No More Learning

suppose we may now go to dinner,' she said. Lucian will sup on sandwich somewhere about mid-
night. '
In the hall they found Sprats enveloped in an ulster
which completely covered her dinner-gown; Lucian was cramming handful of money, obviously taken at random from receptacle where paper-currency and gold and silver coins were all mingled together, into pocket; footman was carrying case of food and wine out to the cab. Mrs. Berenson insisted on seeing the two apostles of charity depart—the entire episode had put her into good temper, and she enlivened the next hour with artless descriptions of her various states of feeling. Her chatter amused Saxonstowe; Darlington and Mrs. Damerel appeared to have heard much of on previous occasions, and received with
equanimity. As soon as dinner was over she announced that Lucian
it
is
if
it
I'
a I I' it,
a
a
I a
aI
'
I'''''
aI a
'
'
a
! '
I '
'
I a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 125
had been at home she had meant to spend the rest of the evening in expounding her ideas on the subject of the wished-for drama to him, but as things were she would go round to the Empire for an hour—she would just be in time, she said, to see a turn in which the per- former, a contortionist, could tie himself into a com- pHcated knot, dislocate every joint in his body, and assume the most grotesque positions, all without break- ing himself in pieces.
' It is the grimmest performance,' she said to Saxon- stowe; ' it makes me dream, and I wake screaming; and the sensation of finding that the dream is a dream, and not a reality, is so exquisite that I treat myself to it at least once a week. I think that all great artists should cultivate sensations —don't you? '
Upon this point Saxonstowe was unable to give a satisfactory answer, but he replied very politely that he trusted Mrs. Berenson would enjoy her treat. Soon after her departure he made his own adieu, leaving Mrs. Damerel to entertain Darlington and two or three other men who had dropped in after dinner, and who seemed in nowise surprised to find Lucian not at home.
CHAPTER XIV
LuciAN swooped down upon the humble dwelling in which his less fortunate fellow resided, like an angel who came to destroy rather than to save. He took everything into his own hands, as soon as the field of operations lay open to him, and it was quite ten minutes before Sprats, by delicate finesse, managed to shut him up in one room with the invalid, while she and the wife talked practical matters in another. At the end of an hour she got him safely away from the house. He was in a pleasurable state of mind; the situation had been full of charm to him, and he walked out into the street gloating over the fact that the sick man and his wife and children were now fed and warmed and made gener- ally comfortable, and had money in the purse where- with to keep the wolf from the door for many days. His imagination had seized upon the misery which the
must have endured before help came in their way: he conjured up the empty pocket, the empty cupboard, the blank despair that comes from lack of help and sympathy, the heart sickness which springs from the powerlessness to hope any longer. He had read of these things but had never seen them: he only realised what they meant when he looked at the
faces of the sick man and his wife as he and Sprats left them. Striding away at Sprats's side, his head drooping towards his chest and his hands plunged in his pockets, Lucian ruminated upon these things and became so keenly impressed by them that he suddenly paused and uttered a sharp exclamation.
unlucky couple
' By George, Sprats! ' he said, standing still and staring at her as if he had never seen her before, ' what an awful thing poverty must be ! Did that ever strike you? '
* Often, answered Sprats, with laconic alacrity, ' as 126
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
127
it might have struck you, too, if you'd kept your eyes open. '
' I am supposed to have excellent powers of observa- tion,' he said musingly, ' but somehow I don't think I ever quite realised what poverty meant until to-night. I wonder what it would be like to try it for a while— to go without money and food and have no hope? — but, of course, one couldn't do it—one would always know that one could go back to one's usual habits, and so on. It would only be playing at being poor. I wonder, now, where the exact line would be drawn between the end of hope and the beginning of despair? — that's an awfully interesting subject, and one that I
'
all night while you moon about abstract questions? Because if you are, I'm not. *
should like to follow up. Don't you think
' Lucian,' said Sprats, interrupting him without cere- mony, ' are we going to stand here at the street comer
Lucian came out of his reverie and examined his surroundings. He had come to a halt at a point where the Essex Road is transected by the New North Road, and he gazed about him with the expression of a traveller who has wandered into strange regions.
