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 questionof a first-class tailor. In the organization of his new life afirst-class tailor was essential, and he was not acquainted with afirst-class London tailor. He did not know a great deal concerningclothes, though quite passably well dressed for a provincial, but heknew enough to be sure that it was impossible to judge the merits ofa tailor by his signboard, and therefore that if, wandering in theprecincts of Bond Street, he entered the first establishment that"looked likely," he would have a good chance of being "done in theeye." So he phrased it to himself as he lay in bed. He wanted adefinite and utterly reliable address.
He rang the bell. Only, as it happened to be the wrong bell, heobtained the presence of Joseph in a roundabout way, through theagency of a gentleman-in-waiting. Such, however, is the human facultyof adaptation to environment that he was merely amused in the morningby an error which, on the previous night, would have put him into asweat.
"Good morning, sir," said Joseph.
Edward Henry nodded, his hands under his head as he lay on his back.He decided to leave all initiative to Joseph. The man drew up theblinds, and closing the double windows at the top opened them verywide at the bottom.
"It is a rainy morning, sir," said Joseph, letting in vast quantitiesof air from Devonshire Square.
Clearly, Sir Nicholas Winkworth had been a breezy master.
"Oh!" murmured Edward Henry.
He felt a careless contempt for Joseph's flunkeyism. Hitherto he hadhad the theory that footmen, valets and all male personal attendantswere an inexcusable excrescence on the social fabric. The mere sightof them often angered him, though for some reason he had no objectionwhatever to servility in a nice-looking maid--indeed, rather enjoyedit. But now, in the person of Joseph, he saw that there were human orhalf-human beings born to self-abasement, and that, if their destinywas to be fulfilled, valetry was a necessary institution. He had nopity for Joseph, no shame in employing him. He scorned Joseph; and yethis desire, as a man-about-town, to keep Joseph's esteem, was in noway diminished!
"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 theycan read their masters. This chap has seen already that I'm a card.And yet 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 andlistened. He heard the discreet Joseph respectfully push the bolt ofthe bathroom door. Then he crept with noiseless rapidity to the smallbedroom and was aware therein of a lack of order and of ventilation.The rich and distinguished overcoat was hanging on the brass knob atthe foot of the bed. He seized it, and, scrutinizing the loop, read inyellow letters: "_Quayther & Cuthering_, 47 _Vigo Street, W_." Heknew that Quayther & Cuthering must be the tailors of Sir NicholasWinkworth, and hence first-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 & 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 geta couple for one family, sir."
Though he had started jocularly, Edward Henry finished by blenching."I think one will do ... I may possibly send for my own car."
He drove to Quayther & Cuthering's in his electric brougham and theredropped casually the name of Winkworth. He explained humorously 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 impulseto dispatch a wireless message to his bewildered valet on board the_Minnetonka_.
Subsequently he paid other fruitful visits in the neighbourhood, andat about half-past eleven the fruit was arriving at Wilkins's inthe shape of many parcels and boxes, comprising diverse items inthe equipment of a man-about-town, such as tie-clips and Innovationtrunks.
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 foranother two days), but somehow the consciousness that Quayther &Cuthering were cutting out wondrous garments for him in VigoStreet stiffened his shoulders and gave a mysterious style to thatlounge-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 nothave mattered if, at the table next to his own, there had not beentwo obviously experienced women, one ill-dressed, with a red hat, theother well-dressed, with a blue hat; one middle-aged, the other muchyounger; but both very observant. And even so, it would scarcely havemattered had not the younger woman been so slim, pretty and alluring.While tolerably careless of the opinion of the red-hatted, plain womanof middle-age, he desired the unqualified approval of the delightfulyoung thing in the blue hat. They certainly interested themselves inhis manoeuvres 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, noreven titled aristocrats. He supposed them to belong to somebaccarat-playing county 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 whomhe had known locally in more gusty days. The Countess bowed stifflyto the red hat, and the red hat responded with eager fulsomeness. Itseemed to be here as it no longer was in the Five Towns; everybodyknew everybody! The red hat and the blue might be titled, after all,he thought. Then, by sheer accident, the Countess caught sight ofhimself and stopped dead, bringing her escort to a standstill behindher. Edward Henry blushed and 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 ashpit, 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 failedto withstand. The affair of the artichoke was for ever wiped out.
After lunch he went forth again in his electric brougham. The weatherhad cleared. The opulent streets were full of pride and sunshine.And as 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, andthat those 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. Josephtook his 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 himto do things which to do yourself would more than exhaust your moralcourage.
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: "Apartments, L8. Dinner, L1, 2s. 0d. 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 tooth-brush!" he said tohimself. "However--"
The next instant he blenched once more.
"Gosh!" he privately exclaimed as he read: "Paid driver of taxi-cab,L2, 3s. 6d."
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 inquiry. 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 electricbrougham for a week?" Edward Henry burst out. "But I suppose I'mentitled to know how much I'm spending!"
The gentleman-in-waiting humbly bowed and departed.
Alone in the splendid chamber Edward Henry drew out a swollenpocket-book 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 thecost of 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 himto his suite had smiled a welcome at the name of Alderman Machin,and why Joseph had accepted so naturally the command to take a bath.Bryany had been talking. Bryany had been recounting his exploits as acard.
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 nextday but 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 coatand removed the pocket-book from it. "I'm ill, you understand. Anyhow,not well. Take this," handing him the coat, "and bring me the newdressing-gown out of that green cardboard box from Rollet's--I thinkit is. 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.
CHAPTER IV
ENTRY INTO THE THEATRICAL WORLD