Quick Service

  "Awful," he said.

  "Lovely line work ," Joss pointed out. "Who is this man Weatherby? He's good. "

  Mr Duff continued peevish.

  "It's these damned girls. I'm sick of them. "

  "Now there," said Joss, sitting on the comer of the desk and rising immediately at his employer's request, "I am with you, J. B. , heart and soul. The whole trouble is, I am hampered and shackled by the Mandarins of the Art Department. They won't allow me to fulfil myself. I don't k now if you have ever seen a glorious eagle spreading its wings for a flight into the empyrean only to discover that it is tied by the leg to a post, but that's me. 'Girls!' say the Mandarins. 'Let us have girls with big eyes and lots of teeth, radiantly full of Paramount Ham,' and I have to do it. Personally, I have never been able to see why the fact that a goggle-eyed girl with buck teeth likes the stuff should carry the slightest Weight with an intelligent public. But there it is."

  There had been slowly dawning on Mr Duff's face during this harangue a sort of Soul's Awakening look. It was not unfamiliar to Joss. Combined with the portentous waggling of his eyebrows and the general swelling of his person, it told him' that the other had been seized by one of the bright thoughts that came to him from time to tin1e. Mr Duff, he perceived, was now the Napoleon of Commerce, the man with the lightning mind who gets things done.

  "Hey!"

  "Yes, J. B.

  "I've had an idea. "

  "I thought I noticed something fermenting. "

  "These girls. The public is sick of them. They want something different. "

  "Just what! tell the Mandarins."

  New note.

  "Exactly. "

  "Do you know what I'm going to do?"

  "Sack the lot and make me head of the Art Department."

  "You'll be doing well if you hold the job you've got."

  "Oh, I don't think we need have any uneasiness about that."

  "Don't you? Well, listen. Here's what I'm going to do. Came to me all in a Hash. Instead of a fatheaded flapper saying, 'Hurrah!

  It's Paramount Ham!' I'm going to give them Beatrice Chavender curling her lip and saying: 'Take this damned stuff away. I want Paramount!'"

  Loath though he was to encourage his employer in any way lest he get above himself, Joss was forced to drop a word of approval.

  "It's a thought," he agreed.

  "Sninspiration," corrected Mr Duff.

  "Yes, I see what you mean. I've been thinking along those lines myself. Somebody like Mrs Chavender—"

  "I didn't say somebody like Mrs Chavender, I said Mrs Chavender. You say you painted a portrait of her. Was it good?"

  "My dear J. B. , need you ask?"

  "It got that expression of her?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Then it would make a great poster?"

  "No question about that. It would send every thinking housewife in England rushing to her grocer like a stampeding mustang, screaming for the stuff."

  "Well, that's what I'm saying. That portrait is our new poster."

  Joss regarded him with frank astonishment. When Mr Duff came over all executive and began to get bright ideas for gingering up the business, he was apt to be startling, but hitherto he had never touched quite these heights.

  "You aren't serious?"

  "Of course I'm serious."

  "You can't do it."

  "Why can't I?"

  "Well, for one thing, she would bring an action and mulct you in sensational damages."

  "Let her. I'll charge it off to advertising expenses."

  "And then, of course, there are the ordinary human decencies to be thought of."

  Mr Duff declined to consider these.

  "Has she still got that portrait?"

  "She tells me she gave it to the husband of her sister-in-law, with whom she lives—a Mrs Steptoe of Claines Hall, Loose Chippings, Sussex."

  "Have Miss Hesseltyne find out the number."

  "I know it. Loose Chippings 803."

  "Then I'll call up this Steptoe from the club, and see if we can do a deal. I'm going to my osteopath now. He may be able to do something for this indigestion of mine. "

  "That's the spirit. Up the Duffs! But, listen, J. B.—"

  "If I'm wanted, his name's Clunk."

  "You won't be wanted whatever his name is. You won't be missed for a minute. Nobody'll know you've gone."

  "Fresher and fresher and fresher," sighed Mr Duff.

  "But listen, J. B. -about this portrait."

  "I don't want any argument. "

  "I was merely going to say—"

  "Well, don't. That's the trouble with you-always has been-you talk too much. "

  Joss shrugged his shoulders. To attempt to reason further would, he saw, be a waste of time. His companion had spoken of this project of his as an idea, but J. B. Duff did not get ideas, he got obsessions, and on these occasions was like the gentleman in the poem who on honeydew had fed and drunk the milk of Paradise.

  You just said: "Beware, beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair!"

  and wove a circle round him thrice, and that was practically all you could do about it.

  "Well, all right," he said. "Carry on, carry on. But don't forget I told you."

  "Told me what?"

