“Yes, madam.”
“Mr. William’s friend has arrived. I think perhaps he would like to wash.”
“Very good, madam.”
Mr. Salter was not really asleep; he had been aware, remotely and impersonally, of Mrs. Boot’s scrutiny; he was aware, now, of James’s slow passage across the hall.
“Dinner will be in directly, sir. May I take you to your room?”
For a moment Mr. Salter thought he would be unable ever to move again; then, painfully, he rose to his feet. He observed his discarded shoes; so did James; neither of them felt disposed to stoop; each respected the other’s feeling; Mr. Salter padded upstairs beside the footman.
“I regret to say, sir, that your luggage is not yet available. Three of the outside men are delving for it at the moment.”
“Delving?”
“Assiduously, sir. It was inundated with slag at the time of the accident.”
“Accident?”
“Yes, sir, there has been a misadventure to the farm lorry that was conveying it from the station; we attribute it to the driver’s inexperience. He overturned the vehicle in the back drive.”
“Was he hurt?”
“Oh, yes, sir; gravely. Here is your room, sir.”
An oil lamp, surrounded by moths and autumnal beetles, burned on Priscilla’s dressing-table illuminating a homely, girlish room. Little had been done beyond the removal of loofah and nightdress, to adapt it for male occupation. Twenty or thirty china animals stood on brackets and shelves, together with slots of deer, brushes of foxes, pads of otters, a horse’s hoof, and other animal trophies; a low, bronchial growl came from under the bed.
“Miss Priscilla hoped you would not object to taking charge of Amabel for the night, sir. She’s getting an old dog now and doesn’t like to be moved. You’ll find her perfectly quiet and good. If she barks in the night, it is best to feed her.”
James indicated two saucers of milk and minced meat which stood on the bed table that had already attracted Mr. Salter’s attention.
“Would that be all, sir?”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Salter, weakly.
James left, gently closing the door which, owing to a long-standing defect in its catch, as gently swung open again behind him.
Mr. Salter poured some warm water into the prettily flowered basin on the wash-hand stand.
James returned. “I omitted to tell you, sir, the lavatory on this floor is out of order. The gentlemen use the one opening on the library.”
“Thank you.”
James repeated the pantomime of shutting the door.
*
Nurse Granger was always first down in the drawing-room. Dinner was supposed to be at quarter-past eight, and for fifteen years she had been on time. She was sitting there, stitching a wool mat of modernistic design, when Mrs. Boot first entered. When Mrs. Boot had given her order to James, she smiled at her and said, “How is your patient tonight, nurse?” and Nurse Granger answered as she had answered nightly for fifteen years, “A little low-spirited.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Boot, “she gets low-spirited in the evenings.”
The two women sat in silence, Nurse Granger snipping and tugging at the magenta wool; Mrs. Boot reading a gardening magazine to which she subscribed. It was not until Lady Trilby entered the room that she expressed her forebodings.
“The boys are late,” said Lady Trilby.
“William’s friend,” said Mrs. Boot gravely, “has arrived in a most peculiar condition.”
“I know. I watched him come up the drive. Reelin’ all over the shop.”
“He let himself in and went straight off to sleep in the hall.”
“Best thing for him.”
“You mean… You don’t think he could have been…?”
“The man was squiffy,” said Aunt Anne. “It was written all over him.”
Nurse Granger uttered a knowing little cluck of disapproval.
“It’s lucky Priscilla isn’t here. What had we better do?”
“The boys will see to him.”
“Here is Theodore. I will ask him at once. Theodore, William’s friend from London has arrived and Aunt Anne and I very much fear that he has taken too much.”
“Has he, by Jove?” said Uncle Theodore rather enviously. “Now you mention it, I shouldn’t be at all surprised. I talked to the fellow out of my window. He was pounding the front door fit to knock it in.”
“What ought we to do?”
