A Man's Man

  CHAPTER XVII

  IN WHICH CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME, AND HUGHIE MISSES HIS TRAIN

  The dentist laid aside his excavating pick with a regretful sigh, andbegan to fit what looked like a miniature circular saw into the end ofthe electric drill.

  Hughie, recumbent in the chair, telling himself resolutely that,appearances to the contrary, the man was doing this because it wasreally necessary, and not from mere voluptuousness, cautiously insertedhis tongue into the hole, and calculated that the final clearance wouldbe a three minutes' job at the shortest.

  "It seems hard to believe," said the dentist morosely, setting themachinery of the drill in motion with his foot, "that your teeth havenot been attended to for eight years. A little wider, please!"

  Hughie realised that he was being called a liar as unmistakably as a mancan be; but at this moment the drill came into full operation, and hemerely gripped the arms of the chair.

  "A man," continued the dentist, removing the drill and suddenlysyringing the cavity with ice-cold water,--"empty, please!--should makea point of having his teeth inspected once every six months; a woman,once every three."

  "A man," replied Hughie (who believed that the operations with the drillwere completed), "must have his teeth inspected when he can. That is,"he added rapidly,--the dentist was deliberately fitting a fresh toolinto the drill,--"I have been abroad for the last eight or nine years."

  "Away from civilisation, perhaps," said the dentist compassionately,getting good leverage for his operating hand by using Hughie's lower jawas a fulcrum.

  "Quite!" gurgled Hughie, whose head at the moment was clasped tight tohis inquisitor's waistcoat buttons.

  "In that case," said the dentist in distinctly mollified tones, "we mustnot be too hard on you. Tongue down, please!"

  He completed his excavating and inundating operations, and, regretfullypushing away the arm of the drilling-machine, began to line his victim'smouth with some material which tasted like decomposing sponge-bags.

  "Your teeth have preserved their soundness in quite an unaccountableway," he continued, with the air of a just man conscientiouslyendeavouring to minimise a grievance. "There is one other small holehere,"--he ran a pointed instrument well into it to prove hisstatement,--"but beyond that there is nothing further to find faultwith."

  He began to pound up a mysterious mixture in a small mortar, and ranon:--

  "You must have been very careful in your diet."

  "No sweets," said Hughie laconically. "And I used very often to eat mymeat right off the bone. That keeps teeth white, doesn't it?"

  The dentist put down the mortar with some deliberation, and glared.Anything in the shape of levity emanating from occupants of the rackjars upon a Chief Tormentor's sense of what is professionally proper.But Hughie was lying back in the chair with his mouth open and eyesshut, exhibiting no sign of humorous intention. Still, this must notoccur again. The dentist looked round for a gag. He produced fromsomewhere a long snaky india-rubber arrangement, terminating in a hookednozzle. This he hung over Hughie's lower [Greek: erkos odonton],effectually stifling his utterance and reducing his share in theconversation to a sort of Morse Code of single gurgles and long-drawnsizzles suggestive of the emptying of a bath.

  Then, taking up his mortar, he proceeded, with the air of one who isusing a giant's strength magnanimously,--

  "You have visited the Antipodes, perhaps?"

  "Gug-gug-guggle!" proceeded from the india-rubber-lined orifice beforehim.

  "Ah! that must have been very interesting," continued the dentist. "Hadyou many opportunities of discussing the question of Colonial Preferencewith the leading men out there?"

  "Glug!" came the reply.

  "That was unfortunate. But perhaps you were able to form some idea ofthe general Australian attitude towards the question?"

  "G-r-r-r-r-r! Guggle, guggle! Ch'k, ch'k!" observed Hughie.

  "Personally," continued the dentist, rolling the pulverised substance inthe mortar between his finger and thumb, and lighting a spirit-lamp, "Iam an ardent upholder of the principles of that truly great man, theimmortal Richard Cobden. Are you?"

  Hughie, thoughtlessly lifting the gag for a moment, replied--with fataldistinctness.

  It was a mad act. The dentist simply took up a humorous-lookingbulb-shaped appliance, and having filled it with red-hot air at thespirit-lamp, discharged its contents, in one torrid blast, into theexcavated tooth.

