Denry the Audacious

  Thus for Sir Jee there were two titled beings in the group--the Countessand himself. The Countess and himself formed one caste in the group,and the rest another caste. And although the Countess, in herpunctilious demeanour towards him gave due emphasis to his title (hereturning more than due emphasis to hers), he was not precisely pleasedby the undertones of suave condescension that characterised her greetingof him as well as her greeting of the others. Moreover, he had knownDenry as a clerk of Mr. Duncalf's, for Mr. Duncalf had done a lot oflegal work for him in the past. He looked upon Denry as an upstart, acapering mountebank, and he strongly resented Denry's familiarity withthe Countess. He further resented Denry's sling, which gave to Denry aninteresting romantic aspect (despite his beard), and he more than allresented that Denry should have rescued the Countess from a carriageaccident by means of his preposterous mule. Whenever the Countess, inthe preliminary chatter, referred to Denry or looked at Denry, inrecounting the history of her adventures, Sir Jee's soul squirmed, andhis body sympathised with his soul. Something in him that was morepowerful than himself compelled him to do his utmost to reduce Denry toa moral pulp, to flatten him, to ignore him, or to exterminate him bythe application of ice. This tactic was no more lost on the Countessthan it was on Denry. And the Countess foiled it at every instance. Intruth, there existed between the Countess and Sir Jee a rather hotrivalry in philanthropy and the cultivation of the higher welfare of thedistrict. He regarded himself, and she regarded herself, as the mostbrightly glittering star of the Five Towns.

  When the Countess had finished the recital of her journey, and the facesof the group had gone through all the contortions proper to expressterror, amazement, admiration, and manly sympathy, Sir Jee took thelead, coughed, and said in his elaborate style:

  "Before we adjourn to the hall, will not your ladyship take a littlerefreshment?"

  "Oh, no, thanks!" said the Countess. "I 'm not a bit upset." Then sheturned to the enslinged Denry and with concern added, "But will you havesomething?"

  If she could have foreseen the consequences of her question, she mightnever have put it. Still, she might have put it just the same.

  Denry paused an instant, and an old habit rose up in him.

  "Oh, no, thanks!" he said, and turning deliberately to Sir Jee, headded: "Will _you_?"

  This of course was mere crude insolence to the titled philanthropicwhite beard. But it was by no means the worst of Denry's behaviour. Thegroup, every member of the group, distinctly perceived a slight movementof Denry's left hand toward Sir Jee. It was the very slightestmovement, a wavering, a nothing. It would have had no significancewhatever, but for one fact: Denry's left hand still held the carrot.

  Everybody exhibited the most marvellous self-control. And everybodyexcept Sir Jee was secretly charmed, for Sir Jee had never inspiredlove. It is remarkable how local philanthropists are unloved, locally.The Countess without blenching gave the signal for what Sir Jee calledthe "adjournment" to the hall. Nothing might have happened, yeteverything had happened.

  V

  Next, Denry found himself seated on the temporary platform which hadbeen erected in the large games hall of the Policemen's Institute. TheMayor of Hanbridge was in the chair, and he had the Countess on hisright and the Mayoress of Bursley on his left. Other mayoral chainsblazed in the centre of the platform, together with fine hats ofmayoresses and uniforms of police-superintendents and captains offire-brigades. Denry's sling also contributed to the effectiveness; hewas placed behind the Countess. Policemen (looking strange withouthelmets) and their wives, sweethearts, and friends, filled the hall toits fullest; enthusiasm was rife and strident; and there was only onelittle sign that the untoward had occurred. That little sign was anempty chair in the first row near the Countess. Sir Jee, a prey to asudden indisposition, had departed. He had somehow faded away, whilethe personages were climbing the stairs. He had faded away amid theexpressed regrets of those few who by chance saw him in the act offading. But even these bore up manfully. The high humour of thegathering was not eclipsed.

