CHAPTER EIGHT
A week after the liner Atlantic had docked at Southampton, Sam Marlowemight have been observed--and was observed by various of theresidents--sitting on a bench on the esplanade of that repellentwatering-place, Bingley-on-the-Sea, in Sussex. All watering-places onthe South Coast of England are blots on the landscape, but, though I amaware that by saying it I shall offend the civic pride of some of theothers, none are so peculiarly foul as Bingley-on-the-Sea. The asphalton the Bingley esplanade is several degrees more depressing than theasphalt on other esplanades. The Swiss waiters at the Hotel Magnificent,where Sam was stopping, are in a class of bungling incompetence bythemselves, the envy and despair of all the other Swiss waiters at allthe other Hotels Magnificent along the coast. For dreariness of aspectBingley-on-the-Sea stands alone. The very waves that break on theshingle seem to creep up the beach reluctantly, as if it revolted themto come to such a place.
Why, then, was Sam Marlowe visiting this ozone-swept Gehenna? Why, withall the rest of England at his disposal, had he chosen to spend a weekat breezy, blighted Bingley?
Simply because he had been disappointed in love. He had sought reliefby slinking off alone to the most benighted spot he knew, in the samespirit as other men in similar circumstances had gone off to theRockies to shoot grizzly-bears.
To a certain extent the experiment had proved successful. If the HotelMagnificent had not cured his agony, the service and the cooking therehad at least done much to take his mind off it. His heart still ached,but he felt equal to going to London and seeing his father, which, ofcourse, he ought to have done immediately upon his arrival in England.
He rose from his bench, and, going back to the hotel to enquire abouttrains, observed a familiar figure in the lobby. Eustace Hignett wasleaning over the counter, in conversation with the desk-clerk.
"Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam.
"Hullo, Sam!" said Eustace.
There was a brief silence. The conversational opening had been a littleunfortunately chosen, for it reminded both men of a painful episode intheir recent lives.
"What are you doing here?" asked Eustace.
"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Sam.
"I came to see you," said Eustace, leading his cousin out of the lobbyand onto the bleak esplanade. A fine rain had begun to fall, andBingley looked, if possible, worse than ever. "I asked for you at yourclub, and they told me you had come down here."
"What did you want to see me about?"
"The fact is, old man, I'm in a bit of a hole."
"What's the matter?"
"It's rather a long story," said Eustace deprecatingly.
"Go ahead."
"I don't know where to begin."
"Have a dash at starting at the beginning."
Eustace stared gloomily at a stranded crab on the beach below. The crabstared gloomily back.
"Well, you remember my telling you about the girl I met on the boat?"
"Jane Something?"
"Jane Hubbard," said Eustace reverently. "Sam, I love that girl."
"I know. You told me."
"But I didn't tell _her_. I tried to muster up the nerve, but wegot to Southampton without my having clicked. What a dashed difficultthing a proposal is to bring off, isn't it! I didn't bring it off, andit began to look to me as though I was in the soup. And then she toldme something which gave me an idea. She said the Bennetts had invitedher to stay with them in the country when she got to England, Old Mr.Bennett and his pal Mortimer, Bream's father, were trying to get ahouse somewhere which they could share. Only so far they hadn't managedto find the house they wanted. When I heard that, I said 'Ha!'"
"You said what?" asked Sam.
"I said 'Ha!'"
"Why?"
"Because I had an idea. Don't interrupt, old man, or you'll get memuddled. Where was I?"
"I don't know."
"I remember. I'd just got the idea. I happened to know, you see, thatBennett and Mortimer were both frightfully keen on getting Windles forthe summer, but my mother wouldn't hear of it and gave them both themiss-in-baulk. It suddenly occurred to me that mother was going to beaway in America all the summer, so why shouldn't I make a private deal,let them the house, and make it a stipulation that I was to stay there tolook after things? And, to cut a long story short, that's what I did."
"You let Windles?"
"Yes. Old Bennett was down on the dock at Southampton to meetWilhelmina, and I fixed it up with him then and there. He was so buckedat the idea of getting the place that he didn't kick for a moment atthe suggestion that I should stick on at the house. Said he would bedelighted to have me there, and wrote out a fat check on the spot. Wehired a car and drove straight over--it's only about twenty miles fromSouthampton, you know,--and we've been there ever since. Bennett sent awire to Mortimer, telling him to join us, and he came down next day."
He paused, and looked at Sam as though desiring comment. Sam had noneto offer.