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later Hughie was ushered into the street, and stoodpoising himself doubtfully on the doorstep. He did not know what to do.

  Strictly speaking, his next engagement should have been to entertain Mr.Lance Gaymer at luncheon. But that exposer of fraudulent trustees hadnot replied to Hughie's written invitation. Hence Hughie's stork-likeattitude outside the dentist's premises. Personally he had not theslightest desire to entertain Lance Gaymer at luncheon or any othermeal. On the other hand, he had promised Joan to seek out her brotherand ascertain if all was well with him. Ergo, since the Mountaindeclined to come to Mohammed, or even answer his letters, Mohammed mustput his pride in his pocket and go to the Mountain.

  The prophet accordingly hailed a hansom, and was directing the cabman todrive to the Mountain's residence in Maida Vale,--a paradoxical addressfor a Mountain, by the way,--when a strange thing happened. Nay, it wasa providential thing; for if Hughie had not resolutely summoned up hiscourage and told the dentist to go in and finish off the small hole inthe last tooth,--a treat which that sated epicure was inclined topostpone until another occasion,--he would have hailed this hansomtwenty minutes sooner and so missed his just reward.

  Mrs. Lance Gaymer suddenly came round a corner of the quiet square, andcrossed the road directly in front of Hughie's hansom. Hughiedismounted, and greeted her.

  "Why," cried Mrs. Lance, "I do declare, it's Mr. Marrable!"

  She smiled upon Hughie in a manner so intoxicating that the cabmancoughed discreetly to the horse. That intelligent animal made nocomment, but turned round and looked at the cabman.

  "Fancy meeting you!" she continued archly.

  "Did your husband get a letter from me yesterday, Mrs. Gaymer, do youknow?" asked Hughie.

  No, Mrs. Gaymer was sure he had not. The poor boy had took to his bed aweek ago, with the "flu"; so Mrs. Lance had been conducting hiscorrespondence for him, and could therefore vouch for the non-arrival ofHughie's letter. She hazarded the suggestion that possibly Hughie hadwritten to Maida Vale.

  Yes. Hughie had.

  "That's it, then!" said Mrs. Lance. "We moved from there six weeks ago.We live in Balham now."

  Hughie was not sufficiently conversant with suburban caste distinctionsto feel sure whether this was a step up or down in the social scale, sohe merely expressed a hope that Lance was getting well again.

  "I want to come and see him, if I may," he said. "I asked him to comeand lunch with me, but I suppose that is out of the question atpresent."

  "You're right there," said Mrs. Lance in distinctly guarded tones. "Heain't what you'd call spry. He's not seeing anybody."

  "I shouldn't stay long," urged Hughie.

  "Is it business?" enquired Mrs. Gaymer with a touch of hostility.

  "Yes," said Hughie.

  Mrs. Gaymer surveyed him curiously. To most people she would have saidflatly and untruthfully that her husband was unfit to see any one, forshe had her own reasons for discouraging visitors to Balham just now.But she had always cherished a weakness for Hugh Marrable. He treatedher exactly as he treated all women--with a scrupulous courtesy which,while it slightly bored frivolous damsels of his acquaintance, wasappreciated at its true value by a lady whose social status was morethan a little equivocal. It is only when one has secret doubts aboutbeing a real lady that one appreciates being treated as such.

  "Could you come to-morrow?" she said at last.

  "I have to get back to
Manors to-night," said Hughie. "Might I come outto Balham this afternoon? Or, better still, will you come and lunch withme somewhere now, and we can drive out there afterwards? Or must you getback to the invalid?" he added, with just a suspicion of hopefulness.

  Mrs. Lance, however, expressed her willingness to come and lunch, butinsisted on being allowed to precede Hughie to Balham by at least onehour. The house was _that_ untidy! she explained.

  Accordingly Hughie, having decided in his mind upon an establishmentwhere he would not be likely to encounter any of his own friends, andwhich would yet conform with Mrs. Gaymer's notions of what wassufficiently "classy," conveyed his fair charge thither in a hansom; andpresently found himself engaged in that traditional _ne plus ultra_ ofdissipation--the entertainment of another man's wife to a meal in apublic restaurant.

