--they're pulling the house down.All the furniture's out, and they've got all the tiles off the roof, andthe windows out. And there's a regular crowd watching."

  Denry sat up.

  "And I can tell you another piece of news," said he. "Mr Cecil Wilbrahamis dead."

  "Dead!" she breathed.

  "Yes," said Denry. "_I think he's served his purpose._ As we'rehere, we'll stop here. Don't forget it's the most sensible kind of ahouse you've ever seen. Don't forget that Mrs Cotterill could run itwithout a servant and have herself tidy by ten o'clock in a morning."

  Mrs Machin perceived then, in a flash of terrible illumination, thatthere never had been any Cecil Wilbraham; that Denry had merely inventedhim and his long moustaches and his wall eye for the purpose of gettingthe better of his mother. The whole affair was an immense swindle uponher. Not a Mr Cecil Wilbraham, but her own son had bought her cottageover her head and jockeyed her out of it beyond any chance of gettinginto it again. And to defeat his mother the rascal had not simplyperverted the innocent Nellie Cotterill to some co-operation in hisscheme, but he had actually bought four other cottages, because thelandlord would not sell one alone, and he was actually demolishingproperty to the sole end of stopping her from re-entering it!

  Of course, the entire town soon knew of the upshot of the battle, of theyear-long battle, between Denry and his mother, and the means adopted byDenry to win. The town also had been hoodwinked, but it did not mindthat. It loved its Denry the more, and seeing that he was now properlyestablished in the most remarkable house in the district, it soonafterwards made him a Town Councillor as some reward for his talent inamusing it.

  And Denry would say to himself:

  "Everything went like clockwork, except the mustard and water. I didn'tbargain for the mustard and water. And yet, if I was clever enough tothink of putting a label on the bottle and to have the beds prepared, Iought to have been clever enough to keep mustard out of the house." Itwould be wrong to mince the unpleasant fact that the sham poisoningwhich he had arranged to the end that he and his mother should pass thenight in the house had finished in a manner much too realistic forDenry's pleasure. Mustard and water, particularly when mixed by MrsMachin, is mustard and water. She had that consolation.