  "I don't know. Something, probably. "

  Mr Duff fell into a momentary reverie. He emerged from it with a rumbling chuckle. A random thought seemed to have pleased him.

  "Shall I tell you something?"

  "Do. "

  "Here's where the joke comes in. Beatrice never liked those hams. "

  "No?"

  "No. That's what we split up about. Gosh, how it all comes back to me. It was a summer night, and we were walking by the seashore. There was a moon, I remember, and everything was very still, except for a fellow in the distance singing some old love song to the guitar. And I was just telling her how the sales of the Paramount in New York State compared with those in Illinois, when she suddenly turned on me like a tigress and shouted: 'You and your darned old hams!" and swept off and married Otis Chavender, Import and Export. Thank God!" said Mr Duff piously.

  Joss, as we have seen, held decided views on romance. Though he had never yet met a girl on whom he could feel justified in pouring out the. full ardour of a richly emotional nature, he was a modern troubadour. It was with a good deal of abhorrence that he stared at this earthy man.

  "I don't want to hurt your feelings, J, B., he said, "but you have the soul of a wart hog. And not a very nice wart hog, either."

  "You're fired."

  "No, I'm not. Don't start clowning now. The trouble with you is that it's anything for a laugh. Do you mean you really like being a bachelor?"

  "I love it."

  "You must be crazy. Me," said Joss softly, "I dream all the time of some sweet girl who will someday come into my life like a tender goddess and gaze into my eyes and put a hand on each cheek and draw my face down to hers and whisper: 'My man! '"

  "Brrh!" said Mr Duff. "Don't talk of such things. You give me the creeps."

  Left alone, Joss moved over to the chair whose soft cushions were pressed as a rule only by the sacred Duff trouser seat. Having reclined there for some moments, thinking of this and that, he touched the bell sharply, and was pleasantly entertained when Miss Hesseltyne came bursting in, all zeal and notebook.

  "Merely a practice alarm to test your efficiency, young Lollipop," he explained. "You may withdraw."

  He nestled into the chair again, and placed his feet on the desk.

  It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that the head of the firm of Duff and Trotter had one of those jobs which may be grouped for purposes of convenience under the general heading of velvet. Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed since the big chief had left him, and absolutely nothing had come up in the way of delicate problems calling for instant decision. He had always had a suspicion that these tycoons earned their money easily.

  It was as he was beginning to feel a lit
tle bored by inaction that Miss Hesseltyne appeared in the doorway, causing him to raise his eyebrows sternly.

  "I didn't ring."

  "I know you didn't."

  "Then why are you here? Go back, and I'll press the bell, and then you come in again. We must have system."

  Miss Hesseltyne seemed stirred and excited.

  "I told you so!" she said.

  "What did you tell me?"

  "The store detective saw you pinch that fruit."

  "A murrain on the luck!"

  "And he's going to report you to Mr Duff directly he gets back."

  Joss's face darkened.

  "This is monstrous. Am I to swoon at my work for want of an occasional custard apple? Any doctor will tell you that a man needs a little something round about the middle of the morning. What is technically known as his elevenses. Otherwise the machine breaks down. I shall talk very straight to J: B. about this, when I see him.

  Am I in a provision bin or a concentration camp?"

  He would have spoken further, but at this moment the bell rang in the outer office.

  "See who that is," he said curtly. He had not meant to be curt, but the spiritual influence of}. B. Duff's chair was strong upon him.

  "It's a lady to see Mr Duff," said Miss Hesseltyne, returning.

  "What, another? All right, show her in," said Joss, leaning back and putting the tips of his fingers together. "I can give her five minutes."

  "Miss Fairmile," announced Miss Hesseltyne.

  "Good morning," said Sally.

  Joss shot from his chair like a jumping bean and came to earth, quivering.

  "Good morning," he said, speaking with some difficulty. For he was in love, and the thing had come upon him as a complete surprise.

  Chapter III

  Joss Weatherby, as has been shown, was a young man a good deal given to dreaming of the girl who would one day come into his life and make it a thing of moonshine and roses, and for some little while past he had made a practice of keeping an eye fixed on the horizon in case she should appear. But he had never expected her to pop up out of a trap like this. He was conscious of a tingling of tile limbs and a strange inability to breathe.

  Resilience, however, was one of the leading features of his interesting character. He began to recover. The mists cleared from before his eyes, .and the sensation of having been hit on the head by a blunt instrument passed. If not yet actually back in midseason form, he was at least more himself and able to scrutinize Sally carefully and in detail.

  Odd, he was feeling, that she should be so small and slight. He had always pictured this girl of his as rather on the tall side.

  And her eyes, he had fancied, would be hazel. Why, he could not have said. Just an idea.

