CHAPTER XIV
STRONG REMARKS BY A FATHER
Mr. Bennett advanced shakily into the room, and supported himself withone hand on the desk, while with the other he still plied thehandkerchief on his over-heated face. Much had occurred to disturb himthis morning. On top of a broken night he had had an affectingreconciliation scene with Mr. Mortimer, at the conclusion of which hehad decided to take the first train to London in the hope ofintercepting Billie before she reached Sir Mallaby's office on hermission of war. The local train-service kept such indecently early hoursthat he had been compelled to bolt his breakfast, and, in the absence ofBillie, the only member of the household who knew how to drive the car,to walk to the station, a distance of nearly two miles, the last hundredyards of which he had covered at a rapid gallop, under the erroneousimpression that an express whose smoke he had seen in the distance wasthe train he had come to catch. Arrived on the platform, he had had atrying wait, followed by a slow journey to Waterloo. The cab which hehad taken at Waterloo had kept him in a lively state of apprehension allthe way to the Savoy, owing to an apparent desire to climb overmotor-omnibuses when it could not get round them. At the Savoy he foundthat Billie had already left, which had involved another voyage throughthe London traffic under the auspices of a driver who appeared to beeither blind or desirous of committing suicide. He had three flights ofstairs to negotiate. And, finally, arriving at the office, he had foundhis daughter in the circumstances already described.
"Why, father!" said Billie. "I didn't expect you."
As an explanation of her behaviour this might, no doubt, have beenconsidered sufficient, but as an excuse for it Mr. Bennett thought itinadequate and would have said so, had he had enough breath. Thisphysical limitation caused him to remain speechless and to do the besthe could in the way of stern fatherly reproof by puffing like a sealafter a long dive in search of fish.
Having done this, he became aware that Sam Marlowe was moving towardshim with outstretched hand. It took a lot to disconcert Sam, and he wasthe calmest person present. He gave evidence of this in a neat speech.He did not in so many words congratulate Mr. Bennett on the piece ofluck which had befallen him, but he tried to make him understand by hismanner that he was distinctly to be envied as the prospectivefather-in-law of such a one as himself.
"I am delighted to see you, Mr. Bennett," said Sam. "You could not havecome at a more fortunate moment. You see for yourself how things are.There is no need for a long explanation. You came to find a daughter,Mr. Bennett, and you have found a son!"
And he would like to see the man, thought Sam, who could have put itmore cleverly and pleasantly and tactfully than that.
"What are you talking about?" said Mr. Bennett, recovering breath. "Ihaven't got a son."
"I will be a son to you! I will be the prop of your declining years...."
"What the devil do you mean, my declining years?" demanded Mr. Bennettwith asperity.
"He means when they do decline, father dear," said Billie.
"Of course, of course," said Sam. "When they do decline. Not till then,of course. I wouldn't dream of it. But, once they do decline, count onme! And I should like to say for my part," he went on handsomely, "whatan honour I think it, to become the son-in-law of a man like Mr.Bennett. Bennett of New York!" he added spaciously, not so much becausehe knew what he meant, for he would have been the first to admit that hedid not, but because it sounded well.
"Oh!" said Mr. Bennett. "You do, do you?"
Mr. Bennett sat down. He put away his handkerchief, which had certainlyearned a rest. Then he fastened a baleful stare upon hisnewly-discovered son. It was not the sort of look a proud and happyfather-in-law-to-be ought to have directed at a prospective relative. Itwas not, as a matter of fact, the sort of look which anyone ought tohave directed at anybody, except possibly an exceptionally prudish judgeat a criminal in the dock, convicted of a more than usually atrociousmurder. Billie, not being in the actual line of fire, only caught thetail end of it, but it was enough to create a misgiving.
"Oh, father! You aren't angry!"
"Angry!"
"You _can't_ be angry!"
"Why can't I be angry?" declared Mr. Bennett, with that sense of injurywhich comes to self-willed men when their whims are thwarted. "Why thedevil shouldn't I be angry? I _am_ angry! I come here and find youlike--like this, and you seem to expect me to throw my hat in the airand give three rousing cheers! Of course I'm angry! You are engaged tobe married to an excellent young man of the highest character, one ofthe finest young men I have ever known...."
"Oh, well!" said Sam, straightening his tie modestly. "It's awfully goodof you...."
"But that's all over, father."
"What's all over?"
"You told me yourself that you had broken off my engagement to Bream."
"Well--er--yes, I did," said Mr. Bennett, a little taken aback. "Thatis--to a certain extent--so. But," he added, with restored firmness,"it's on again!"
"But I don't want to marry Bream!"
"Naturally!" said Sam. "Naturally! Quite out of the question. In a fewdays we'll all be roaring with laughter at the very idea."
"It doesn't matter what you want! A girl who gets engaged to a dozen menin three weeks...."
"It wasn't a dozen!"
"Well, four--five--six--you can't expect me not to lose count.... I saya girl who does that does not know what she wants, and older and moreprudent heads must decide for her. You are going to marry BreamMortimer!"
"All wrong! All wrong!" said Sam, with a reproving shake of the head."All wrong! She's going to marry me."
Mr. Bennett scorched him with a look compared with which his earliereffort had been a loving glance.
"Wilhelmina," he said, "go into the outer office."
"But, father, Sam saved my life!"
"Go into the outer office and wait for me there."
"There was a lunatic in here...."
"There will be another if you don't go."
"He had a pistol."
"Go into the outer office!"
