Intrusion of Jimmy Page 16

  leaving home. He goes away naturally."

  "But, dear, you couldn't live at home all your life. Whoever you

  married--"

  "But this would be different. Father would never speak to me again.

  I should never see him again. He would go right out of my life.

  Jimmy, I couldn't. A girl can't cut away twenty years of her life,

  and start fresh like that. I should be haunted. I should make you

  miserable. Every day, a hundred little things would remind me of

  him, and I shouldn't be strong enough to resist them. You don't know

  how fond he is of me, how good he has always been. Ever since I can

  remember, we've been such friends. You've only seen the outside of

  him, and I know how different that is from what he really is. All

  his life he has thought only of me. He has told me things about

  himself which nobody else dreams of, and I know that all these years

  he has been working just for me. Jimmy, you don't hate me for saying

  this, do you?"

  "Go on," he said, drawing her closer to him.

  "I can't remember my mother. She died when I was quite little. So,

  he and I have been the only ones--till you came."

  Memories of those early days crowded her mind as she spoke, making

  her voice tremble; half-forgotten trifles, many of them, fraught

  with the glamour and fragrance of past happiness.

  "We have always been together. He trusted me, and I trusted him, and

  we saw things through together. When I was ill, he used to sit up

  all night with me, night after night. Once--I'd only got a little

  fever, really, but I thought I was terribly bad--I heard him come in

  late, and called out to him, and he came straight in, and sat and

  held my hand all through the night; and it was only by accident I

  found out later that it had been raining and that he was soaked

  through. It might have killed him. We were partners, Jimmy, dear. I

  couldn't do anything to hurt him now, could I? It wouldn't be

  square."

  Jimmy had turned away his head, for fear his face might betray what

  he was feeling. He was in a hell of unreasoning jealousy. He wanted

  her, body and soul, and every word she said bit like a raw wound. A

  moment before, and he had felt that she belonged to him. Now, in the

  first shock of reaction, he saw himself a stranger, an intruder, a

  trespasser on holy ground.

  She saw the movement, and her intuition put her in touch with his

  thoughts.

  "No, no," she cried; "no, Jimmy, not that!"

  Their eyes met, and he was satisfied.

  They sat there, silent. The rain had lessened its force, and was

  falling now in a gentle shower. A strip of blue sky, pale and

  watery, showed through the gray over the hills. On the island close

  behind them, a thrush had begun to sing.

  "What are we to do?" she said, at last. "What can we do?"

  "We must wait," he said. "It will all come right. It must. Nothing

  can stop us now."

  The rain had ceased. The blue had routed the gray, and driven it

  from the sky. The sun, low down in the west, shone out bravely over

  the lake. The air was cool and fresh.

  Jimmy's spirits rose with a bound. He accepted the omen. This was

  the world as it really was, smiling and friendly, not gray, as he

  had fancied it. He had won. Nothing could alter that. What remained

  to be done was trivial. He wondered how he could ever have allowed

  it to weigh upon him.

  After awhile, he pushed the boat out of its shelter on to the

  glittering water, and seized the paddle.

  "We must be getting back," he said. "I wonder what the time is. I

  wish we could stay out forever. But it must be late. Molly!"

  "Yes?"

  "Whatever happens, you'll break off this engagement with Dreever?

  Shall I tell him? I will if you like."

  "No, I will. I'll write him a note, if I don't see him before

  dinner."

  Jimmy paddled on a few strokes.

  "It's no good," he said suddenly, "I can't keep it in. Molly, do you

  mind if I sing a bar or two? I've got a beastly voice, but I'm

  feeling rather happy. I'll stop as soon as I can."

  He raised his voice discordantly.

  Covertly, from beneath the shade of her big hat, Molly watched him

  with troubled eyes. The sun had gone down behind the hills, and the

  water had ceased to glitter. There was a suggestion of chill in the

  air. The great mass of the castle frowned down upon them, dark and

  forbidding in the dim light.

  She shivered.

  CHAPTER XX

  A LESSON IN PICQTUET

  Lord Dreever, meanwhile, having left the waterside, lighted a

  cigarette, and proceeded to make a reflective tour of the grounds.

  He felt aggrieved with the world. Molly's desertion in the canoe

  with Jimmy did not trouble him: he had other sorrows. One is never

  at one's best and sunniest when one has been forced by a ruthless

  uncle into abandoning the girl one loves and becoming engaged to

  another, to whom one is indifferent. Something of a jaundiced tinge

  stains one's outlook on life in such circumstances. Moreover, Lord

  Dreever was not by nature an introspective young man, but, examining

  his position as he walked along, he found himself wondering whether

  it was not a little unheroic. He came to the conclusion that perhaps

  it was. Of course, Uncle Thomas could make it deucedly unpleasant

  for him if he kicked. That was the trouble. If only he had even--

  say, a couple of thousands a year of his own--he might make a fight

  for it. But, dash it, Uncle Tom could cut off supplies to such a

  frightful extent, if there was trouble, that he would have to go on

  living at Dreever indefinitely, without so much as a fearful quid to

  call his own.

