VIII.
One afternoon Edward Henry sat in the king of all the easy chairs in thedrawing-room of his house in Trafalgar Road, Bursley. Although themonth was September, and the weather warm even for September, aswansdown quilt lay spread upon his knees. His face was pale, his handswere paler; but his eye was clear and his visage enlightened. His beardhad grown to nearly its original dimensions. On a chair by his sidewere a number of letters to which he had just dictated answers. At aneighbouring table a young clerk was using a typewriter. Stretched atfull length on the sofa was Robert Machin, engaged in the perusal of thesecond edition of that day's _Signal_. Of late Robert, having exhaustednearly all available books, had been cultivating during his holidays aninterest in journalism, and he would give great accounts, in thenursery, of events happening in each day's instalment of the _Signal's_sensational serial. His heels kicked idly one against the other.
A powerful voice resounded in the lobby, and Doctor Stirling entered theroom with Nellie.
"Well, Doc!" Edward Henry greeted him.
"So you're in full blast again!" observed the doctor, using a metaphorinvented by the population of a district where the roar of furnaceswakens the night.
"No!" Edward Henry protested, as an invalid always will. "I'm only justkeeping an eye on one or two pressing things."
"Of course he's in full blast!" said Nellie with calm conviction.
"What's this I hear about ye ganging away to the seaside, Saturday?"asked the doctor.
"Well, can't I?" said Edward Henry.
"Ye can," said the doctor. "Let's have a look at ye, man."
"What was it you said I've had?" Edward Henry questioned.
"Colonitis."
"Yes, that's the word. I thought I couldn't have got it wrong. Well,you should have seen my mother's face when I told her what you calledit. She said, 'He may call it that if he's a mind to, but we had anothername for it in my time.' You should have heard her sniff! ... Lookhere, Doc, do you know you've had me down now for pretty near threemonths?"
"Nay," said Stirling. "It's yer own obstinacy that's had ye down, man.If ye'd listened to yer London doctor at first, mayhap ye wouldn't havehad to travel from Euston in an invalid's carriage. If ye hadn't hadthe misfortune to be born an obstinate simpleton ye'd ha' been up andabout six weeks back. But there's no doing anything with you geniuses.It's all nerves with you and your like."
"Nerves!" exclaimed Edward Henry, pretending to scorn. But he wasdelighted at the diagnosis.
"Nerves," repeated the doctor firmly. "Ye go gadding off to America.Ye get yeself mixed up in theatres.... How's the theatre? I see yerfamous play's coming to end next week."
"And what if it is?" said Edward Henry, jealous for reputations,including his own. "It will have run for a hundred and one nights. Andright through August, too! No modern poetry play ever did run as longin London, and no other ever will. I've given the intellectual theatrethe biggest ad. it ever had. And I've made money on it. I should havemade more if I'd ended the run a fortnight ago, but I was determined topass the hundredth night. And I shall do!"
"And what are ye for giving next?"
"I'm not for giving anything next, Doc. I've let the Regent for fiveyears at seven thousand five hundred pounds a year to a musical comedysyndicate, since you're so curious. And when I've paid the ground rentand taxes and repairs and something toward a sinking-fund, and six percent. on my capital I shall have not far off two thousand pounds a yearclear annual profit. You may say what you like, but that's what I callbusiness!"
It was a remarkable fact that, while giving undemanded information toDoctor Stirling, Edward Henry was in reality defending himself againstthe accusations of his wife--accusations which, by the way, she hadnever uttered, but which he thought he read sometimes in her face. Hemight of course have told his wife these agreeable details directly, andin private. But he was a husband, and, like many husbands, apt to beindirect.
Nellie said not a word.
"Then you're giving up London?" The doctor rose to depart.
"I am," said Edward Henry, almost blushing.
"Why?"
"Well," the genius answered. "Those theatrical things are altogethertoo exciting and risky! And they're such queer people--Great Scott! I'vecome out on the right side, as it happens, but--well, I'm not as youngas I was. I've done with London. The Five Towns are good enough forme."
Nellie, unable to restrain a note of triumph, indiscreetly remarked withjust the air of superior sagacity that in a wife drives husbands to furyand to foolishness:
"I should think so, indeed!"
Edward Henry leaped from his chair, and the swansdown quilt swathed hisslippered feet.
"Nell," he exploded, clenching his hand. "If you say that once more inthat tone--once more, mind!--I'll go and take a flat in Londonto-morrow!"
The doctor crackled with laughter. Nellie smiled. Even Robert, who hadcompletely ignored the doctor's entrance, glanced round with creasedbrows.
"Sit down, dearest," Nellie quietly enjoined the invalid.
But he would not sit down, and, to show his independence, he helped hiswife to escort Stirling into the lobby.
Robert, now alone with the ignored young clerk tapping at the table,turned toward him, and in his deliberate, judicial, disdainful, childishvoice said to him:
"Isn't Father a funny man?"
THE END