IV.
He had a very bad night indeed, owing no doubt partly to a generaluneasiness in his unusual surroundings, and partly also to a specialuneasiness caused by the propinquity of a sleeping valet; but the mainorigin of it was certainly his dreadful anxiety about the question of afirst-class tailor. In the organisation of his new life a first-classtailor was essential, and he was not acquainted with a first-classLondon tailor. He did not know a great deal concerning clothes, thoughquite passably well dressed for a provincial, but he knew enough to besure that it was impossible to judge the merits of a tailor by hissign-board, and therefore that if, wandering in the precincts of BondStreet, he entered the first establishment that "looked likely," hewould have a good chance of being "done in the eye." So he phrased itto himself as he lay in bed. He wanted a definite and utterly reliableaddress.
He rang the bell. Only, as it happened to be the wrong bell, heobtained the presence of Joseph in a round-about way, through the agencyof a gentleman in waiting. Such, however, is the human faculty ofadaptation to environment that he was merely amused in the morning by anerror which, on the previous night, would have put him into a sweat.
"Good morning, sir," said Joseph.
Edward Henry nodded, his hands under his head as he lay on his back. Hedecided to leave all initiative to Joseph. The man drew up the blinds,and, closing the double windows at the top, opened them very wide at thebottom.
"It is a rainy morning, sir," said Joseph, letting in vast quantities ofair from Devonshire Square. Clearly, Sir Nicholas Winkworth had been abreezy master.
"Oh!" murmured Edward Henry.
He felt a careless contempt for Joseph's flunkeyism. Hitherto he had hada theory that footmen, valets, and all male personal attendants were aninexcusable excrescence on the social fabric. The mere sight of themoften angered him, though for some reason he had no objection whateverto servility in a nice-looking maid--indeed, rather enjoyed it. Butnow, in the person of Joseph, he saw that there were human or half-humanbeings born to self-abasement, and that, if their destiny was to befulfilled, valetry was a necessary institution. He had no pity forJoseph, no shame in employing him. He scorned Joseph; and yet hisdesire, as a man about town, to keep Joseph's esteem was in no waydiminished.
"Shall I prepare your bath, sir?" asked Joseph, stationed in a suppleattitude by the side of the bed.
Edward Henry was visited by an idea.
"Have you had yours?" he demanded like a pistol-shot.
Edward Henry saw that Sir Nicholas had never asked that particularquestion.
"No, sir."
"Not had your bath, man! What on earth do you mean by it? Go and haveyour bath at once!"
A faint sycophantic smile lightened the amazed features of Joseph. AndEdward Henry thought: "It's astonishing, all the same, the way they canread their masters. This chap has seen already that I'm a card. Andyet how?"
"Yes, sir," said Joseph.
"Have your bath in the bathroom here. And be sure to leave everythingin order for me."
"Yes, sir."
As soon as Joseph had gone, Edward Henry jumped out of bed and listened.He heard the discreet Joseph respectfully push the bolt of the bathroomdoor. Then he crept with noiseless rapidity to the small bedroom, andwas aware therein of a lack of order and of ventilation. The rich anddistinguished overcoat was hanging on the brass knob at the foot of thebed. He seized it, and, scrutinizing the loop, read in yellow letters:_Quayther and Cuthering, 47 Vigo Street, W_. He knew that Quayther andCuthering must be the tailors of Sir Nicholas Winkworth, and hencefirst-class.
Hoping for the best, and putting his trust in the general decency ofhuman nature, he did not trouble himself with the problem: was theovercoat a gift or an appropriation? But he preferred to assume thegenerosity of Sir Nicholas rather than the dishonesty of Joseph.
Repassing the bathroom door, he knocked loudly on its glass.
"Don't be all day!" he cried. He was in a hurry now.
An hour later he said to Joseph:
"I'm going down to Quayther and Cuthering's."
"Yes, sir," said Joseph, obviously much reassured.
"Nincompoop!" Edward Henry exclaimed secretly. "The fool thinks betterof me because my tailors are first-class."
But Edward Henry had failed to notice that he himself was thinkingbetter of himself because he had adopted first-class tailors.
Beneath the main door of his suite, as he went forth, he found abusiness card of the West End Electric Brougham Supply Agency. Anddownstairs, solely to impress his individuality on the hall-porter, heshowed the card to that vizier with the casual question:
"These people any good?"