  Mrs. Lance, after she desisted from her efforts to impress upon her hostthe fact that she was quite accustomed to this sort of thing, wasamusing enough. She addressed the waiter--an inarticulate Teuton--as"Johnny," and made a point of saying a few words to the manager when hepassed their table. She smoked a cigarette after lunch, and was goodenough to commend Hughie's taste in champagne--a brand which he hadhazily recognised in the wine-list as being the sweetest and stickiestbeverage ever distilled from gooseberries. (It was the sort of champagnewhich goes well with chocolate creams: "Chorus Girls' Entire," heremembered they used to call it.) At any rate it met with Mrs. Lance'sundivided approval, and Hughie realised for the first time that aUniversity education can after all be useful to one in after-life.

  Suddenly Mrs. Lance enquired:--

  "Do you know any theatrical managers, my dear boy?"

  Yes, Hughie had come across one or two. "Why?"

  "Well," said Mrs. Lance expansively, "you've always treated me likeflesh and blood, which is more than what some of your relations havedone; so I'll tell you. After all, I've got me feelings, same as--"

  "What about the theatrical managers?" inquired Hughie tactfully.

  "Oh, yes. Do you think you could ask one of 'em to give me a shop? Thechorus would do. I was in it before," said Mrs. Gaymer candidly.

  "Why do you want to go back there?"

  "I--I've got a fancy for it--that's all," replied Mrs. Gaymer in athoroughly unconvincing tone.

  Hughie wondered if Lance and his wife were beginning to tire of oneanother.

  "I do know one or two men," he said, "who are interested in some of themusical-comedy syndicates. Shall I try them?"

  "Will you reelly? You'll be a duck if you do," said Mrs. Gaymer.

  After the deliverance of this unsolicited testimonial Hughie's guestobserved that she must be getting home, and Hughie, having put her intoa cab and paid the driver, retired to his club, clogged with viscouschampagne and feeling excessively unwell, to wait until it should betime for him to follow her.

  To look at the double row of eligible residences which composed TalbotStreet, Balham, you would hardly have suspected that any of them wouldsupport what the Inland Revenue Schedule calls a "male servant." Andyet, when Hughie rang the bell of Number Nineteen, the door was openedby such an appanage of prosperity. He was an elderly gentleman with arheumy but humorous eye, and a nose which suggested the earlier stagesof elephantiasis. He wore a dress-coat of distinctly fashionable cut(which, needless to say, did not fit him) and the regulation white shirtand collar, the latter quite two sizes too small; but his boots andtrousers apparently belonged to a totally different class of society.

  "Name of Marrable?" he enquired, smiling benevolently upon Hughie.

  "Yes."

  "Step in. We've been expectin' of you for 'alf-an-hour. Don't wipe yourboots on that mat. It's worth one-and-eight."

  After this somewhat remarkable confidence, the Gaymers' major-domoconducted the visitor upstairs. Here he threw open a door with trulytheatrical grandeur, and announced,--

  "'Ere's the young toff for you, my de--"

  "Thank you, James: that will do," interposed Mrs. Lance Gaymer, with avery fair imitation of the manner of a musical-comedy duchess. "How doyou do, Mr. Marrable?"

  She was attired in the faded glories of a tea-gown, of a material morepretentious than durable; and in the half-light of the drawing-room--theblinds were partially lowered--looked extremely handsome in a tawdryway.

  She apologised for her retainer's familiarity. Mr. Marrable woulddoubtless know what old servants was. Still, James must certainly bespoke to about it.

  "You'll drink a cup of tea with me," she continued, "and then we'll popup and see Lance, pore boy! Ring the bell, please."

  Hughie did so, and a rather laborious quarter-of-an-hour followed. Heploughed his way through a morass of unlikely topics, while Mrs. Lance,who was obviously perturbed at the non-appearance of tea, replied in_distrait_ monosyllables. Hughie was conscious about half-way throughthe conversation of a faint crash in the lower regions, and wondereddimly whether calamity had overtaken the afternoon meal. If so, he hadno doubt as to which of the domestic staff of Number Nineteen wasresponsible.