' This is a quarter of the town which I do not know,' he said. ' Not very attractive, is it? Let us walk on to those lights — I suppose we can find a hansom
there, and then we can get back to civilisation. ' They walked forward in the direction of Islington High Street: round about the Angel there was life and animation and a plenitude of bright light; Lucian grew
interested, and finally asked a policeman what part of the town he found himself in. On hearing that that was Islington he was immediately reminded of the ' Bailiff's Daughter ' and began to recall lines of it.
But Islington and old ballads were
quite out of his thoughts by an object which had no apparent connection with poetry.
Sprats, keeping her eyes open for a hansom, suddenly
missed Lucian from her side, and turned
to find him
suddenly driven
128 LUCIAN THE DREMIER
gazing at the windows of a little caf6-restaurant \vith an Italian name over its door and a suspicion of Continental cookery about it. She turned back to him: he looked at her as a boy might look whose elder sister catches him gazing into the pastry-cook's window.
' I say, Sprats,' he said coaxingly, ' let's go in there and have supper. It's clean, and I've suddenly turned faint—I've had nothing since lunch. Dinner will be all over now at home, and besides, we're miles away. I've been in these places before —they're all right, really,
like the ristoranti in Italy, you know. ' Sprats was hungry too. She glanced at the little cafe —it appeared to be clean enough to warrant one in
eating, at any rate, a chop in it.
' I think I should like some food,' she said.
' Come on, then,' said Lucian gaily. ' Let's see what
sort of place it is. '
He pushed open the swinging doors and entered. It
was a small place, newly established, and the proprietor and his wife, two Italians, and their Swiss waiter were glad to see customers who looked as if they would need
something
more than a cup of coffee and a roll and butter. The proprietor bowed himself double and ushered them to the most comfortable comer in his establishment : he produced a lengthy menu and handed it to Lucian with great empressement; the waiter stood near, deeply interested; the proprietor's wife, gracious
of figure and round of face, leaned over the counter thinking of the coins which she would eventually deposit in her cash drawer. Lucian addressed the proprietor in Italian and discussed the menu with him; while they talked. Sprats looked about her, wondering at the red plush seats, the great mirrors in their gilded frames,
and the jars of various fruits and conserves arranged on the counter. Every table was adorned with a flowering plant fashioned out of crinkled paper; the ceiling was picked out in white and gold; the Swiss waiter's apron and napkin were very stiffly starched; the proprietor wore a frock coat, which fitted very tightly at the waist,
something
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 129
and his wife's gown was of a great smartness. Sprats decided that they were early customers in the history of the establishment —besides themselves there were only three people in the place: an old gentleman with a napkin tucked into his neckband, who was eating his dinner and reading a newspaper propped up against a bottle, and a pair of obvious lovers who were drinking
of
in a quiet comer to the accompaniment their own murmurs.
cafi-au-lait
' I had no idea that I was so hungry,' said Lucian when he and the proprietor had finally settled upon what was best to eat and drink. * I am glad I saw this place: it reminds me in some ways of Italy. I say, I don't believe those poor people had had much to eat to-day. Sprats —it is a most fortunate thing that I hap- pened to hear of them. My God! I wouldn't like to get down to that stage—it must be dreadful, especially when there are children. '
Sprats leaned her elbows on the Httle table, propped her chin in her hands, and looked at him with a curious
which he did not understand. A half-
expression
dreamy, half-speculative look came into her eyes.
* I wonder what you would do if you did get down to that stage? ' she said, with a rather quizzical smile.
Lucian stared at her.
* I? Why, what do you mean? ' he said. ' I sup- pose I should do as other men do. '
' It would be for the first time in your life, then,' she answered. * I fancy seeing you do as other men do in any circumstances. '
' But I don't think I could conceive myself at such a low ebb as that,' he said.
Sprats still stared at him with a speculative
expression. '
' Lucian,' she said suddenly, do you ever think
about the future? Everything has been made easy for you so far; does it ever strike you that fortune is in very truth a fickle jade, and that she might desert you? '
I
130
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
He looked at her as a child looks who is requested
to face an unpleasant contingency.
