AHEAD OF SCHEDULE
It was to Wilson, his valet, with whom he frequently chatted in airyfashion before rising of a morning, that Rollo Finch first disclosedhis great idea. Wilson was a man of silent habit, and men of silenthabit rarely escaped Rollo's confidences.
'Wilson,' he said one morning from the recesses of his bed, as thevalet entered with his shaving-water, 'have you ever been in love?'
'Yes, sir,' said the valet, unperturbed.
One would hardly have expected the answer to be in the affirmative.Like most valets and all chauffeurs, Wilson gave the impression ofbeing above the softer emotions.
'What happened?' inquired Rollo.
'It came to nothing, sir,' said Wilson, beginning to strop the razorwith no appearance of concern.
'Ah!' said Rollo. 'And I bet I know why. You didn't go the right way towork.'
'No, sir?'
'Not one fellow in a hundred does. I know. I've thought it out. I'vebeen thinking the deuce of a lot about it lately. It's dashed tricky,this making love. Most fellows haven't a notion how to work it. Nosystem. No system, Wilson, old scout.'
'No, sir?'
'Now, I _have_ a system. And I'll tell it you. It may do you a bitof good next time you feel that impulse. You're not dead yet. Now, mysystem is simply to go to it gradually, by degrees. Work by schedule.See what I mean?'
'Not entirely, sir.'
'Well, I'll give you the details. First thing, you want to find thegirl.'
'Just so, sir.'
'Well, when you've found her, what do you do? You just look at her. Seewhat I mean?'
'Not entirely, sir.'
'Look at her, my boy. That's just the start--the foundation. Youdevelop from that. But you keep away. That's the point. I've thoughtthis thing out. Mind you, I don't claim absolutely all the credit forthe idea myself. It's by way of being based on Christian Science.Absent treatment, and all that. But most of it's mine. All the finework.'
'Yes, sir?'
'Yes. Absolutely all the fine work. Here's the thing in a nutshell. Youfind the girl. Right. Of course, you've got to meet her once, just toestablish the connexion. Then you get busy. First week, looks. Justlook at her. Second week, letters. Write to her every day. Third week,flowers. Send her some every afternoon. Fourth week, presents with abit more class about them. Bit of jewellery now and then. See what Imean? Fifth week,--lunches and suppers and things. Sixth week, propose,though you can do it in the fifth week if you see a chance. You've gotto leave that to the fellow's judgement. Well, there you are. See whatI mean?'
Wilson stropped his master's razor thoughtfully.
'A trifle elaborate, sir, is it not?' he said.
Rollo thumped the counterpane.
'I knew you'd say that. That's what nine fellows out of ten_would_ say. They'd want to rush it. I tell you, Wilson, oldscout, you _can't_ rush it.'
Wilson brooded awhile, his mind back in the passionate past.
'In Market Bumpstead, sir--'
'What the deuce is Market Bumpstead?'
'A village, sir, where I lived until I came to London.'
'Well?'
'In Market Bumpstead, sir, the prevailing custom was to escort theyoung lady home from church, buy her some little present--some ribbons,possibly--next day, take her for a walk, and kiss her, sir.'
Wilson's voice, as he unfolded these devices of the dashing youth ofMarket Bumpstead, had taken on an animation quite unsuitable to aconscientious valet. He gave the impression of a man who does notdepend on idle rumour for his facts. His eye gleamed unprofessionallyfor a moment before resuming its habitual expression of quietintrospection.
Rollo shook his head.
'That sort of thing might work in a village,' he said, 'but you wantsomething better for London.'
* * * * *
Rollo Finch--in the present unsatisfactory state of the law parents maystill christen a child Rollo--was a youth to whom Nature had given acheerful disposition not marred by any superfluity of brain. Everyoneliked Rollo--the great majority on sight, the rest as soon as theyheard that he would be a millionaire on the death of his Uncle Andrew.There is a subtle something, a sort of nebulous charm, as it were,about young men who will be millionaires on the death of their UncleAndrew which softens the ruggedest misanthrope.