  Imagination boggled at the prospect. In the summer and autumn, when

  there was shooting, his lordship was not indisposed to a stay at the

  home of his fathers. But all the year round! Better a broken heart

  inside the radius than a sound one in the country in the winter.

  "But, by gad!" mused his lordship; "if I had as much as a couple--

  yes, dash it, even a couple of thousand a year, I'd chance it, and

  ask Katie to marry me, dashed if I wouldn't!"

  He walked on, drawing thoughtfully at his cigarette. The more he

  reviewed the situation, the less he liked it. There was only one

  bright spot in it, and this was the feeling that now money must

  surely get a shade less tight. Extracting the precious ore from Sir

  Thomas hitherto had been like pulling back-teeth out of a bull-dog.

  But, now, on the strength of this infernal engagement, surely the

  uncle might reasonably be expected to scatter largesse to some

  extent.

  His lordship was just wondering whether, if approached in a softened

  mood, the other might not disgorge something quite big, when a

  large, warm rain-drop fell on his hand. From the bushes round about

  came an ever increasing patter. The sky was leaden.

  He looked round him for shelter. He had reached the rose-garden in

  the course of his perambulations. At the far end was a summerhouse.

  He turned up his coat-collar, and
ran.

  As he drew near, he heard a slow and dirge-like whistling proceeding

  from the interior. Plunging in out of breath, just as the deluge

  began, he found Hargate seated at the little wooden table with an

  earnest expression on his face. The table was covered with cards.

  Hargate had not yet been compelled to sprain his wrist, having

  adopted the alternative of merely refusing invitations to play

  billiards.

  "Hello, Hargate," said his lordship. "Isn't it coming down, by

  Jove!"

  Hargate glanced up, nodded without speaking, and turned his

  attention to the cards once more. He took one from the pack in his

  left hand, looked at it, hesitated for a moment, as if doubtful

  whereabouts on the table it would produce the most artistic effect;

  and finally put it face upward. Then, he moved another card from the

  table, and put it on top of the other one. Throughout the

  performance, he whistled painfully.

  His lordship regarded his guest with annoyance.

  "That looks frightfully exciting," he said, disparagingly. "What are

  you playing at? Patience?"

  Hargate nodded again, this time without looking up.

  "Oh, don't sit there looking like a frog," said Lord Dreever,

  irritably. "Talk, man."

  Hargate gathered up the cards, and proceeded to shuffle them in a

  meditative manner, whistling the while.

  "Oh, stop it!" said his lordship.

  Hargate nodded, and obediently put down the deck.

  "Look here." said Lord Dreever, "this is boring me stiff. Let's have

  a game of something. Anything to pass away the time. Curse this

  rain! We shall be cooped up here till dinner at this rate. Ever

  played picquet? I could teach it you in five minutes."

  A look almost of awe came into Hargate's face, the look of one who

  sees a miracle performed before his eyes. For years, he had been

  using all the large stock of diplomacy at his command to induce

  callow youths to play picquet with him, and here was this--admirable

  young man, this pearl among young men, positively offering to teach

  him the game. It was too much happiness. What had he done to deserve

  this? He felt as a toil-worn lion might feel if some antelope,

  instead of making its customary bee-line for the horizon, were to

  trot up and insert its head between his jaws.

  "I--I shouldn't mind being shown the idea," he said.

  He listened attentively while Lord Dreever explained at some length

  the principles that govern the game of picquet. Every now and then,

  he asked a question. It was evident that he was beginning to grasp

  the idea of the game.

  "What exactly is re-piquing?" he asked, as his, lordship paused.

  "It's like this," said his lordship, returning to his lecture.

  "Yes, I see now," said the neophyte.

  They began playing. Lord Dreever, as was only to be expected in a

  contest between teacher and student, won the first two hands.

  Hargate won the next.

  "I've got the hang of it all right now," he said, complacently.

  "It's a simple sort of game. Make it more exciting, don't you think,

  if we played for something?"

  "All right," said Lord Dreever slowly, "if you like."

  He would not have suggested it himself, but, after all, dash it, if

  the man really asked for it--It was not his fault if the winning of

  a hand should have given the fellow the impression that he knew all

  there was to be known about picquet. Of course, picquet was a game

  where skill was practically bound to win. But--after all, Hargate

  probably had plenty of money. He could afford it.

  "All right," said his lordship again. "How much?"

  "Something fairly moderate? Ten bob a hundred?"

  There is no doubt that his lordship ought at this suggestion to have

  corrected the novice's notion that ten shillings a hundred was

  fairly moderate. He knew that it was possible for a poor player to

  lose four hundred points in a twenty minutes' game, and usual for

  him to lose two hundred. But he let the thing go.

  "Very well," he said.