' I don't think of unpleasant things,' he answered.
* What's the good? And why imagine possibilities which aren't probabilities? There is no indication that fortune is going to desert me. '
' No,' said Sprats, ' but she might, and very suddenly too. Look here, Lucian; I've the right to play grand- mother always, haven't I, and there's something I want to put before you plainly. Don't you think you are living rather carelessly and extravagantly? '
Lucian knitted his brows and stared at her.
' Explain,' he said.
* Well,' she continued, * I don't think it wants much explanation. You don't bother much about money matters, do you? '
He looked at her somewhat pityingly.
' How can I do that and attend to my work? ' he asked. ' I could not possibly be pestered with things
of 'that sort. ' *
Very well,' said Sprats,
and Haidee doesn't bother about them either. Therefore, no one bothers. I know your plan, Lucian —it's charmingly simple. When
Lord Simonstower left you that ten thousand pounds you paid it into a bank, didn't you, and to it you after- wards added Haidee's two thousand when you were married. Twice a year Mr. Robertson pays your royal- ties into your account, and the royalties from your tragedy go to swell it as well. That's one side of the ledger. On the other side you and Haidee each have a cheque-book, and you draw cheques as you please and for what you please. That's all so, isn't it? '
' Yes,' answered Lucian, regarding her with amaze- ment, ' of course it is; but just think what a very simple arrangement it is. '
' Admirably simple,' Sprats replied, laughing, ' so long as there is an inexhaustible fund to draw upon. But seriously, Lucian, haven't you been drawing on
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 131
your capital? Do you know, at this moment, what you are worth? —do you know how you stand? '
' I don't suppose that I do,' he answered. ' But why
I know that Robertson pays a good deal into my account twice a year, and the royal-
all this questioning?
ties from the tragedy were big, you know. '
' But still, Lucian, you've drawn off your capital,'
she urged. * You have spent just what you pleased ever since you left Oxford, and Haidee spends what she pleases. You must have spent a lot on your ItaUan tour last year, and you are continually running over to Paris. You keep up an expensive establishment; you indulge expensive tastes; you were born, my dear Lucian, with the instincts of an epicure in everj^hing. '
' And yet I am enjoying a supper in an obscure little
'There's not much * You may gratify epicurean tastes by a sudden whim
caf6! ' he exclaimed laughingly.
extravagance
here. '
to be Spartan-Hke,' answered Sprats.
have the instincts of an epicure, and you have so far gratified them. You've never known what it was, Lucian, to be refused anything, have you? No: well, that naturally inclines you to the opinion that everything will always be made easy for you. Now supposing you lost your vogue as a poet—oh, there's nothing impos- sible about it, my dear boy ! —the public are as fickle as fortune herself—and supposing your next tragedy does not catch the popular taste—ah, and that's not impos-
sible either—what are you going to do? Because, Lucian, you must have dipped pretty heavily into your capital, and if you want some plain truths from your faithful Sprats, you spend a great deal more than you earn. Now give me another potato, and tell me plainly if you know how much your royalties amounted to last year and how much you and Haidee spent. '
' I don't know,' answered Lucian. ' I could tell by asking my bankers. Of course I have spent a good deal of money in travel, and in books, and in pictures, and in furnishing a house—could I have laid out Lord
' I say that you
132
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Simonstower's legacy in better fashion? And I do earn large sums I had a small fortune out of Domitia, you
know/
doubt,' she rephed, ' that you have had enough money to last you for all the rest of your life if
' There is no
it had been wisely invested. '
' Do you mean to say that I have no investments? '
he said, half angrily. 'Why, I have thousands of pounds invested in pictures, books, furniture, and china
my china alone is worth two thousand. '
' Dear boy, I don't doubt it,' she answered sooth-
' but you know it doesn't produce any interest. I like you to have pretty things about you, but you have
Httle modesty in your mighty brain, and you
sometimes indulge tastes which only a millionaire ought
but when you are like this you make me think of
mustard-plaisters. '
' The moral is this, ' she answered : ' come down from
ingly,
precious
to possess. '
' Well,' he said, sighing, ' I suppose there's a moral at the end of the sermon. What is it, Sprats? You are a brick, of course—in your way there's nobody like you,
the clouds and cultivate a commercial mind for ten minutes. Find out exactly what you have in the way of income, and keep within it. Tell Haidee exactly how much she has to spend. '
' You forget,' he said, ' that Haidee has two thousand pounds of her own. It's a very small fortune, but it's hers. '
' Had, you mean, not has,' replied Sprats. ' Haidee must have spent her small fortune twice over, if not thrice over. '
' It would be an unkind thing to be mean with her,' said Lucian, with an air of wise reflection. ' If Haidee had married Darlington she would have had unlimited wealth at her disposal; as she preferred to throw it all aside and marry me, I can't find it in me to deny her
anything. No, Sprats—poor little Haidee must have
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
133
her simple pleasures even if I have to deny myself of my own. '
* Oh, did you ever hear such utter rot ! ' Sprats ex- claimed. * Catch you denying yourself of anything ! Dear boy, don't be an ass — it's bad form. And Haidee's pleasures are not simple. '
* They are simple in comparison with what they might have been if she had married Darlington,' he said.