Rollo's mother had been a Miss Galloway, of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,U.S.A.; and Andrew Galloway, the world-famous Braces King, the inventorand proprietor of the inimitable 'Tried and Proven', was her brother.His braces had penetrated to every corner of the earth. Wherevercivilization reigned you would find men wearing Galloway's 'Tried andProven'.
Between Rollo and this human benefactor there had always existedfriendly relations, and it was an open secret that, unless his unclewere to marry and supply the world with little Galloways as well asbraces, the young man would come into his money.
So Rollo moved on his way through life, popular and happy. Always merryand bright. That was Rollo.
Or nearly always. For there were moments--we all have our greyermoments--when he could have wished that Mr Galloway had been a trifleolder or a trifle less robust. The Braces potentate was at presentpassing, in excellent health, through the Indian summer of life. Hewas, moreover, as has been stated, by birth and residence a Pittsburghman. And the tendency of middle-aged Pittsburgh millionaires to marrychorus-girls is notoriously like the homing instinct of pigeons.Something--it may be the smoke--seems to work on them like a charm.
In the case of Andrew Galloway, Nature had been thwarted up till now bythe accident of an unfortunate attachment in early life. The facts werenot fully known, but it was generally understood that his fiancee hadexercised Woman's prerogative and changed her mind. Also, that she haddone this on the actual wedding-day, causing annoyance to all, and hadclinched the matter by eloping to Jersey City with the prospectivebridegroom's own coachman. Whatever the facts, there was no doubt abouttheir result. Mr Galloway, having abjured woman utterly, had flunghimself with moody energy into the manufacture and propagation of his'Tried and Proven' Braces, and had found consolation in it ever since.He would be strong, he told himself, like his braces. Hearts might snapbeneath a sudden strain. Not so the 'Tried and Proven'. Love might tugand tug again, but never more should the trousers of passion break awayfrom the tough, masterful braces of self-control.
As Mr Galloway had been in this frame of mind for a matter of elevenyears, it seemed to Rollo not unreasonable to hope that he mightcontinue in it permanently. He had the very strongest objection to hisuncle marrying a chorus-girl; and, as the years went on and thedisaster did not happen, his hopes of playing the role of heir till thefall of the curtain grew stronger and stronger. He was one of thoseyoung men who must be heirs or nothing. This is the age of thespecialist, and years ago Rollo had settled on his career. Even as aboy, hardly capable of connected thought, he had been convinced thathis speciality, the one thing he could do really well, was to inheritmoney. All he wanted was a chance. It would be bitter if Fate shouldwithhold it from him.
He did not object on principle to men marrying chorus-girls. On thecontrary, he wanted to marry one himself.
It was this fact which had given that turn to his thoughts which hadfinally resulted in the schedule.
* * * * *
The first intimation that Wilson had that the schedule was actually tobe put into practical operation was when his employer, one Mondayevening, requested him to buy a medium-sized bunch of the best redroses and deliver them personally, with a note, to Miss MargueriteParker at the stage-door of the Duke of Cornwall's Theatre.
Wilson received the order in his customary gravely deferential manner,and was turning to go; but Rollo had more to add.
'Flowers, Wilson,' he said, significantly.
'So I understood you to say, sir. I will see to it at once.'
'See what I mean? Third week, Wilson.'
'Indeed, sir?'
Rollo remained for a momen
t in what he would have called thought.
'Charming girl, Wilson.'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Seen the show?'
'Not yet, sir.'
'You should,' said Rollo, earnestly. 'Take my advice, old scout, andsee it first chance you get. It's topping. I've had the same seat inthe middle of the front row of the stalls for two weeks.'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Looks, Wilson! The good old schedule.'
'Have you noticed any satisfactory results, sir?'
'It's working. On Saturday night she looked at me five times. She's adelightful girl, Wilson. Nice, quiet girl--not the usual sort. I mether first at a lunch at Oddy's. She's the last girl on the O.P. side.I'm sure you'd like her, Wilson.'
'I have every confidence in your taste, sir.'
'You'll see her for yourself this evening. Don't let the fellow at thestage-door put you off. Slip him half a crown or a couple of quid orsomething, and say you must see her personally. Are you a closeobserver, Wilson?'
'I think so, sir.'