"An excellent firm, sir."
"What do they charge?"
"By the week, sir?"
He hesitated. "Yes, by the week?"
"Twenty guineas, sir."
"Well, you might telephone for one. Can you get it at once?"
"Certainly, sir."
The vizier turned towards the telephone in his lair.
"I say--" said Edward Henry.
"Sir?"
"I suppose one will be enough?"
"Well, sir, as a rule, yes," said the vizier calmly. "Sometimes I get acouple for one family, sir."
Though he had started jocularly, Edward Henry finished by blenching. "Ithink one will do.... I may possibly send for my own car."
He drove to Quayther and Cuthering's in his electric brougham, and theredropped casually the name of Winkworth. He explained humourously hissingular misadventure of the _Minnetonka_, and was very successfultherewith, so successful indeed, that he actually began to believe inthe reality of the adventure himself, and had an irrational impulse todespatch a wireless message to his bewildered valet on board the_Minnetonka_.
Subsequently he paid other fruitful visits in the neighbourhood, and atabout half-past eleven the fruit was arriving at Wilkins's in the shapeof many parcels and boxes, comprising diverse items in the equipment ofa man about town, such as tie-clips and Innovation trunks.
Returning late to Wilkins's for lunch, he marched jauntily into thelarge brilliant restaurant, and commenced an adequate repast. Of coursehe was still wearing his mediocre lounge suit (his sole suit for anothertwo days), but somehow the consciousness that Quayther and Cutheringswere cutting out wondrous garments for him in Vigo Street stiffened hisshoulders and gave a mysterious style to that lounge suit.
At lunch he made one mistake, and enjoyed one very remarkable piece ofluck.
The mistake was to order an artichoke. He did not know how to eat anartichoke. He had never tried to eat an artichoke, and his first essayin this difficult and complex craft was a sad fiasco. It would not havemattered if, at the table next to his own, there had not been twoobviously experienced women, one ill dressed, with a red hat, the otherwell dressed, with a blue hat; one middle-aged, the other much younger;but both very observant. And even so, it would scarcely have mattered,had not the younger woman been so slim, pretty, and alluring. Whiletolerably careless of the opinion of the red-hatted plain woman ofmiddle age, he desired the unqualified approval of the delightful youngthing in the blue hat. They certainly interested themselves in hismanoeuvres with the artichoke, and their amusement was imperfectlyconcealed. He forgave the blue hat, but considered that the red hatought to have known better. They could not be princesses, nor eventitled aristocrats. He supposed them to belong to some baccarat-playingcounty family.
The piece of luck consisted in the passage down the restaurant of theCountess of Chell, who had been lunching there with a party, and whom hehad known locally in more gusty days. The countess bowed stiffly to thered hat, and the red hat responded with eager fulsomeness. It seemed tobe here as it no longer was in the Five Towns: everybody knew everybody!The red hat and the blue might be titled, after all, he thought. Then,by sheer accident, the countess caught sight of him, and stopped dead,bringing her escort to a standstill behind
her. Edward Henry blushedand rose.
"Is it _you_, Mr. Machin?" murmured the still lovely creature warmly.
They shook hands. Never had social pleasure so thrilled him. Theconversation was short. He did not presume on the past. He knew thathere he was not on his own ash-pit, as they say in the Five Towns. Thecountess and her escort went forward. Edward Henry sat down again.
He gave the red and the blue hats one calm glance, which they failed towithstand. The affair of the artichoke was forever wiped out.
After lunch he went forth again in his electric brougham. The weatherhad cleared. The opulent streets were full of pride and sunshine. Andas he penetrated into one shop after another, receiving kowtows,obeisances, curtsies, homage, surrender, resignation, submission, hegradually comprehended that it takes all sorts to make a world, and thatthose who are called to greatness must accept with dignity theceremonials inseparable from greatness. And the world had never seemedto him so fine, nor any adventure so diverting and uplifting as thisadventure.
When he returned to his suite, his private corridor was piled up with anumerous and excessively attractive assortment of parcels. Joseph tookhis overcoat and hat and a new umbrella, and placed an easy chairconveniently for him in the drawing-room.
"Get my bill," he said shortly to Joseph as he sank into the gildedfauteuil.