' Then why didn't she marry Darlington? ' inquired Sprats,
' Because she married me,' answered Lucian. ' She
gave up the millionaire for the struggling poet, as you
might put it if you were writing a penny-dreadful. No;
seriously. Sprats, I think there's a good deal due to
Haidee in that respect. I think she is really easily
contented. When you come to think of it, we are not
extravagant —we like pretty things and comfortable sur-
roundings, but when j^ou think of what some people
do
. '
' Oh, you're hopeless, Lucian! ' she said. * I wish
you'd been sent out to earn your living at fifteen. Honour bright—you're living in a world of dreams, and you'll have a nasty awakening some day. '
' I have given the outer world something of value from my world of dreams,' he said, smiling at her.
' You have written some very beautiful poetry, and you are a marvellously gifted man who ought to feel the responsibility of your gifts,' she said gravely. * And all I want is to keep you, if I can, from the rocks on which you might come to grief. I'm sure that if you took my advice about business matters you would avoid trouble in the future. You're too cock-sure, too easy- going, too thoughtless, Lucian, and this is a hard and a cruel world. '
' It's been a very pleasant world to me so far,' he said. 'I've never had a care or a trouble; I've heaps of friends, and I've always got everything that I wanted. Why, it's a very pleasant world! you. Sprats, have found it so, too. '
134
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
' Yes/ she said, ' I have found it pleasant, but it is hard and cruel nevertheless, and one realises it some- times when one least expects to. One may wake out of 'a dream to a very cruel reality. '
he said smiling. * And yet I swear you never had one. '
You speak as of a personal experience,'
' I don't want j^ou to have one,' she answered.
* Is sermonising a cruel reality? ' he asked with a
mock grimace.
' No, it's a necessary thing; and that reminds me that
I have not quite finished mine. Look here, Lucian,
to you. Do you think it a good thing to be so very friendly with Mr. Darlington? '
here's a straight question
Lucian dropped his knife and fork and stared at her
in ' amazement. ' Why on earth not? ' he said.
Darlington is an awfully good fellow. Of course, I know that he must have felt it when Haidee ran away with me, but he has been most kind to both of us — we have had jolly times on his yacht and at his Scotch place; and you know.
Sprats, when you can't afford things yourself it's rather nice to have friends who can give them to you. '
' Lucian, that's a piece of worldHness that's unworthy of you,' she said. ' Well, I can't say anything against Mr. Darlington. He seems kind, and he is certainly generous and hospitable, but it is well known that he was very, very much in love with Haidee, and that he felt her loss a good deal. '
' Yes, it was awfully hard on him,' said Lucian, strok- ing his chin with a thoughtful air; ' and of course that's just why one feels that one ought to be nice to him.
He and Haidee are great friends, and that's far better than that he should cherish any bitter feelings against her because she preferred me to him. '
half-curious, half- which had filled her eyes in the earlier stages of their conversation. They had now
Sprats looked at him with the speculative expression
finished their repast, and she drew on her gloves.