"Why do you say you're in a hole?" he asked. "It seems to me as thoughyou had done yourself a bit of good. You've got the check, and you'rein the same house with Miss Hubbard. What more do you want?"
"But suppose mother gets to hear about it?"
"Well?"
"She'd be sorer than a sunburned neck."
"Probably. But why should she hear of it?"
"Ah! I'm coming to that."
"Is there some more of the story?"
"Quite a lot."
"Charge on," said Sam resignedly.
Eustace Hignett fixed a despondent gaze on the shingle, up which thegray waves were crawling with their usual sluggish air of wishingthemselves elsewhere. A rain-drop fell down the back of his neck, buthe did not notice it.
"It was the weather that really started it," he said.
"Started what?"
"The trouble. What sort of weather have you been having here?"
"I haven't noticed."
"Well, down at Windles it has been raining practically all the time,and after about a couple of days it became fairly clear to me thatBennett and Mortimer were getting a bit fed. I mean to say, havingspent all their lives in America, don't you know, they weren't used toa country where it rained all the time, and pretty soon it began to geton their nerves. They started quarrelling. Nothing bad at first, buthotting up more and more, till at last they were hardly on speakingterms. Every little thing that happened seemed to get the wind up them.There was that business of Smith, for instance."
"Who's Smith?"
"Mortimer's bull-dog. Old Bennett is scared of him, and wants him keptin the stables, but Mortimer insists on letting him roam about thehouse. Well, they scrapped a goodish bit about that. And then there wasthe orchestrion. You remember the orchestrion?"
"I haven't been down at Windles since I was a kid."
"That's right. I forgot that. Well, my pater had an orchestrion put inthe drawing-room. One of these automatic things you switch on, youknow. Makes a devil of a row. Bennett can't stand it, and Mortimerinsists on playing it all day. Well, they hotted up a goodish bit overthat."
"Well, I don't see how all this affects you. If they want to scrap, whynot let them?"
"Yes, but, you see, the most frightful thing has happened. At least, ithasn't happened yet, but it may any day. Bennett's talking about takinglegal advice to see if he can't induce Mortimer to cheese it by law as hecan't be stopped any other way. And the deuce of it is, your father'sBennett's legal representative over in England, and he's sure to goto him."
"Well, that'll do the pater a bit of good. Legal fees."
Eustace Hignett waved his arms despairingly at his cousin's obtuseness.
"But don't you see? If Bennett goes to your father about this binge,your father will get onto the fact that Windles has been let, and he'llnose about and make enquiries, and the first thing that'll happen willbe that mother will get to hear of it, and then where shall I be?"
Sam pondered.
"Yes, there's that," he admitted.
"W
ell, now you see what a hole I'm in."
"Yes, you are. What are you going to do about it?"
"You're the only person who can help me."
"What can _I_ do?"
"Why, your father wants you to join the firm, doesn't he? Well, forgoodness sake, buck up and join it. Don't waste a minute. Dash up toLondon by the next train, and sign on. Then, if Bennett does blow infor advice, you can fix it somehow that he sees you instead of yourfather, and it'll be all right. You can easily work it. Get the office-boyor somebody to tell Bennett that your father's engaged, but that you areon the spot. He won't mind so long as he sees somebody in the firm."
"But I don't know anything about the law. What shall I say to him?"
"That's all right. I've been studying it up a bit. As far as I cangather, this legal advice business is quite simple. Anything that isn'ta tort is a misdemeanour. You've simply got to tell old Bennett that inyour opinion the whole thing looks jolly like a tort."
"What's the word again?"
"Tort."
"What does it mean?"
"I don't know. Probably nobody knows. But it's a safe card to play.Tort. Don't forget it."
"Tort. Right ho!"
"Well, then, come along and pack your things. There's a train to Londonin about an hour."
They walked back to the hotel. Sam gulped once or twice.
"Oh, by the way," he said, "Er--how is--er--Miss Bennett?"
"Oh, she's all right." Eustace Hignett hummed a gay air. Sam's readyacquiescence in his scheme had relieved his apprehensive mind.
"Going strong?" said Sam, after a pause.
"Oh, absolutely. We're quite good friends again now. No use being inthe same house and not being on speaking terms. It's rummy how thepassage of time sort of changes a fellow's point of view. Why, when shetold me about her engagement, I congratulated her as cheerfully asdammit! And only a few weeks ago...."
"Her engagement!" exclaimed Sam, leaping like a stricken blanc-mange."Her en-gug-gug-gagement!"
"To Bream Mortimer, you know," said Eustace Hignett. "She got engagedto him the day before yesterday."