"Yes, sir."
One advantage of a valet, he discovered, is that you can order him to dothings which to do yourself would more than exhaust your moral courage.
The black-calved gentleman in waiting brought the bill. It lay on asalver, and was folded, conceivably so as to break the shock of it tothe recipient.
Edward Henry took it.
"Wait a minute," he said.
He read on the bill: "Apartment L8. Dinner L1-2-0. Breakfast 6s. 6d.Lunch 18s. Half Chablis 6s. 6d. Valet's board 10s. Tooth-brush 2s.6d.
"That's a bit thick, half a crown for that toothbrush!" he said tohimself. "However--"
The next instant he blenched once more.
"Gosh!" he privately exclaimed as he read: "Paid driver of taxicabL2-3-6."
He had forgotten the taxi. But he admired the _sang-froid_ ofWilkins's, which paid such trifles as a matter of course, withoutdeigning to disturb a guest by an enquiry. Wilkins's rose again in hisesteem.
The total of the bill exceeded thirteen pounds.
"All right," he said to the gentleman in waiting.
"Are you leaving to-day, sir?" the being permitted himself to ask.
"Of course I'm not leaving to-day! Haven't I hired an electric broughamfor a week?" Edward Henry burst out. "But I suppose I'm entitled toknow how much I'm spending!"
The gentleman in waiting humbly bowed, and departed.
Alone in the splendid chamber, Edward Henry drew out a swollenpocketbook and examined its crisp, crinkly contents, which made abeauteous and a reassuring sight.
"Pooh!" he muttered.
He reckoned he would be living at the rate of about fifteen pounds aday, or five thousand five hundred a year. (He did not count the costof his purchases, because they were in the nature of a capitalexpenditure.)
"Cheap!" he muttered. "For once I'm about living up to my income!"
The sensation was exquisite in its novelty.
He ordered tea, and afterwards, feeling sleepy, he went fast asleep.
He awoke to the ringing of the telephone-bell. It was quite dark. Thetelephone-bell continued to ring.
"Joseph!" he called.
The valet entered.
"What time is it?"
"After ten o'clock, sir."
"The deuce it is!"
He had slept over four hours!
"Well, answer that confounded telephone."
Joseph obeyed.
"It's a Mr. Bryany, sir, if I catch the name right," said Joseph.
Bryany! For twenty-four hours he had scarcely thought of Bryany, or theoption either.
"Bring the telephone here," said Edward Henry.
The cord would just reach to his chair.
"Hello! Bryany! Is that you?" cried Edward Henry gaily.
And then he heard the weakened voice of Mr. Bryany in his ear:
"How d'ye do, Mr. Machin. I've been after you for the better part oftwo days, and now I find you're staying in the same hotel as Mr. Sachsand me!"
"Oh!" said Edward Henry.
He understood now why on the previous day the dandy introducing him tohis suite had smiled a welcome at the name of Alderman Machin, and whyJoseph had accepted so naturally the command to take a bath. Bryany hadbeen talking. Bryany had been recounting his exploits as a card.
The voice of Bryany in his ear continued:
"Look here! I've got Miss Euclid here and some friends of hers. Ofcourse she wants to see you at once. Can you come down?"
"Er--" He hesitated.
He could not come down. He would have no evening wear till the next daybut one.
Said the voice of Bryany:
"What?"
"I can't," said Edward Henry. "I'm not very well. But listen. All ofyou come up to my rooms here and have supper, will you? Suite 48."
"I'll ask the lady," said the voice of Bryany, altered now, and a fewseconds later: "We're coming."
"Joseph," Edward Henry gave orders rapidly as he took off his coat andremoved the pocketbook from it. "I'm ill, you understand. Anyhow, notwell. Take this," handing him the coat, "and bring me the newdressing-gown out of that green cardboard box from Rollet's--I think itis. And then get the supper menu. I'm very hungry. I've had nodinner."
Within sixty seconds he sat in state, wearing a grandiose yellowdressing-gown. The change was accomplished just in time. Mr. Bryanyentered, and not only Mr. Bryany, but Mr. Seven Sachs, and not onlythese, but the lady who had worn a red hat at lunch.
"Miss Rose Euclid," said Mr. Bryany, puffing and bending.