' I want to go home to my children,' she said. * One
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 135
of the babies has croup, and it was rather bad when I left. Pay the bill, Lucian, and get them to call a
hansom. '
Lucian put his hands in his pockets, and uttered
a sudden exclamation of dismay.
' I haven't any money,' he said. ' I left it all with
poor Watson. Have you any? '
' No,' she answered, ' of course I haven't. You
dragged me away in my dinner-dress, and it hasn't even
searching every pocket. haven't a penny. '
a pocket in it. What are you going to ' do? '
* What an awkward predicament ! said
Lucian, ' I don't know what to do—I
' Well, you must walk back to Mr. Watson's and get some money there,' said Sprats. ' You will be back in ten minutes. '
' What ! borrow money from a man to whom I have
' Oh, I couldn't do that! ' Sprats uttered an impatient exclamation.
just given it? ' he cried.
' Well, do something! ' she said. ' We can't sit here
all night. '
Lucian summoned the proprietor and explained the
The situation ended in a procession of two hansom cabs, in one of which rode Sprats and Lucian, in the other the Swiss waiter, who enjoyed a
long drive westward and finally returned to the heights of Islington with the amount of the bill and a substantial gratuity in his pocket. As Sprats pointed out with force and unction, Lucian's fooHsh pride in not returning to the Watsons and borrowing half a sovereign had in- creased the cost of their supper fourfold. But Lucian only laughed, and Sprats knew that the shillings thrown away were to him as things of no importance.
predicament.
CHAPTER XV
There had been a moment in Sprats's life when she had faced things—it was when she heard that Lucian and Haidee had made a runaway marriage. This escapade had been effected very suddenly; no one had known that these two young people were contemplating so remarkable a step. It was supposed that Miss Brinklow was fully alive to the blessings and advantages attendant upon a marriage with Mr. Eustace Darlington, who, as head of a private banking firm which carried out financial operations of vast magnitude, was a prize of much consequence in the matrimonial market: no one ever imagined that she would throw away such a chance for mere sentiment. But Haidee, shallow as she was, had a certain vein of romance in her composition; and when Lucian, in all the first flush of manhood and the joyous confidence of youth, burst upon her, she fell in love with him in a fashion calculated to last for at least a fortnight. He, too, fell madly in love with the girl's physical charms: as to her mental qualities, he never gave them a thought. She was Aphrodite, warm, rosy- tinted, and enticing; he neither ate, slept, nor drank until she was in his arms. He was a masterful lover; his passion swept Haidee out of herself, and before either knew what was really happening, they were married. They lived on each other's hearts for at least a week, but their appetites were normal again within the month, and there being no lack of money and each having a keen perception of the joie de vivre, they settled down very comfortably.
Sprats had never heard of Haidee from the time of the latter' s visit to Simonstower until she received the news of her marriage to Lucian. The tidings came to her with a curious heaviness. She had never disguised from herself the fact that she herself loved Lucian : now that
136
stances, he never
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
137
she knew he was married to another woman she set her- self the task of distinguishing between the love that she might have given him and the love which she could give him. Upon one thing she decided at once: since Lucian had elected Haidee as his life's partner, Haidee must be Sprats's friend too, even if the friendship were all on one side. She would love Haidee—for Lucian 's
sake, primarily: for her own if possible. But when events brought the three together in London, Sprats was somewhat puzzled. Lucian as a husband was the must curious and whimsical of men. He appeared to be absolutely incapable of jealousy, and would watch his
wife flirting under his eyes with appreciative amuse-
ment. He himself made love to every girl who aroused
any interest or curiosity in him—to women who bored
him he was cold as ice, and indifferent to the verge of
rudeness. He let Haidee do exactly as she pleased;
with his own liberty in anything, and under any circum-
Darlington.