  Towards the end of the ceremony came the votes of thanks, and theprincipal of these was the vote of thanks to the Countess, prime causeof the Institute. It was proposed by the Superintendent of theHanbridge Police. Other personages had wished to propose it, but thestronger right of the Hanbridge Superintendent, as chief officer of thelargest force of constables in the Five Towns, could not be disputed.He made a few facetious references to the episode of the Countess'sarrival, and brought the house down by saying that if he did his duty hewould arrest both the Countess and Denry for driving to the commondanger. When he sat down, amid tempestuous applause, there was a hitch.According to the official programme Sir Jehosophat Dain was to haveseconded the vote, and Sir Jee was not there. All that remained of SirJee was his chair. The Mayor of Hanbridge looked round about, tryingswiftly to make up his mind what was to be done, and Denry heard himwhisper to another mayor for advice.

  "Shall I do it?" Denry whispered, and by at once rising relieved theMayor from the necessity of coming to a decision.

  Impossible to say why Denry should have risen as he did, without anywarning. Ten seconds before, five seconds before, he himself had notthe dimmest idea that he was about to address the meeting. All that canbe said is that he was subject to these attacks of the unexpected.

  Once on his legs he began to suffer, for he had never before been on hislegs on a platform, or even on a platform at all. He could see nothingwhatever except a cloud that had mysteriously and with frightfulsuddenness filled the room. And through this cloud he could feel thathundreds and hundreds of eyes were piercingly fixed upon him. A voicewas saying inside him, "What a fool you are! What a fool you are! Ialways told you you were a fool!" And his heart was beating as it hadnever beat, and his forehead was damp, his throat distressingly dry, andone foot nervously tap-tapping on the floor. This condition lasted forsomething like ten hours, during which time the eyes continued to piercethe cloud and him with patient, obstinate cruelty.

  Denry heard some one talking. It was himself.

  The Superintendent had said, "I have very great pleasure in proposingthe vote of thanks to the Countess of Chell."

  And so Denry heard himself saying, "I have very great pleasure inseconding the vote of thanks to the Countess of Chell."

  He could not think of anything else to say. And there was a pause, areal pause, not a pause merely in Denry's sick imagination.

  Then the cloud was dissipated. And Denry himself said to the audienceof policemen, with his own natural tone, smile, and gesture,colloquially, informally, comically:

  "Now then! Move along there, please! I 'm not going to say any more!"

  And for a signal he put his hands in the position for applauding. Andsat down.

  He had tickled the stout ribs of every bobby in the place. The applausesurpassed all previous applause. The most staid ornaments of theplatform had to laugh. People nudged each other and explained that itwas "that chap Machin from Bursley," as if to imply that that chapMachin from Bursley never let a day pass without doing somethingstriking and humorous. The Mayor was still smiling when he put the voteto the meeting, and the Countess was still smiling when she responded.

  Afterwards in the portico, when everything was over, Denry exercised hisright to remain in charge of the Countess. They escaped from thepersonages by going out to look for her carriage and neglecting toreturn. There was no sign of the Countess's carriage, but Denry's muleand victoria were waiting in a quiet corner.

  "May I drive you home?" he suggested.

  But she would not. She said that she had a call to pay before dinner,and that her brougham would surely arrive the very next minute.

  "Will you come and have tea at the Sub Rosa?" Denry next asked.

  "The Sub Rosa?" questioned the Countess.

  "Well," said Denry, "that's what we call the new tea-room that's justbeen opened round here." He indica
ted a direction. "It's quite anovelty in the Five Towns."

  The Countess had a passion for tea.

  "They have splendid China tea," said Denry.

  "Well," said the Countess, "I suppose I may as well go through with it."

  At the moment her brougham drove up. She instructed her coachman towait next to the mule and victoria. Her demeanour had cast off all itssimilarity to her dress: it appeared to imply that, as she had begunwith a mad escapade, she ought to finish with another one.