'Because I want you to notice particularly how she takes it. See thatshe reads the note in your presence. I've taken a good deal of troubleover that note, Wilson. It's a good note. Well expressed. Watch herface while she's reading it.'
'Very good, sir. Excuse me, sir.'
'Eh?'
'I had almost forgotten to mention it. Mr Galloway rang up on thetelephone shortly before you came in.'
'What! Is he in England?'
Mr Galloway was in the habit of taking occasional trips to GreatBritain to confer with the general manager of his London branch. Rollohad grown accustomed to receiving no notice of these visits.
'He arrived two days ago on the _Baltic_, sir. He left a messagethat he was in London for a week, and would be glad if you would dinewith him tomorrow at his club.'
Rollo nodded. On these occasions it was his practice to hold himselfunreservedly at Mr Galloway's disposal. The latter's invitations wereroyal commands. Rollo was glad that the visit had happened now. Inanother two weeks it might have been disastrous to the schedule.
The club to which the Braces King belonged was a richly but gloomilyfurnished building in Pall Mall, a place of soft carpets, shadedlights, and whispers. Grave, elderly men moved noiselessly to and fro,or sat in meditative silence in deep arm-chairs. Sometimes the visitorfelt that he was in a cathedral, sometimes in a Turkish bath; while nowand then there was a suggestion of the waiting-room of a more thanusually prosperous dentist. It was magnificent, but not exhilarating.
Rollo was shown into the smoking-room, where his uncle received him.There was a good deal of Mr Andrew Galloway. Grief, gnawing at hisheart, had not sagged his ample waistcoat, which preceded him as hemoved in much the same manner as Birnam Woods preceded the army ofMacduff. A well-nourished hand crept round the corner of the edificeand enveloped Rollo's in a powerful grip.
'Ah, my boy!' bellowed Mr Galloway cheerfully. His voice was alwaysloud. 'Glad you've come.'
It would be absurd to say that Rollo looked at his uncle keenly. He wasnot capable of looking keenly at anyone. But certainly a puzzledexpression came into his face. Whether it was the heartiness of theother's hand-shake or the unusual cheeriness of his voice, he could notsay; but something gave him the impression that a curious change hadcome over the Braces King. When they had met before during the last fewyears Mr Galloway had been practically sixteen stone five of blood andiron--one of those stern, soured men. His attitude had been that of onefor whom Life's music had ceased. Had he then inserted another record?His manner conveyed that idea.
Sustained thought always gave Rollo a headache. He ceased to speculate.
'Still got the same _chef_ here, uncle?' he said. 'Deuced brainyfellow. I always like dining here.'
'Here!' Mr Galloway surveyed the somnolent occupants of the room withspirited scorn. 'We aren't going to dine in this forsaken oldmausoleum. I've sent in my resignation today. If I find myself wantingthis sort of thing at any time, I'll go to Paris and hunt up theMorgue. Bunch of old dead-beats! Bah! I've engaged a table at Romano's.That's more in my line. Get your coat, and let's be going.'
In the cab Rollo risked the headache. At whatever cost this thing mustbe pondered over. His uncle prattled gaily throughout the journey. Oncehe whooped--some weird, forgotten college yell, dragged from the mistydepths of the past. It was passing strange. And in this unusual mannerthe two rolled into the Strand, and drew up at Romano's door.
Mr Galloway was a good trencherman. At a very early date he hadrealized that a man who wishes to make satisfactory braces must keephis strength up. He wanted a good deal here below, and he wanted itwarm and well cooked. It was, therefore, not immediately that hisdinner with Rollo became a feast of reason and a flow of soul. Indeed,the two revellers had lighted their cigars before the elder gave forthany remark that was not purely gastronomic.
When he did jerk the conversation up on to a higher plane, he jerked ithard. He sent it shooting into the realms of the soulful with a whiz.
'Rollo,' he said, blowing a smoke-ring, 'do you believe in affinities?'
Rollo, in the act of sipping a liqueur brandy, lowered his glass insurprise. His head was singing slightly as the result of some ratherspirited Bollinger (extra sec), and he wondered if he had heard aright.
Mr Galloway continued, his voice rising as he spoke.