Mr. Darlington had taken his pill with equanimity,
permitted interference. Sprats was never able to decide upon his precise feelings for his wife or his attitude towards her—they got on very smoothly, but each went his or her own way. And after a time Haidee's way appeared to run in parallel lines with the way of her jilted lover, Eustace
and had not even made a wry face over it. He had gone so far as to send the bride a wedding present, and had let people see that he was kindly disposed to her. When the runaways came back to town and
Lucian began the meteor-like career which brought his name so prominently before the world, Darlington saw no reason why he should keep aloof. He soon made Lucian's acquaintance, became his friend, and visited the house at regular intervals. Some people, who knew
the financier rather well, marvelled at the kindness which he showed to these young people—he entertained them on his yacht and at his place in Scotland, and Mrs. Damerel was seen
constantly, sometimes attended
by
138
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Lucian and sometimes not, in his box at the opera. At
the end of two years Darlington was regarded as Haidee's particular cavaUer, and one half their world said unkind things which, naturally, never reached Lucian 's ears. He was too fond of smoothness in life to say No to anything, and so long as he himself could tread the primrose path unchecked and untroubled, he did not care to interfere in anybody's arrangements— not even in Haidee's. It seemed to him quite an ordi- nary thing, an everyday occurrence, that he and she and Darlington should be close friends, and he went in and
out of Darlington's house just as Darlington went in
and out of his.
Lucian, all unconsciously, had developed
He watched himself playing
with as much interest as the lover of dramatic art will
egoist.
into an his part in hfe
of a great actor. He seemed to his own thinking a bright and suimy figure,
show in studying the performance
and he arranged everything on his own stage so that it formed a background against which that figure moved or stood with striking force. He was young; he was a success; people loved to have him in their houses; his photograph sold by the thousands in the shop windows; a stroll along Bond Street or Piccadilly was in the nature
of a triumphal procession; hostesses almost went down on their knees to get him to their various functions;
he might have dined out every night, if he had liked. He very often did like—popularity and admiration and flattery and homage were as incense to his nostrils, and
he accepted every gift poured at his shrine as if nothing could be too good for him. And yet no one could call him conceited, or vain, or unduly exalted : he was trans-
parently simple, ingenuous, and childhke; he took everything as a handsome child takes the gifts showered upon him by admiring seniors. He had a rare gift of making himself attractive to everybody—he would be frivolous and gay with the young, old-fashioned and grave with the elderly. He was a butterfly and a man of fashion; there was no better dressed man in town,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
139
nor a handsomer; but he was also a scholar and a student, and in whatever idle fashion he spent most of his time, there were so many hours in each day which he devoted to hard, systematic reading and to his own work. It was the only matter in which he was practi- cal; in all other moods he was a gaily painted, light- winged thing that danced and fluttered in the sun- beams. He was careless, thoughtless, light-hearted,
sanguine, and he never stopped to think of consequences or results. But through ever3rthing that critical part of him kept an interested and often amused eye on the other parts.
Sprats at this stage watched him carefully. She had soon discovered that he and Haidee were mere children in many things, and wholly incapable of management or forethought. It had been their ill-fortune to have all they wanted all their Uves, and they lived as if heaven had made a contract with them to furnish their table with manna and their wardrobes with fine linen, and keep no account of the supply. She was of a practical
mind, and had old-fashioned country notions about saving up in view of contingencies, and she expounded them at certain seasons with force and vigour to both Lucian and Haidee. But as Lucian cherished an ineradicable belief in his own star, and had never been obliged to earn his dinner before he could eat there was no impression to be made upon him; and Haidee, having always lived in the softest comer of luxury's lap, could conceive of no other state of being, and was merci-
fully spared the power of imagining one.
it,
CHAPTER XVI
In spite of Sprats's sermon in the little cafe-restaurant, Lucian made no effort to follow her advice. He was at work on a new tragedy which was to be produced at the Athenaeum in the following autumn, and had there- fore no time to give to considerations of economy, and when he was not at work he was at play, and play with Lucian was a matter of as much importance, so far as strenuous devotion to it was concerned, as work was. But there came a morning and an occurrence which for an hour at least made him recall Sprats's counsel and
ponder rather deeply on certain things which he had never pondered before.