  At last the door opened, and the inestimable James appeared.

  "You done it this time!" he remarked severely. "The 'andle of thattea-pot 'as came right away in me 'and. It must have been that way thislong while. You won't get no tea now. Wot's more, that tea-pot will 'aveto come off the invent--"

  By this time Mrs. Lance Gaymer, with dumb but frenzied signallings, washerding her censorious hireling through the door, and his concludingremarks were lost in the passage outside.

  Presently she returned, smiling bravely. Hughie experienced a suddenpang of pity and admiration. Lance's wife was the right sort of girlafter all.

  "I _reelly_ must apologise--" she began.

  But Hughie interrupted her. He rose, and looked her frankly in the face.

  "Mrs. Gaymer," he said, "please don't bother about keeping upappearances with me. I never cared a hang about them, and never shall.Tell me, what are you doing with a bailiff in the house?"

  Mrs. Lance broke down and cried,--more from relief than anythingelse,--and presently Hughie, much to his surprise, found himself sittingbeside her, patting her large but shapely hand, and uttering words ofcomfort and encouragement into her ear.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later he concluded an interview with Mr. Albert Mould,broker's man,--late James, the butler,--in the dingy dining-roomdownstairs. The latter gentleman, the more gorgeous items of his apparelnow replaced by garments of equal social standing with his boots andtrousers, was laboriously writing a receipt with Hughie's fountain-pen,following the movements of the nib with the end of a protruding tongue.Presently he finished.

  "There you are, sir," he said, breathing heavily upon the paper to drythe ink. "Twenty-seven, fifteen, eight--and thank you! What beats me,"he added reflectively, "is 'ow you spotted me. What was it give me away?Seems to me I _looked_ all right. I was wearin' the young feller'sevenin' coat and one of 'is shirts, and I thought I was lookin' a treatall the time. Was it me trousis?"

  To avoid wounding his guest's feelings, Hughie agreed that it _was_ histrousis.

  "It's a queer trade, this of yours," he said.

  "You got to earn a livin' some'ow," said Mr. Mould apologetically, "sameas any other yewman bean. It's not a bad job, as jobs go. They carry ona lot, o' course, when you're first put in, and usually the wife cries;but they soon finds out as you won't do 'em no 'arm. You makes yourinventory and settles down in the kitching, with a pint o' somethink inyour 'and an' a pipe in your face, and in less than 'alf a tick you'reone o' the family, a'most. Why, I've 'elped wash the baby afore now."

  "Don't you ever get thrown out?" asked Hughie.

  "I _'ave_ bin," replied Mr. Mould, in a tone which gently reproved thetactlessness of the question, "but not often. After all, I only come_in_ agin; and it's a matter of seven days for assault, p'raps, on topo' the distraint. Most of 'em 'as the sense to remember that, so theyhumours me, as it were. They speak me fair, and give me job
s to doabout the house. Still, it were a bit of a surprise when 'er ladyshipcomes 'ome to-day about two o'clock and asks me would 'arf-a-crown beany good to me, and, if so, would I mind playin' at bein' a butler fora hour or two. I felt a fool, like, dressed up that way, but I alwayswas one to oblige a bit o' skirt. Been weak with women," he addedautobiographically, "from a boy. This fer me?" as Hughie opened thestreet-door and sped the parting guest in a particularly acceptablemanner. "Thank you, Captain! _Good_ day!"

  He shuffled down the steps and along the street, obviously on his way toliquidate Hughie's half-crown, and the donor of that gratuity returnedto the dining-room, where he took Mr. Mould's laboriously inditedreceipt from the table. Then he went upstairs, feeling desperately sorryfor Mr. and Mrs. Lance. He had done what he could for them, in hiseminently practical fashion, and set them on their feet again; but--forhow long? Debts! Millstones! Poor things!

  On the landing above he encountered Mrs. Gaymer, wide-eyed andincredulous.

  "Lance would like to see you now," she said. "In here!" She opened adoor. "And--and--I say," she added, half in a whisper, "surely you don'tmean to say he's been and _gawn_!"

  For answer Hughie awkwardly handed her the stamped receipt, and passedinto the bedroom.