  Sally's, like Mrs Steptoe's, were blue. But whereas the blue eyes of Mrs Steptoe were light and gave the impression of being constructed of some sort· of china ware, those of Sally Fairmile were dark, like the sky on a summer night. Mrs Steptoe's eyes were capable of dinting armour plate, and in the case of more yielding substances such as the soul of Howard Steptoe could go right through and come out on the other side. Sally's were soft and appealing. At least, they appealed to Joss.

  He was able to observe this the more readily, because at the moment she seemed all eyes. Now that she was so nearly face to face with Lord Holbeton's formidable trustee, Sally had been gripped by a sharp attack of panic.

  She fought down the ignoble weakness. After all, she reminded herself, on the wrapper of that ham he had looked an old pet.

  "I wanted to see Mr Duff," she said.

  Joss drew a deep breath. He remembered now that she had spoken before, as she came into the room, but he had been so dazed just then that he had scarcely heard her. The discovery that in addition to her other perfections she had a musical voice filled him with a profound relief. The way things are in this world, he was telling himself, anyone as lovely as this girl would be sure to talk like a rasping file. Joss Weatherby had lived a hard and testing life, in which most of the things which looked good at first sight had proved to have a string attached to them.

  He closed his eyes.

  "Say that again."·

  "What?"

  "'I wanted to see Mr Duff.' "

  "Why?"

  "You have such an amazingly attractive speaking voice. It reminds me of springtime and daffodils and young birds chirping on dewy lawns.''

  "Oh?" It was beginning to be borne in upon Sally that she was in the presence of an eccentric. "Well, that's fine, isn't it?"

  "It suits me," said Joss.

  There was a pause. Joss's eyes were still closed. His air was that of a music lover savouring the strains of some beautiful melody.

  Sally, regarding him, came to the conclusion that he looked rather nice. Crazy, apparently, but quite nice.

  "Well, can I?"

  Joss opened his eyes.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "See Mr Duff."

  "He's out at the moment. Could I help you?"

  "No, thanks:"

  "I am his right-hand man. If you've come to buy a game pie, I think I have sufficient influence to swing it for you."

  ''I'm afraid a right-hand man won't do. You see, it's a personal matter."

  "He has no secrets from me."

  "He's going to have this one," said Sally and smiled a sudden smile which sent Joss rocking back on his heels as if the old blunt instrument had been applied again.

  "You shouldn't do that without warning," he said reproachfully.

  "You ought to blow a horn or something. Are you really resolved to see J. B.?''

  "Yes, really."

  "He's a bit fretful this morning. Teething, I think. Well, in that case you ought to fortify yourself. Would you like a glass of sherry?"

  "Thank you," said Sally gratefully.

  "Unless the mice have been at it," said Joss, "it should be in this cupboard."

  He filled the glasses. A sip satisfied him that J. B. Duff, that old tippler, was sound on sherry. This was a nice, nutty brand.

  "Skin off your nose," he said politely.

  "Skin off yours," said Sally. "What a perfect host you are."

  "One has one's humane instincts. I couldn't let you go up against old Battler Duff without a bracer."

  "Is he really so terrible?"

  "Did you ever read Pilgrim's Progress?"

  "As a child."

  "Remember Apollyon straddling across the way?"

  "Yes."

  "Duff. More sherry?"

  "Thank you."

  "Mud in your eye."

  "The same "in yours. You've saved my life. I've had an exhausting morning."

  "Shopping?"

  "Trying to engage a valet."

  "Any luck?"

  ·

  "No. I shall have to go back after lunch."

  "It shouldn't be so difficult to get a valet, if you try the right place. You went to a valetorium, I presume?"

  "Yes, but I had been told to get a specially ferocious one. You see, Mr Steptoe isn't easy to get on with."

  "Did you say Steptoe?"

  "Yes, I live with a Mrs Steptoe. She's a sort of cousin."

  "Not Mrs Steptoe of Claines Hall, Loose Chippings, Sussex—telephone number Loose Chippings 803?"

  "Yes. How odd that you should know."

  ''I've just been having a pleasant reunion with Mrs Chavender.

  She .and I are old buddies. Well, this is the most extraordinary thing. For years I have jogged along without so much as hearing of Claines Hall, and today-suddenly-without the slightest warning-! hear of nothing else. This must mean something. One seems to detect the hand of fate."

  Sally was not interested in the hand of fate. She was anxious to be reassured on ail important point.

  "Did Mrs Chavender see Mr Duff?"

  "No."

  "Good!"

  ''Why? Not that I'm inquisitive, of course."

  "No, I noticed that. It's just that there were reasons
why I didn't want them to meet."