“Oh, he’ll sober up,” said Uncle Theodore from deep experience. Uncle Roderick joined them. “I say Rod, what d’you think? That journalist fellow of William’s—he’s sozzled.”
“Disgusting. Is he fit to come in to dinner?”
“We’d better keep an eye on him to see he doesn’t get any more.”
“Yes. I’ll tell James.”
Uncle Bernard joined the family circle. “Good-evening, good-evening,” he said in his courtly fashion. “I’m nearly the last I see.”
“Bernard, we have something to tell you.”
“And I have something to tell you. I was sitting in the library not two minutes ago when a dirty little man came prowling in—without any shoes on.”
“Was he tipsy?”
“I dare say… now you mention it, I think he was.”
“That’s William’s friend.”
“Well he should be taken care of. Where is William?”
*
William was playing dominoes with Nannie Bloggs. It was this custom of playing dominoes with her from six till seven every evening, which had prevented him meeting Mr. Salter at the station. On this particular evening the game had been prolonged far beyond its usual limit. Three times he had attempted to leave, but the old woman was inflexible. “Just you stay where you sit,” she said. “You always were a headstrong, selfish boy. Worse than your Uncle Theodore. Gallivanting about all over Africa with a lot of heathens, and now you are home you don’t want to spend a few minutes with your old Nannie.”
“But, Nannie, I’ve got a guest arriving.”
“Guest. Time enough for him. It’s not you he’s after I’ll be bound. It’s my pretty Priscilla. You leave them be… I’ll make it half a sovereign this time.”
Not until the gong sounded for dinner would she let him go. “Change your clothes quickly. Wash your hands,” she said, “and brush your hair nicely. And mind you bring Priscilla’s young man up afterwards and we’ll have a nice game of cards. It’s thirty-three shillings you owe me.”
*
Mr. Salter had no opportunity of talking business at dinner. He sat between Mrs. Boot and Lady Trilby; never an exuberant man, he now felt subdued almost to extinction and took his place glumly between the two formidable ladies; he might feel a little stronger, he hoped, after a glass of wine.
James moved heavily round the table with the decanters; claret for the ladies, William and Uncle Bernard, whisky and water for Uncle Theodore, medicated cider for Uncle Roderick. “Water, sir?” said a voice in Mr. Salter’s ear.
“Well, I think perhaps I would sooner…” A clear and chilling cascade fell into his tumbler and James returned to the sideboard.
William, noticing a little shudder pass over his guest, leaned forward across the table. “I say, Salter, haven’t they given you anything to drink?”
“Well, as a matter of fact…”
Mrs. Boot frowned at her son—a frown like a sudden spasm of pain. “Mr. Salter prefers water.”
“Nothing like it,” said Uncle Theodore. “I respect him for it.”
“Well, as a matter of fact…”
Both ladies addressed him urgently and simultaneously: “You’re a great walker, Mr. Salter,” in challenging tones from Lady Trilby; “It is quite a treat for you to get away from your work into the country,” more gently from Mrs. Boot. By the time that Mr. Salter had dealt civilly with these two misstatements, the subject of wine was closed.
Dinner was protracted for nearly an hour, but not by reason of
any great profusion or variety of food. It was rather a bad dinner; scarcely better than he would have got at Lord Copper’s infamous table; greatly inferior to the daintily garnished little dishes which he enjoyed at home. In course of time each member of the Boot family had evolved an individual style of eating; before each plate was ranged a little store of seasonings and delicacies, all marked with their owner’s initials—onion salt, Bombay duck, gherkins, garlic vinegar, Dijon mustard, pea-nut butter, icing sugar, varieties of biscuit from Bath and Tunbridge Wells, Parmesan cheese, and a dozen other jars and bottles and tins mingled incongruously with the heavy, Georgian silver; Uncle Theodore had a little spirit lamp and chafing dish with which he concocted a sauce. The dishes as sent in from the kitchen were rather the elementary materials of dinner than the dinner itself. Mr. Salter found them correspondingly dull and unconscionably slow in coming. Conversation was general and intermittent.