'My boy,' he said, 'I feel young tonight for the first time in years.And, hang it, I'm not so old! Men have married at twice my age.'
Strictly speaking, this was incorrect, unless one counted Methuselah;but perhaps Mr Galloway spoke figuratively.
'Three times my age,' he proceeded, leaning back and blowing smoke,thereby missing his nephew's agitated start. 'Four times my age. Fivetimes my age. Six--'
He pulled himself together in some confusion. A generous wine, thatBollinger. He must be careful.
He coughed.
'Are you--you aren't--are you--' Rollo paused. 'Are you thinking ofgetting married, uncle?'
Mr Galloway's gaze was still on the ceiling.
'A great deal of nonsense,' he yelled severely, 'is talked about menlowering themselves by marrying actresses. I was a guest at asupper-party last night at which an actress was present. And a morecharming, sensible girl I never wish to meet. Not one of your silly,brainless chits who don't know the difference between lobster Newburgand canvas-back duck, and who prefer sweet champagne to dry. No, sir!Not one of your mincing, affected kind who pretend they never touchanything except a spoonful of cold _consomme_. No, sir! Good, healthyappetite. Enjoyed her food, and knew why she was enjoying it. I giveyou my word, my boy, until I met her I didn't know a woman existed whocould talk so damned sensibly about a _bavaroise au rhum_.'
He suspended his striking tribute in order to relight his cigar.
'She can use a chafing-dish,' he resumed, his voice vibrating withemotion. 'She told me so. She said she could fix chicken so that a manwould leave home for it.' He paused, momentarily overcome. '_And_Welsh rarebits,' he added reverently.
He puffed hard at his cigar.
'Yes,' he said. 'Welsh rarebits, too. And because,' he shoutedwrathfully, 'because, forsooth, she earns an honest living by singingin the chorus of a comic opera, a whole bunch of snivelling idiots willsay I have made a fool of myself. Let them!' he bellowed, sitting upand glaring at Rollo. 'I say, let them! I'll show them that AndrewGalloway is not the man to--to--is not the man--' He stopped. 'Well,anyway, I'll show them,' he concluded rather lamely.
Rollo eyed him with fallen jaw. His liqueur had turned to wormwood. Hehad been fearing this for years. You may drive out Nature with apitchfork, but she will return. Blood will tell. Once a Pittsburghmillionaire, always a Pittsburgh millionaire. For eleven years hisuncle had fought against his natural propensities, with apparentsuccess; but Nature had won in the end. His words could have no othermeaning. Andrew Galloway was going to marry a chorus-girl.
Mr Galloway rapped on the table, and ordered another kummel.
r /> 'Marguerite Parker!' he roared dreamily, rolling the words round histongue, like port.
'Marguerite Parker!' exclaimed Rollo, bounding in his chair.
His uncle met his eye sternly.
'That was the name I said. You seem to know it. Perhaps you havesomething to say against the lady. Eh? Have you? Have you? I warn youto be careful. What do you know of Miss Parker? Speak!'
'Er--no, no. Oh, no! I just know the name, that's all. I--I ratherthink I met her once at lunch. Or it may have been somebody else. Iknow it was someone.'
He plunged at his glass. His uncle's gaze relaxed its austerity.
'I hope you will meet her many more times at lunch, my boy. I hope youwill come to look upon her as a second mother.'
This was where Rollo asked if he might have a little more brandy.
When the restorative came he drank it at a gulp; then looked across athis uncle. The great man still mused.
'Er--when is it to be?' asked Rollo. 'The wedding, and all that?'
'Hardly before the Fall, I think. No, not before the Fall. I shall bebusy till then. I have taken no steps in the matter yet.'
'No steps? You mean--? Haven't you--haven't you proposed?'
'I have had no time. Be reasonable, my boy; be reasonable.'
'Oh!' said Rollo.
He breathed a long breath. A suspicion of silver lining had becomevisible through the clouds.
'I doubt,' said Mr Galloway, meditatively, 'if I shall be able to findtime till the end of the week. I am very busy. Let me see. Tomorrow?No. Meeting of the shareholders. Thursday? Friday? No. No, it will haveto stand over till Saturday. After Saturday's matinee. That will doexcellently.'