It was ten o'clock, and Lucian and Haidee were breakfasting. They invariably spent a good hour over this meal, for both were possessed of hearty appetites, and Lucian always read his letters and his newspapers while he ate and drank. He was alternately devoting, himself to his plate and to a leading article in the Times, when the footman entered and announced that Mr. Pepperdine wished to see him. Lucian choked down a mouthful, uttered a joyous exclamation, and rushed into the hall. Mr. Pepperdine, in all the glories of a particu- larly horsy suit of clothes, was gazing about him as if he had got into a museum. He had visited Lucian's house before, and always went about in it with his mouth wide open and an air of expectancy —there was usually something fresh to see, and he never quite knew where he might come across it.
' My dear uncle ! ' cried Lucian, seizing him in his arms and dragging him into the dining-room, ' why didn't you let me know you were coming? Have you breakfasted? Have some more, any way—get into that chair. '
Mr. Pepperdine solemnly shook hands with Haidee, 140
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
141
who liked him because he betrayed such ardent and whole-souled admiration of her and had once bought her a pair of wonderful ponies, assured himself by a careful inspection that she was as pretty as ever, and took a chair, but not at the table. He had breakfasted, he' said, at his hotel, two hours earher.
Then have a drink,'' said Lucian, and rang the bell for whisky and soda. How is everybody at Simons- tower? '
* All well,' answered Mr. Pepperdine, ' very well indeed, except that Keziah has begun to suffer a good deal from rheimiatism. It's a family complaint. I'm glad to see you both well and hearty—you keep the roses in your cheeks, ma'am, and the Hght in your eyes, something wonderful, considering that you are a town- bird, as one may say. There are country maidens with less colour and brightness, so there are ! '
' You said that so prettily that I shall allow you to smoke a cigar, if you like,' said Haidee. ' Lucian, your case. '
Mr. Pepperdine shook his head knowingly as he lighted a cigar and sipped his whisky and soda. He knew a pretty woman when he saw her, he said to him- self, and it was his opinion that Mrs. Lucian Damerel was uncommonly pretty. Whenever he came to see her he could never look at her enough, and Haidee, who accepted admiration on principle, used to smile at him and air her best behaviour. She was sufficiently woman of the world to overlook the fact that Mr. Pepperdine was a tenant-farmer and used the language of the people —he was a handsome man and a dandy in his way, and he was by no means backward, in spite of his confirmed bachelorhood, of letting a pretty woman see that he had an eye for beauty. So she made herself very agreeable to Mr. Pepperdine and told him stories of the ponies, and Lucian chatted of various things, and Mr. Pepperdine, taking in the general air of comfort and luxury which surrounded these young people, felt that his nephew had begun life in fine style and was uncommonly clever.
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
They went into Lucian's study when breakfast was over, and Lucian lighted a pipe and began to chat carelessly of Simonstower and old times there. Mr. Pepperdine, however, changed the subject somewhat
abruptly. said, ' I'll tell you what , s ' Lucian, my boy,' he
brought me here: I want you to lend me a thousand pounds for a twelvemonth. Will you do that? '
' Why, of course! ' exclaimed Lucian. ' I shall be only too pleased—for as long as ever you like. '
' A year will do for me,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. ' I'll explain matters,' and he went on to tell Lucian the story of the Bransby defalcations, and his own loss,
and of the late Lord Simonstower's generosity. ' He was very good about it, was the old lord,' he said: ' it made things easy for me while he lived, but now he's dead, and I can't expect the new lord to be as con- siderate. I've had a tightish time lately, Lucian, my boy, and money's been scarce; but you can have your thousand pounds back at the twelvemonth end — I'm a man of my word in all matters. ' Lucian, ' there must be
* My dear uncle ! ' exclaimed
no talk of that sort between us. Of course you shall have the money at once—that is as' soon as we can get to the bank. Or will a cheque do?