Like foreign news bulletins, Boot family table talk took the form of antithetical statement rather than of free discussion.
“Priscilla took Amabel with her to the Caldicotes,” said Lady Trilby.
“She left her behind,” said Mrs. Boot.
“A dirty old dog,” said Uncle Bernard.
“Too old to go visiting,” said Uncle Roderick.
“Too dirty.”
“Mr. Salter is having Amabel to sleep with him,” said Mrs. Boot.
“Mr. Salter is very fond of her,” said Lady Trilby.
“He doesn’t know her,” said Uncle Bernard.
“He’s very fond of all dogs,” said Mrs. Boot.
There was a pause in which James announced: “If you please, madam, the men have sent up to say it is too dark to go on moving the slag.”
“Very awkward,” said Uncle Roderick. “Blocks the back drive.”
“And Mr. Salter will have no things for the night,” said Mrs. Boot.
“William will lend him some.”
“Mr. Salter will not mind. He will understand.”
“But he is sorry to have lost his things.”
*
Presently Mr. Salter got the hang of it. “It is a long way from the station,” he ventured.
“You stopped on the way.”
“Yes, to ask… I was lost.”
“You stopped several times.”
*
At last dinner came to an end.
“He got better towards the end of dinner,” said Lady Trilby in the drawing-room.
“He is practically himself again,” said Mrs. Boot.
“Roderick will see that he does not get at the port.”
*
“You won’t take port,” said Uncle Roderick.
“Well, as a matter of fact…”
“Push it round to Bernard, there’s a good fellow.”
“You and William have business to discuss.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Salter eagerly. “Yes, it’s most important.”
“You could go to the library.”
“Yes.”
William led his guest from the table and out of the room.
“Common little fellow,” said Uncle Roderick.
“It’s a perfectly good name,” said Uncle Bernard. “An early corruption of saltire, which no doubt he bears on his coat. But of course it may have been assumed irregularly.”
“Can’t hold it,” said Uncle Theodore.
“I always understood that the true Salters became extinct in the fifteenth century…”
*
In the library William for the first time had the chance of apologizing for the neglect of his guest.
“Of course, of course. I quite understand that living where you do, you are naturally distracted… I would not have intruded on you for the world. But it was a matter of first-rate importance—of Lord Copper’s personal wishes, you understand.
“There are two things. First, your contract with us, Boot,” said Mr. Salter earnestly, “you won’t desert the ship?”
“Eh?”
“I mean it was the Beast that gave you your chance. You mustn’t forget that?”
“No.”
“I suppose the Brute have made a very attractive offer. But believe me, Boot, I’ve known Fleet Street longer than you have. I’ve seen several men transfer from us to them. They thought they were going to be better off but they weren’t. It’s no life for a man of individuality, working for the Brute. You’d be selling your soul, Boot… You haven’t, by the way, sold it?”
“No. They did send me a telegram. But to tell you the truth I was so glad to be home that I forgot to answer it.”
“Thank heaven. I’ve got a contract here, ready drawn up. Duplicate copies. They only need your signature. Luckily I did not pack them in my suitcase. A life contract for two thousand a year. Will you sign?”
William signed. He and Mr. Salter each folded his copy and put it in his pocket; each with a feeling of deep satisfaction.
“And then there’s the question of the banquet. There won’t be any difficulty about that now. I quite understand that while the Brute offer was still in the air… Well I’m delighted it’s settled. You had better come up with me tomorrow morning. Lord Copper may want to see you beforehand.”
“No.”
“But, my dear Boot… You need have no worry about your speech. That is being written for you by Lord Copper’s social secretary. It will be quite simple. Five minutes or so in praise of Lord Copper.”
“No.”
“The banquet will be widely reported. There may even be a film made of it.”
“No.”
“Really Boot I can’t understand you at all.”