* * * * *
There is a dramatic spectacle to be observed every day in this land ofours, which, though deserving of recognition, no artist has yetpictured on canvas. We allude to the suburban season-ticket holder'ssudden flash of speed. Everyone must have seen at one time or another ahappy, bright-faced season-ticket holder strolling placidly towards thestation, humming, perhaps, in his light-heartedness, some gay air. Hefeels secure. Fate cannot touch him, for he has left himself for onceplenty of time to catch that 8.50, for which he has so often sprintedlike the gazelle of the prairie. As he strolls, suddenly his eye fallson the church clock. The next moment with a passionate cry he isendeavouring to lower his record for the fifty-yard dash. All the whilehis watch has been fifteen minutes slow.
In just such a case was Rollo Finch. He had fancied that he had plentyof time. And now, in an instant, the fact was borne in upon him that hemust hurry.
For the greater part of the night of his uncle's dinner he laysleepless, vainly endeavouring to find a way out of the difficulty. Itwas not till early morning that he faced the inevitable. He hated toabandon the schedule. To do so meant changing a well-ordered advanceinto a forlorn hope. But circumstances compelled it. There are momentswhen speed alone can save love's season-ticket holder.
On the following afternoon he acted. It was no occasion for stint. Hehad to condense into one day the carefully considered movements of twoweeks, and to the best of his ability he did so. He bought threebouquets, a bracelet, and a gold Billiken with ruby eyes, and sent themto the theatre by messenger-boy. With them went an invitation tosupper.
Then, with the feeling that he had done all that was possible, hereturned to his flat and waited for the hour.
He dressed with more than usual care that night. Your wise generalnever throws away a move. He was particular about his tie. As a rule,Wilson selected one for him. But there had been times when Wilson hadmade mistakes. One could not rely absolutely on Wilson's taste in ties.He did not blame him. Better men than Wilson had gone wrong over anevening tie. But tonight there must be no taking of chances.
'Where do we keep our ties, Wilson?' he asked.
'The closet to the right of the door, sir. The first twelve shallowshelves, counting from the top, sir. They contain a fair selection ofour various cravats. Replicas in bulk are to be found in the third nestof drawers in your dressing-room, sir.'
'I only want one, my good man. I'm not a regiment. Ah! I stake all onthis one. Not a word, Wilson. No discussion. This is the tie I wear.What's the time?'
'Eight minutes to eleven, sir.'
'I must be off. I shall be late. I shan't want you any more tonight.Don't wait for me.'
'Very good, sir.'
Rollo left the room, pale but determined, and hailed a taxi.
* * * * *
It is a pleasant spot, the vestibule of the Carlton Hotel.Glare--glitter--distant music--fair women--brave men. But one can havetoo much of it, and as the moments pass, and she does not arrive, achill seems to creep into the atmosphere. We wait on, hoping againsthope, and at last, just as waiters and commissionaires are beginning toeye us with suspicion, we face the truth. She is not coming. Then out wecrawl into cold, callous Pall Mall, and so home. You have been throughit, dear reader, and so have I.
And so, at eleven forty-five that evening, had Rollo. For a fullthree-quarters of an hour he waited, scanning the face of each newarrival with the anxious scrutiny of a lost dog seeking its master; butat fourteen minutes to twelve the last faint flicker of hope had diedaway. A girl may be a quarter of an hour late for supper. She may behalf an hour late. But there is a limit, and to Rollo's mind forty-fiveminutes passed it. At ten minutes to twelve a uniformed officialoutside the Carlton signalled to a taxi-cab, and there entered it ayoung man whose faith in Woman was dead.
Rollo meditated bitterly as he drove home. It was not so much the factthat she had not come that stirred him. Many things may keep a girlfrom supper. It was the calm way in which she had ignored theinvitation. When you send a girl three bouquets, a bracelet, and a goldBilliken with ruby eyes, you do not expect an entire absence ofrecognition. Even a penny-in-the-slot machine treats you better thanthat. It may give you hairpins when you want matches but at least ittakes some notice of you.
He was still deep in gloomy thought when he inserted his latchkey andopened the door of his flat.