' Aught that's of the value of a thousand pounds'll do for me,' replied Mr. Pepperdine. ' I want to complete a certain transaction with the money this afternoon, and if you give me a cheque I can call in at your bank. '
Lucian produced his cheque-book and wrote out a
for the amount which his uncle wished to borrow. Mr. Pepperdine insisted upon drawing up a formal memorandum of its receipt, and admonished his nephew to put it carefully away with his other business papers. But Lucian never kept any business papers—
his usual practice was to tear everything up that looked like a business document and throw the fragments into the waste-paper basket. He would treasure the most
cheque
obscure second-hand bookseller's catalogue
as if it had
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
143
been a gilt-edged secnril^y, but bills and receipts and business letters annoyed him, and Mr. Pepperdine's carefully scrawled sheet of notepaper went into the usual receptacle as soon as its writer had left the room. And as he crumpled it up and threw it into the basket, laugh- ing at the old-fashioned habits of his uncle, Lucian also threw off all recollection of the incident and became absorbed in his new tragedy.
Coming in from the theatre that night he found a little pile of letters waiting for him on the hall table, and he took them into his study and opened them care- lessly. There was a long epistle from Mrs. Berenson — he read half of it and threw that and the remaining sheets away with an exclamation of impatience. There was a note from the great actor-manager who was going to produce the new tragedy—he laid that open on his desk and put a paper-weight upon it. The rest of his letters were invitations, requests for autographs, gushing epistles from admiring readers, and so on—he soon bundled them all together and laid them aside. But there was one which he had kept to the last — a formal- looking affair with the name of his bank engraved on the flap of the envelope, and he opened it with some curi- osity. The letter which it enclosed was short and formal, but when Lucian had read it he recognised in some vague and not very definite fashion that it con- stituted an epoch. He read it again and yet again, with knitted brows and puzzled eyes, and then he put it on his desk and sat staring at it as if he did not understand the news which it was meant to convey to him.
It was a very commonplace communication this, but Lucian had never seen anything of its sort before. It was just a brief, politely worded note from his bankers, informing him that they had that day paid a cheque for one thousand pounds, drawn by him in favour of Simpson Pepperdine, Esquire, and that his account was now overdrawn by the sum of £187, los. od. That was all—there was not even a delicately expressed request to him to put the account in credit.
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Lucian could not quite realise what this letter meant; he said nothing to Haidee of it, but after breakfast next morning he drove to the bank and asked to see the
Once closeted with that gentleman in his private room he drew out the letter and laid it on the desk at which the manager sat.
The manager smiled.
' It seems quite plain, I think,' he said pleasantly.
' It means that your account is overdrawn to the amount of £187, los. od. '
manager.
' I don't quite understand this letter,' he said. * Would you mind explaining it to me? '
Lucian sat down and stared at him.
* Does that mean that I have exhausted all the money
I placed in your hands, and have drawn on you for £187, los. od. in addition? ' he asked.
' Precisely, Mr. Damerel,' answered the manager. ' Your balance yesterday morning was about £820, and you drew a cheque in favour of Mr. Pepperdine for
That, of course, puts you in our debt. ' Lucian stared harder than ever.
' You're quite sure there is no mistake? ' he said. The manager smiled.
£1000.
' Quite sure I ' he replied. ' But surely you have had your pass-book? '
Lucian had dim notions that a small book bound in parchment had upon occasions been handed to him over the counter of the bank, and on others had been posted by him to the bank at some clerk's request; he also remembered that he had once opened it and found it full of figures, at the sight of which he had hastily closed it again.
* I suppose I have,' he answered.
* I believe it is in our possession just now,' said the manager. * If you will excuse me one moment I will fetch it. '
He came back with the pass-book in his hand and offered it to Lucian.
* It is posted up to date,' he said.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
145
Lucian took the book and turned its pages over.
' Yes, but—' he said. * I—do I understand that all the money that has been paid in to my account here is now spent? You have received royalties on my behalf
from Mr. Robertson and from Mr. Harcourt of the Athenaeum? '
* You will find them all specified in the pass-book, Mr. Damerel,' said the manager. * There will, I pre- sume, be further payments to come from the same sources? '
* Of course there will be the royalties from Mr. Robertson every half-year,' answered Lucian, turning the pages of his pass-book. ' And Mr. Harcourt pro- duces my new tragedy at the Athenaeum in December. '
' That, ' said the manager, with a polite bow, ' is sure to 'be successful. ' '
But,' said Lucian, with a childlike candour, what am I to do if you have no money of mine left? I can't go on without money. '
The manager laughed.