CHAPTER I
Precisely two years later, Jacob Pratt sat once more in his cottagesitting-room, contemplating the remains of a barely tasted breakfast.Before him, read for the fiftieth time, were the wonderful letters, inhis brain a most amazing confusion, in his heart an almost hystericaljoy. Presently Mrs. Harris brought in his hat and stick.
"You'll excuse my mentioning it, sir," she said, looking at the formera little disparagingly, "but, brush though I may, there's no doingmuch with this hat of yours. The nap's fair gone. Maybe you haven'tnoticed it, sir, but, with the summer coming on, a straw hat--"
"I'll buy a straw hat to-day, Mrs. Harris," Jacob promised.
"And you'll be home at the usual time for your supper, sir?"
"I--I expect so. I am not quite sure, Mrs. Harris. I shall be homesometime during the day, all right."
Mrs. Harris shook her head at the sight of the untasted egg.
"You'll excuse my saying so, sir," she pronounced severely, "butthere's no good work done on an empty stomach. Times is hard, as weall know, but eggs is cheap."
"Mrs. Harris," Jacob reminded her, "it is two years since I left oneof your eggs. I left it then because I was miserable. I am leavingit this morning because--I have had good news. I can't eat. Lateron--later on, Mrs. Harris."
"And a bit of good news is what you deserve, sir," the latterdeclared, lingering while he cut his accustomed rose with fingerswhich trembled strangely.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Harris," he said. "When I come backto-night, I'll tell you all about it."
Once more, then, two years almost to a day after Mr. Edward Bultiwell,of the great firm of Bultiwell and Sons, had laid down his newspaperand spoken his mind, Jacob was on his way to the station, againwearing a choice rose in his buttonhole. He had found no occasion tochange his lodgings, for he had been an economical man who took greatcare of his possessions even in the days of his prosperity, and hismoderate salary as traveller for a Bermondsey firm of merchantsbrought him in quite enough for his simple needs. He had to someextent lived down his disgrace. The manager of the InternationalStores nodded to him now, a trifle condescendingly, yet with tacitacknowledgement of the fact that in domestic affairs Jacob was a manof principle who always paid his way. The greengrocer's wife passedthe time of day when not too preoccupied, and the newspaper boy nolonger clutched for his penny. Jacob generally met the melancholy manat the corner of the avenue and walked to the station with him. And hestill grew roses and worshipped them.
On the way to the station, on this particular morning, he amazed hisfriend.
"Richard," he said, "I shall not travel to the City with you to-day.At least I shall not start with you. I shall change carriages atWendley, as I did once before."
"The devil!" Richard exclaimed.
They were passing the plate-glass window of a new emporium, and Jacobpaused to glance furtively at his reflection. He was an exceedinglyneat man, and his care for his clothes and person had survived twoyears of impecuniosity. Nevertheless, although he passed muster wellenough to the casual observer, there were indications in his attire ofthe inevitable conflict between a desire for adornment and the lack ofmeans to indulge it. His too often pressed trousers were thin at theseams; his linen, though clean, was frayed; there were cracks in hisvigorously polished shoes. He looked at himself, and he was suddenlyconscious of a most amazing thrill. One of the cherished desires ofhis life loomed up before him. Even Savile Row was not animpossibility.
At the station he puzzled the booking clerk by presenting himself atthe window and demanding a first single to Liverpool Street.
The youth handed him the piece of pasteboard with a wondering glance.
"Your season ain't up yet, Mr. Pratt."
"It is not," Jacob acquiesced, "but this morning I desire to travel totown first-class."
Whilst he waited for the train, Jacob read again the wonderfulletters, folded them up, and was ready, with an air of anticipation,when the little train with its reversed engine came puffing around thecurve and brought its few antiquated and smoke-encrusted carriagesto a standstill. Everything went as he had hoped. In that familiarfirst-class carriage, into which he stepped with beating heart, satMr. Bultiwell in the farthest corner, with his two satellites, StephenPedlar, the accountant, and Lionel Groome. They all stared at him inblank bewilderment as he entered. Mr. Bultiwell, emerging from behindthe _Times_, sat with his mouth open and a black frown upon hisforehead.
"Good morning, all," Jacob remarked affably, as he sprawled in hisplace and put his legs up on the opposite seat.
He might have dropped a bombshell amongst them with less effect. Everynewspaper was lowered, and every one stared at this bold intruder.Then they turned to Mr. Bultiwell. It seemed fittest that he shoulddeal with the matter. Unfortunately, he, too, seemed temporarilybereft of words.