  Thus the Countess and Denry went to the tea-shop, and Denry ordered teaand paid for it. There was scarcely a customer in the place, and the fewwho were fortunate enough to be present had not the wit to recognise theCountess. The proprietress did not recognise the Countess. (Later, whenit became known that the Countess had actually patronised the Sub Rosa,half the ladies of Hanbridge were almost ill from sheer disgust thatthey had not heard of it in time. It would have been so easy for themto be there, taking tea at the next table to the Countess, and observingher choice of cakes, and her manner of holding a spoon, and whether sheremoved her gloves or retained them in the case of a meringue. It wasan opportunity lost that would in all human probability never occuragain.)

  And in the discreet corner which she had selected the Countess fired asudden shot at Denry.

  "How did you get all those details about the state rooms at Sneyd?" sheasked.

  Upon which opening the conversation became lively.

  The same evening Denry called at the _Signal_ office and gave an orderfor a half-page advertisement of the Five Towns Universal ThriftClub--"patroness, the Countess of Chell." The advertisement informedthe public that the Club had now made arrangements to accept newmembers. Besides the order for a half-page advertisement, Denry alsogave many interesting and authentic details about the historic drivefrom Sneyd Vale to Hanbridge. The next day the _Signal_ was simply fullof Denry and the Countess. It had a large photograph, taken by aphotographer on Cauldon Bank, which showed Denry actually driving theCountess, and the Countess's face was full in the picture. Itpresented, too, an excellently appreciative account of Denry's speech,and it congratulated Denry on his first appearance in the public life ofthe Five Towns. (In parenthesis it sympathised with Sir Jee in hisindisposition.) In short, Denry's triumph obliterated the memory of hisprevious triumphs. It obliterated, too, all rumours adverse to theThrift Club. In a few days he had a thousand new members. Of course,this addition only increased his liabilities; but now he could obtaincapital on fair terms, and he did obtain it. A company was formed. TheCountess had a few shares in this company. So (strangely) had Jock andhis companion the coachman. Not the least of the mysteries was thatwhen Denry reached his mother's cottage on the night of the tea with theCountess his arm was not in a sling and showed no symptom of having beendamaged.

  CHAPTER VIII. RAISING A WIGWAM

  I

  A still young man--his age was thirty--with a short, strong beardpeeping out over the fur collar of a vast overcoat, emerged from a cabat the snowy corner of St. Luke's Square and Brougham Street, and paidthe cabman with a gesture that indicated both wealth and the habit ofcommand. And the cabman, who had driven him over from Hanbridge throughthe winter night, responded accordingly. Few people take cabs in theFive Towns. There are few cabs to take. If you are going to a partyyou may order one in advance by telephone, reconciling yourself also inadvance to the expense, but to hail a cab in the street withoutforethought and jump into it as carelessly as you would jump into atram--this is by very few done. The young man with the beard did itfrequently, which proved that he was fundamentally ducal.

  He was encumbered with a large and rather heavy parcel as he walked downBrougham Street, and moreover the footpath of Brougham Street wasexceedingly dirty. And yet no one acquainted with the circumstances ofhis life would have asked why he had dismissed the cab before arrivingat his destination, because every one knew. The reason was that thisducal person with the gestures of command dared not drive up to hismother's door in a cab oftener than about once a month. He opened thatdoor with a latchkey (a modern lock was almost the only innovation thathe had succeeded in fixing on his mother), and stumbled with hisunwieldy parcel into the exceedingly narrow lobby.

  "Is that you, Denry?" called a feeble voice from the parlour.

  "Yes," said he, and went into the parlour, hat, fur coat, parcel, andall.

  Mrs. Machin, in a shawl and an antimacassar over the shawl, sat close tothe fire and leaning towards it. She looked cold and ill. Although theparlour was very tiny and the fire comparatively large, the structure ofthe grate made it impossible that the room should be warm, as all theheat went up the chimney. If Mrs. Machin had sat on the roof and puther hands over the top of the chimney she would have been much warmerthan at the grate.