"I shall always love you, Sam!" said Billie, pausing mutinously at thedoor.
"I shall always love _you_!" said Sam cordially.
"Nobody can keep us apart!"
"They're wasting their time, trying."
"You're the most wonderful man in the world!"
"There never was another girl like you!"
"Get _out_!" bellowed Mr. Bennett, on whose equanimity this love-scene,which I think beautiful, was jarring profoundly. "Now, sir!" he said toSam, as the door closed.
"Yes, let's talk it over calmly," said Sam.
"I will not talk it over calmly!"
"Oh, come! You can do it if you try. In the first place, whatever putthis silly idea into your head about that sweet girl marrying BreamMortimer?"
"Bream Mortimer is the son of Henry Mortimer."
"I know," said Sam. "And, while it is no doubt unfair to hold thatagainst him, it's a point you can't afford to ignore. Henry Mortimer!You and I have Henry Mortimer's number. We know what Henry Mortimer islike! A man who spends his time thinking up ways of annoying you. Youcan't seriously want to have the Mortimer family linked to you bymarriage."
"Henry Mortimer is my oldest friend."
"That makes it all the worse. Fancy a man who calls himself your friendtreating you like that!"
"The misunderstanding to which you allude has been completely smoothedover. My relations with Mr. Mortimer are thoroughly cordial."
"Well, have it your own way. Personally, I wouldn't trust a man likethat. And, as for letting my daughter marry his son...!"
"I have decided once and for all...."
"If you'll take my advice, you will break the thing off."
"I will not take your advice."
"I wouldn't expect to charge you for it," explained Sam reassuringly. "Igive it you as a friend, not as a lawyer. Six-and-eightpence to others,free to you."
"Will you understand that my daughter is goi
ng to marry Bream Mortimer?What are you giggling about?"
"It sounds so silly. The idea of anyone marrying Bream Mortimer, Imean."
"Let me tell you he is a thoroughly estimable young man."
"And there you put the whole thing in a nutshell. Your daughter is agirl of spirit. She would hate to be tied for life to an estimable youngman."
"She will do as I tell her."
Sam regarded him sternly.
"Have you no regard for her happiness?"
"I am the best judge of what is best for her."
"If you ask me," said Sam candidly, "I think you're a rotten judge."
"I did not come here to be insulted!"
"I like that! You have been insulting me ever since you arrived. Whatright have you to say that I'm not fit to marry your daughter?"
"I did not say that."
"You've implied it. And you've been looking at me as if I were a leperor something the Pure Food Committee had condemned. Why? That's what Iask you," said Sam, warming up. This he fancied, was the way Widgerywould have tackled a troublesome client. "Why? Answer me that!"
"I...."
Sam rapped sharply on the desk.
"Be careful, sir. Be very careful!" He knew that this was what lawyersalways said. Of course, there is a difference in position between amiscreant whom you suspect of an attempt at perjury and the father ofthe girl you love, whose consent to the match you wish to obtain, butSam was in no mood for these nice distinctions. He only knew thatlawyers told people to be very careful, so he told Mr. Bennett to bevery careful.
"What do you mean, be very careful?" said Mr. Bennett.
"I'm dashed if I know," said Sam frankly. The question struck him as amean attack. He wondered how Widgery would have met it. Probably bysmiling quietly and polishing his spectacles. Sam had no spectacles. Heendeavoured, however, to smile quietly.
"Don't laugh at me!" roared Mr. Bennett.
"I'm not laughing at you."
"You are!"
"I'm not! I'm smiling quietly."
"Well, don't then!" said Mr. Bennett. He glowered at his youngcompanion. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time, talking to you. Theposition is clear to the meanest intelligence. I have no objection toyou personally...."
"Come, this is better!" said Sam.
"I don't know you well enough to have any objection to you or anyopinion of you at all. This is only the second time I have ever met youin my life."
"Mark you," said Sam, "I think I am one of those fellows who grow onpeople...."
"As far as I am concerned, you simply do not exist. You may be thenoblest character in London or you may be wanted by the police. I don'tknow. And I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. You mean nothing in mylife. I don't know you."
"You must persevere," said Sam. "You must buckle to and get to know me.Don't give the thing up in this half-hearted way. Everything has to havea beginning. Stick to it, and in a week or two you will find yourselfknowing me quite well."
"I don't want to know you!"
"You say that now, but wait!"
"And thank goodness I have not got to!" exploded Mr. Bennett, ceasing tobe calm and reasonable with a suddenness which affected Sam much asthough half a pound of gunpowder had been touched off under his chair."For the little I have seen of you has been quite enough! Kindlyunderstand that my daughter is engaged to be married to another man, andthat I do not wish to see or hear anything of you again! I shall try toforget your very existence, and I shall see to it that Wilhelmina doesthe same! You're an impudent scoundrel, sir! An impudent scoundrel! Idon't like you! I don't wish to see you again! If you were the last manin the world I wouldn't allow my daughter to marry you! If that isquite clear, I will wish you good morning!"
Mr. Bennett thundered out of the room, and Sam, temporarily stunned bythe outburst, remained where he was, gaping. A few minutes later lifebegan to return to his palsied limbs. It occurred to him that Mr.Bennett had forgotten to kiss him good-bye, and he went into the outeroffice to tell him so. But the outer office was empty. Sam stood for amoment in thought, then he returned to the inner office, and, picking upa time-table, began to look out trains to the village of Windlehurst inHampshire, the nearest station to his aunt Adeline's charming old-worldhouse, Windles.