  His interview with Lance lasted an hour and a half. Much passed betweenthem during that period, and by the time Hughie rose and said he must begoing, each man had entirely revised his opinion of the other. Most ofus have the right stuff concealed in us somewhere, however heavily itmay be overlaid by folly or vanity or desire to make a show. There arefew men who do not improve on acquaintance, once you get right throughthe veneer.

  Poor Lance, struggling in deep waters, suddenly discovered in the dourand undemonstrative Hughie a cheerful helper and--most precious of allto a proud nature--an entirely uncritical confidant. Hughie on his partdiscovered what he had rather doubted before, namely, that Lance was aman. Moreover, he presently laid bare a truly human and rather sad taleof genuine ability and secret ambition, heavily handicapped by youthfulcocksureness and want of ballast.

  They discussed many things in that dingy bedroom: Lance's past; UncleJimmy's little allowance, mortgaged many years in advance; the creditorsto whom, together with the law of the land, he was indebted for thepresence beneath his roof of the versatile Mr. Mould; his future; thejournalistic work which was promised him as soon as he should be fitagain; Mrs. Lance; and also Mr. Haliburton.

  Joan's name was barely mentioned. Lance exhibited a newborn delicacy inthe matter. His officious solicitude on his sister's behalf was dead; heknew now that no woman need ever regret having trusted Hugh Marrable;and he was content to leave it at that.

  "Well, I must be moving," said Hughie at last. "Buck up, and get fit!It's good to hear that there's work waiting for you when you get aboutagain. Grand tonic, that! So long!"

  He shook Lance's hand, and the two parted undemonstratively. Lance madeno set speech: he appreciated Hughie's desire that there should be noreturning of thanks or contrite expressions of gratitude. All he saidwas:--

  "Hughie, you are a sportsman!"

  Then he settled down on his pillow with a happy sigh. He had paid Hughiethe highest compliment it was in his power to bestow--and that costs anEnglishman an effort.

  So they parted. But Mrs. Lance did not let Hughie off so easily. As sheaccompanied him downstairs to open the door for him, she suddenly seizedhis hand and kissed it. Tears were running down her cheeks.

  Hughie grew red.

  "I say, Mrs. Lance," he said in clumsy expostulation, "it's all right,you know! He'll soon be quite well again."

  "Let me cry," said Mrs. Lance comfortably. "It does me good."

  They stood together in the obscurity of the shabby little hall, andHughie, surveying the flamboyant but homely figure before him, wonderedwhat the future might hold in store for this little household. It alldepended, of course, on--

  "Mrs. Lance," he said suddenly, "tell me--do you--love him?"

  "I do!" replied Mrs. Lance, in a voice which for the moment relegatedher patchouli and dyed eyebrows to nothingness.

  "And does he--love you?"

  "He _does_--thank God!"

  "You are both all right, then," said Hughie, nodding a wise head."Nothing matters much--except that!"

  "That's true," said Mrs. Gaymer. "But--I wonder how _you_ knew!" sheadded curiously.

  "Good-bye!" said Hughie.

  * * * * *

  As Hughie stood in the darkening street a church clock began to chime.He looked at his watch.

  It was six o'clock, and he had promised faithfully to be at Joey'sentertainment at eight! He had good reason for his absence, it is true,but a reason is not always accepted as an excuse.

  "I've fairly torn it, this time!" he reflected morosely.

  He was right.

  Early next morning he arrived at the village station by the newspapertrain, and made his way on foot to Manors. A sleepy housemaid wassweeping out the hall, which was strewn with _confetti_,--some cotillionfigures had been included in last night's festivities,--and as Hughiemade his way to his dressing-room, intent upon a bath and shave beforebreakfast, he reflected not without satisfaction that, despite Joey'sprospective fulminations, he had escaped something by missing his train.

  On his dressing-table he found a note, addressed to him in Joan'shandwriting. It said:--

  DEAR HUGHIE,--To-night at the dance Mr. Haliburton asked me to marry him. Being a dutiful ward above all things, I have referred him to you. He is coming to see you to-morrow afternoon--that is, if you are back. I hope you had a good time in town.

  J.