  "You aren't in bed?" Denry queried.

  "Can't ye see?" said his mother. And indeed to ask a woman who wasobviously sitting up in a chair whether she was in bed did seem somewhatabsurd. She added, less sarcastically:

  "I was expecting ye every minute. Where have ye had your tea?"

  "Oh!" he said lightly, "in Hanbridge."

  An untruth! He had not had his tea anywhere. But he had dined richlyat the new Hotel Metropole, Hanbridge.

  "What have ye got there?" asked his mother.

  "A present for you," said Denry. "It's your birthday to-morrow."

  "I don't know as I want reminding of that," murmured Mrs. Machin.

  But when he had undone the parcel and held up the contents before hershe exclaimed:

  "Bless us!"

  The staggered tone was an admission that for once in a way he hadimpressed her.

  It was a magnificent sealskin mantle, longer than sealskin mantlesusually are. It was one of those articles the owner of which can say:"Nobody can have a better than this--I don't care who she is." It wasworth in monetary value all the plain shabby clothes on Mrs. Machin'sback, and all her very ordinary best clothes upstairs, and all thefurniture in the entire house, and perhaps all Denry's dandiacalwardrobe too, except his fur coat. If the entire contents of thecottage, with the aforesaid exception, had been put up to auction, theywould not have realised enough to pay for that sealskin mantle.

  Had it been anything but a sealskin mantle, and equally costly, Mrs.Machin would have upbraided. But a sealskin mantle is not "showy." It"goes with" any and every dress and bonnet. And the most respectable,the most conservative, the most austere woman may find legitimatepleasure in wearing it. A sealskin mantle is the sole luxuriousostentation that a woman of Mrs. Machin's temperament--and there aremany such in the Five Towns and elsewhere--will conscientiously permitherself.

  "Try it on," said Denry.

  She rose weakly and tried it on. It fitted as well as a sealskin mantlecan fit.

  "My word--it's warm!" she said. This was her sole comment.

  "Keep it on," said Denry.

  His mother's glance withered the suggestion.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, as she left the room.

  "To put it away," said she. "I must get some moth powder to-morrow."

  He protested with inarticulate noises, removed his own furs, which hethrew down on to the old worn-out sofa, and drew a Windsor chair up tothe fire. After a while his mother returned, and sat down in herrocking-chair, and began to shiver again under the shawl and theantimacassar. The lamp on the table lighted up the left side of herface and the right side of his.

  "Look here, mother," said he. "You must have a doctor."

  "I shall have no doctor."

  "You 've got influenza, and it's a very tricky business--influenza is;you never know where you are with it."

  "Ye can call it influenza if ye like," said Mrs. Machin. "There was noinfluenza in my young days. We called a cold a cold."

  "Well," said Denry. "You are n't well, are you?"

  "I never said I was," she answered grimly.

  "
No," said Denry, with the triumphant ring of one who is about todevastate an enemy. "And you never will be in this rotten old cottage."

  "This was reckoned a very good class of house when your father and Icame into it. And it's always been kept in repair. It was good enoughfor your father, and it's good enough for me. I don't see myselfflitting. But some folks have gotten so grand. As for health, oldReuben next door is ninety-one. How many people over ninety are therein those grimcrack houses up by the Park, I should like to know?"

  Denry could argue with any one save his mother. Always, when he wasabout to reduce her to impotence, she fell on him thus and rolled him inthe dust. Still, he began again.

  "Do we pay four-and-sixpence a week for this cottage, or don't we?" hedemanded.

  "And always have done," said Mrs. Machin. "I should like to see thelandlord put it up!" she added, formidably, as if to say: "I 'd landlordhim, if he tried to put _my_ rent up!"

  "Well," said Denry, "here we are living in a four-and-six a weekcottage, and do you know how much I 'm making? I 'm making two thousandpounds a year. That's what I 'm making."