“Well,” said William with difficulty, “I should feel an ass.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Salter, “I can understand that. But it’s only for one evening.”
“I’ve felt an ass for weeks. Ever since I went to London, I’ve been treated like an ass.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Salter sadly. “That’s what we are paid for.”
“It’s one thing being an ass in Africa. But if I go to this banquet they may learn about it down here.”
“No doubt they would.”
“Nannie Bloggs and Nannie Price and everyone.”
Mr. Salter was not in fighting form and he knew it. The strength was gone out of him. He was dirty and blistered and aching in every limb, cold sober and unsuitably dressed. He was in a strange country. These people were not his people nor their laws his. He felt like a Roman legionary, heavily armed, weighted with the steel and cast brass of civilization, tramping through forests beyond the Roman pale, harassed by silent, illusive savages, the vanguard of an advance that had pushed too far and lost touch with the base… or was he the abandoned rearguard of a retreat? Had the legions sailed?
“I think,” he said, “I’d better ring up the office and ask their advice.”
“You can’t do that,” said William cheerfully. “The nearest telephone is three miles away; there’s no car; and anyway it shuts at seven.”
Silence fell in the library. Once more Mr. Salter rallied to the attack. He tried sarcasm.
“These ladies you mention; no doubt they are estimable people, but surely, my dear Boot, you will admit that Lord Copper is a little more important.”
“No,” said William gravely. “Not down here.”
*
They were still sitting in silence when ten minutes later Troutbeck came to them.
“Miss Bloggs says she is expecting you upstairs to play cards.”
“You don’t mind?” William asked.
Mr. Salter was past minding anything. He was led upstairs, down long lamp-lit corridors, through doors of faded baize to Nannie Bloggs’s room. Uncle Theodore was already there arranging the card table beside her bed. “So this is him,” she said. “Why hasn’t he got any shoes?”
“It’s a long story,” said William.
The beady old eyes studied Mr. Salter’s careworn face; she put on her spectacles and looked again. “To
o old,” she said.
Coming from whom it did, this criticism seemed a bit thick; even in his depressed condition, Mr. Salter was roused to resentment. “Too old for what?” he asked sharply.
Nannie Bloggs, though hard as agate about matters of money and theology, had, in old age, a soft spot for a lover. “There, there, dearie,” she said. “I don’t mean anything. There’s many a young heart beats in an old body. Sit down. Cut the cards, Mr. Theodore. You’ve had a disappointment I know, her being away. She always was a contrary girl. The harder the wooing the sweeter the winning, they say—two spades—and there’s many a happy marriage between April and December—don’t go peeping over my hand, Mr. Theodore—and she’s a good girl at heart, though she does forget her neck sometimes—three spades—comes out of the bath just as black as she went in, I don’t know what she does there…”
They played three rubbers and Mr. Salter lost twenty-two shillings. As they rose to leave, Nannie Bloggs, who had from long habit kept up a more or less continuous monologue during the course of the game said, “Don’t give up, dearie. If it wasn’t that your hair was thinning you mightn’t be more than thirty-five. She doesn’t know her own mind yet and that’s the truth.”
They left. William and Uncle Theodore accompanied Mr. Salter to his room. William said “Goodnight.” Uncle Theodore lingered.
“Pity you doubled our hearts,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Got you down badly.”
“Yes.”
A single candle stood on the table by the bed. In its light Mr. Salter saw a suit of borrowed pajamas laid out. Sleep was coming on him like a vast, pea-soup fog, rolling down Fleet Street from Ludgate Hill. He did not want to discuss their game of bridge.
“We had all the cards,” said Uncle Theodore magnanimously, sitting down on the bed.
“Yes.”
“I expect you keep pretty late hours in London.”
“Yes… no… that is to say, sometimes.”
“Hard to get used to country hours. I don’t suppose you feel a bit sleepy.”
“Well, as a matter of fact…”
“When I lived in London,” began Uncle Theodore…