  Twenty minutes later, Hargate was looking some-what ruefully at the

  score-sheet. "I owe you eighteen shillings," he said. "Shall I pay

  you now, or shall we settle up in a lump after we've finished?"

  "What about stopping now?" said Lord Dreever. "It's quite fine out."

  "No, let's go on. I've nothing to do till dinner, and I don't

  suppose you have."

  His lordship's conscience made one last effort.

  "You'd much better stop, you know, Hargate, really," he said. "You

  can lose a frightful lot at this game."

  "My dear Dreever," said Hargate stiffly, "I can look after myself,

  thanks. Of course, if you think you are risking too much, by all

  means--"

  "Oh, if you don't mind," said his lordship, outraged, "I'm only too

  frightfully pleased. Only, remember I warned you."

  "I'll bear it in mind. By the way, before we start, care to make it

  a sovereign a hundred?"

  Lord Dreever could not afford to play picquet for a soverign a

  hundred, or, indeed, to play picquet for money at all; but, after

  his adversary's innuendo, it was impossible for a young gentleman of

  spirit to admit the humiliating fact. He nodded.

  "About time, I fancy," said Hargate, looking at his watch an hour

  later, "that we were going in to dress for dinner."

  His lordship, made no reply. He was wrapped in thought.

  "Let's see, that's twenty pounds you owe me, isn't it?" continued

  Hargate. "Shocking bad luck you had!"

  They went out into the rose-garden.

  "Jolly everything smells after the rain," said Hargate, who seemed

  to have struck a conversational patch. "Freshened everything up."

  His lordship did not appear to have noticed it. He seemed to be

  thinking of something else. His air was pensive and abstracted.

  "There's just time," said Hargate, looking at his watch again, "for

  a short stroll. I want to have a talk with you."

  "Oh!" said Lord Dreever.

  His air did not belie his feelings. He looked pensive, and was

  pensive. It was deuced awkward, this twenty pounds business.

  Hargate was watching him covertly. It was his business to know other

  people's business, and he knew that Lord Dreever was impecunious,

  and depended for supplies entirely on a prehensile uncle. For the

  success of the proposal he was about to make, he depended on this

  fact.

  "Who's this man Pitt?" asked Hargate.

  "Oh, pal of mine," said his lordship. "Why?"

  "I can't stand the fellow."

  "I think he's a good chap," said his lordship. "In fact,"

  remembering Jimmy's Good Samaritanism, "I know he is. Why don't you

  like him?"

  "I don't know. I don't."

  "Oh?" said his lordship, indifferently. He was in no mood to listen

  to the likes and dislikes of other men.

  "Look here, Dreever," said Hargate, "I want you to do something for

  me. I want you to get Pitt out of the place."

  Lord Dreever eyed his guest curiously.

  "Eh?" he said.

  Hargate repeated his remark.

  "You seem to have mapped out quite a
program for me," said Lord

  Dreever.

  "Get him out of it," continued Hargate vehemently. Jimmy's

  prohibition against billiards had hit him hard. He was suffering the

  torments of Tantalus. The castle was full of young men of the kind

  to whom he most resorted, easy marks every one; and here he was,

  simply through Jimmy, careened like a disabled battleship. It was

  maddening. "Make him go. You invited him here. He doesn't expect to

  stop indefinitely, I suppose? If you left, he'd have to, too. What

  you must do is to go back to London to-morrow. You can easily make

  some excuse. He'll have to go with you. Then, you can drop him in

  London, and come back. That's what you must do."

  A delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread itself over

  Lord Dreever's face. He began to look like an angry rabbit. He had

  not a great deal of pride in his composition, but the thought of the

  ignominious role that Hargate was sketching out for him stirred what

  he had to its shallow bottom. Talking on, Hargate managed to add the

  last straw.

  "Of course," he said, "that money you lost to me at picquet--what

  was it? Twenty? Twenty pounds, wasn't it? Well, we would look on

  that as canceled, of course. That will be all right."

  His lordship exploded.

  "Will it?" he cried, pink to the ears. "Will it, by George? I'll pay

  you every frightful penny of it to-morrow, and then you can clear

  out, instead of Pitt. What do you take me for, I should like to

  know?"

  "A fool, if you refuse my offer."

  "I've a jolly good mind to give you a most frightful kicking."

  "I shouldn't try, if I were you. It's not the sort of game you'd

  shine at. Better stick to picquet."

  "If you think I can't pay your rotten money--"

  "I do. But, if you can, so much the better. Money is always useful."

  "I may be a fool in some ways--"

  "You understate it, my dear man."

  "--but I'm not a cad."

  "You're getting quite rosy, Dreever. Wrath is good for the

  complexion."

  "And, if you think you can bribe me, you never made a bigger mistake

  in your life."

  "Yes, I did," said Hargate, "when I thought you had some glimmerings

  of intelligence. But, if it gives you any pleasure to behave like

  the juvenile lead in a melodrama, by all means do. Personally, I

  shouldn't have thought the game would be worth the candle. But, if