He was roused from his reflections by a laugh from the sitting-room. Hestarted. It was a pleasant laugh, and musical, but it sent Rollodiving, outraged, for the handle of the door. What was a woman doing inhis sitting-room at this hour? Was his flat an hotel?
The advent of an unbidden guest rarely fails to produce a certain_gene_. The sudden appearance of Rollo caused a dead silence.
It was broken by the fall of a chair on the carpet as Wilson rosehurriedly to his feet.
Rollo stood in the doorway, an impressive statue of restrainedindignation. He could see the outlying portions of a girl in blue atthe further end of the table, but Wilson obscured his vision.
'Didn't expect you back, sir,' said Wilson.
For the first time in the history of their acquaintance his accustomedcalm seemed somewhat ruffled.
'So I should think,' said Rollo. 'I believe you, by George!'
'You had better explain, Jim,' said a dispassionate voice from the endof the table.
Wilson stepped aside.
'My wife, sir,' he said, apologetically, but with pride.
'Your wife!'
'We were married this morning, sir.'
The lady nodded cheerfully at Rollo. She was small and slight, with animpudent nose and a mass of brown hair.
'Awfully glad to meet you,' she said, cracking a walnut.
Rollo gaped.
She looked at him again.
'We've met, haven't we? Oh yes, I remember. We met at lunch once. Andyou sent me some flowers. It was ever so kind of you,' she said,beaming.
She cracked another nut. She seemed to consider that the introductionswere complete and that formality could now be dispensed with once more.She appeared at peace with all men.
The situation was slipping from Rollo's grip. He continued to gape.
Then he remembered his grievance.
'I think you might have l
et me know you weren't coming to supper.'
'Supper?'
'I sent a note to the theatre this afternoon.'
'I haven't been to the theatre today. They let me off because I wasgoing to be married. I'm so sorry. I hope you didn't wait long.'
Rollo's resentment melted before the friendliness of her smile.
'Hardly any time,' he said, untruthfully.
'If I might explain, sir,' said Wilson.
'By George! If you can, you'll save me from a brainstorm. Cut loose,and don't be afraid you'll bore me. You won't.'
'Mrs Wilson and I are old friends, sir. We come from the same town. Infact--'
Rollo's face cleared.
'By George! Market what's-its-name! Why, of course. Then she--'
'Just so, sir. If you recollect, you asked me once if I had ever beenin love, and I replied in the affirmative.'
'And it was--'
'Mrs Wilson and I were engaged to be married before either of us cameto London. There was a misunderstanding, which was entirely my--'
'Jim! It was mine.'
'No, it was all through my being a fool.'
'It was not. You know it wasn't!'
Rollo intervened.
'Well?'
'And when you sent me with the flowers, sir--well, we talked it overagain, and--that was how it came about, sir.'
The bride looked up from her walnuts.
'You aren't angry?' she smiled up at Rollo.
'Angry?' He reflected. Of course, it was only reasonable that he shouldbe a little--well, not exactly angry, but--And then for the first timeit came to him that the situation was not entirely without itscompensations. Until that moment he had completely forgotten MrGalloway.
'Angry?' he said. 'Great Scott, no! Jolly glad I came back in time toget a bit of the wedding-breakfast. I want it, I can tell you. I'mhungry. Here we all are, eh? Let's enjoy ourselves. Wilson, old scout,bustle about and give us your imitation of a bridegroom mixing a "B.and S." for the best man. Mrs Wilson, if you'll look in at the theatretomorrow you'll find one or two small wedding presents waiting for you.Three bouquets--they'll be a bit withered, I'm afraid--a bracelet, anda gold Billiken with ruby eyes. I hope he'll bring you luck. Oh,Wilson!'
'Sir?'
'Touching this little business--don't answer if it's a delicatequestion, but I _should_ like to know--I suppose you didn't trythe schedule. What? More the Market Thingummy method, eh? The one youdescribed to me?'
'Market Bumpstead, sir?' said Wilson. 'On those lines.'
Rollo nodded thoughtfully.
'It seems to me,' he said, 'they know a thing or two down in MarketBumpstead.'
'A very rising little place, sir,' assented Wilson.