"I seem to have startled you all a bit, what?" Jacob continued, withthe air of one thoroughly enjoying the sensation he had produced."I've got my ticket all right. Here you are," he went on, producingit,--"first-class to Liverpool Street. Thought I'd like to have a lookat you all once more. Sorry to see you're not looking quite your oldself, Mr. Bultiwell. Nasty things, these bad debts, eh? Three lastweek, I noticed. You'll have to be careful down Bristol way. Thingsthere are pretty dicky."
"It would be more becoming on your part, sir," Mr. Bultiwellpronounced furiously, "if you were to hold your tongue about baddebts."
Jacob snapped his fingers.
"I don't owe any man a farthing," he declared.
"An undischarged bankrupt--"
"Sold again," Jacob interrupted amiably. "Got my discharge last week."
Mr. Bultiwell found his tongue at the same time that he lost histemper.
"So that's the reason you're butting in here amongst gentlemen whomyou've lost the right to associate with!" he exclaimed. "You thinkbecause you're whitewashed by the courts you can count yourself anhonest man again, eh? You think that because--"
"Wrong--all wrong," Jacob interrupted once more, with ever-increasinggeniality. "You'll have to guess again."
Mr. Groome--the very superior Mr. Groome, who had married a relativeof Mr. Bultiwell's, and who occasionally wore an eyeglass and was seenin the West End--intervened with gentle sarcasm.
"Mr. Pratt has perhaps come to tell us that it is his intention tocelebrate the granting of his discharge by paying his debts in full."
Jacob glanced at the speaker with the air of one moved to admiration.
"Mr. Groome, sir," he pronounced, "you are a wizard! You must haveseen right through into the breast pocket of my coat. Allow me to readyou a couple of letters."
He produced these amazing documents, leisurely unfolding the first.There was no question of newspapers now.
"You will remember," he said, "that I came to grief because I stoodbondsman to my brother, who was out prospecting for oil lands inAmerica. 'Disgraceful speculation' Mr. Bultiwell called it, I think.Well, this letter is from Sam:"
Ritz-Carlton Hotel, New York.
My dear Jacob,
I cabled you this morning to prepare for good news, so don't get heart failure when you receive this letter. We've struck it rich, as I always told you we should. I sold the worse half of our holdings in Arizona for four million dollars last week, and Lord knows what we'll get for the rest. I've cabled you a hundred thousand pounds, to be going on with, to the Bank of England.
Sorry you've had such a rough time, old chap, but you're on velvet for the rest of your life. Have a bottle with your best pal when you get this, and drink my health.
Cheerio! Sam.
P. S. I should say, roughly speaking, that your share of the rest of the land will work out at something like five million dollars. I hope you'll chuck your humdrum life now and come out into the world of adventure.
"It's a fairy tale!" Mr. Groome gasped.
"Let me see the l
etter," the accountant implored.
Mr. Bultiwell only breathed hard.
"The other communication," Jacob continued, unfolding a stiff sheet ofpaper, "is from the Bank of England, and it is what you might callshort and sweet:"
Dear Sir,
We beg to inform you that we have to-day received a credit on your behalf, from our New York branch, amounting to one hundred thousand pounds sterling, which sum we hold at your disposal.
Faithfully yours, BANK OF ENGLAND. p. p. J. Woodridge Smith.
"One hundred thousand pounds! God bless my soul!" Mr. Bultiwellgasped.
"I shall be at your office, Mr. Pedlar," Jacob announced, folding upthe letters, "at eleven o'clock."
"It is your intention, I presume," the accountant enquired, "to payyour debts in full?"
"Certainly," Jacob replied. "I thought I had made that clear."
"A very laudable proceeding," Mr. Pedlar murmured approvingly.
The train was beginning to slacken speed. Jacob rose to his feet.
"I am changing carriages here," he remarked. "I am obliged to you allfor putting up with my company for so long."
Mr. Bultiwell cleared his throat. There was noticeable in his tonesome return of his former pomposity.
"Under the present circumstances, Mr. Pratt," he said, "I see noreason why you should leave us. I should like to hear more about yourwonderful good fortune and to discuss with you your plans for thefuture. If you are occupied now, perhaps this evening at home. Myroses are worth looking at."
Jacob smiled in a peculiar fashion.
"I have a friend waiting for me in the third-class portion of thetrain," he replied. "Until eleven o'clock, Mr. Pedlar."