The Four Philanthropists/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
WE ARE FOILED AGAIN
Angel had no difficulty in persuading Sir Reginald to change the direction of the drives to the north of London, for he was in the mood to gratify any whim of hers. Accordingly, three days later we set out one morning to drive to Aldley on the Hill. For the first twelve miles the road lay on the great highway to the north which runs through Edgware and Hendon; then, beyond Stanmore, we turned off to the left and were among deserted lanes along which cyclists were not likely to be found in any numbers on account of the bad going. I saw countless spots naturally arranged for carriage accidents, could we drive out without the groom. We reached Aldley village at half-past one, and found that the church stood lonely on the top of the hill above it. It seemed best to lunch at the village inn first and explore the church afterwards. We did so, eating a genuine English village lunch; none of your country fare; the lands of the world seemed to have been ransacked to provide it. We ate, with what gusto we might, the mutton of Australia, the bacon of Canada, the eggs of France and the butter of Denmark. These delicacies were followed by a pie, made of dried apple chips from California and the cheese of Tennessee. Only the coffee, the bread and the beer were English; the coffee was ground beans, the bread, half-baked, was sour, and the beer was swipes. Angel's appetite and mine were young, and we dealt firmly with these foods. Sir Reginald could only toy with them—if indeed he could be said to toy with dainties so uncompromising—nor was he cheered by the sight of a freshly opened tin of the milk of Switzerland to drink with his decoction of beans.
For the first time I saw his bubbling spirit chilled. He was, in spite of the presence of Angel, the grumpiest of the grumpy after lunch, and it was fortunate that he had brought with him a large flask of liqueur brandy. He had to half empty it and smoke two cigars before he was restored, not to cheerfulness, but to equanimity. He smoked the second cigar and drank the second half of the flask of brandy furtively, when the windings of the steps of the church tower hid him from Angel, during our exploration of the church. When we reached the top of the tower, as we had foreseen, the five sodden counties were veiled from our eyes by the November mist, and Angel cried: "Oh, this is disappointing! We must come here again!"
"Come here again! I'll be hanged—" cried Sir Reginald, cheeked himself, and went on with less vehemence. "Oh, yes, we'll come here again, but I'll bring a hamper with me. No more country fare for me—fare indeed!"
"On a clear day," said Angel, with a bright smile.
"On the very first clear day," said Sir Reginald, with one of his most languishing glances; and he added gallantly: "I shall pray for a clear day—I shall—I give you my word."
"Since you drive us, I think we must bring the hamper," I said.
"No," said Sir Reginald firmly. "I couldn't hear of it. You might let a—a foreign product slip in among your good things; and the sight of a foreign product will make me feel ill for months—except caviare."
I was not only disappointed in the matter of view, but in the far more important matter of the parapet. It was quite four feet high. How a baronet of fifty-five could contrive to fall over it by accident I could not think. It was plain that we must devise some method of getting rid of the groom and have a carriage accident. I came down the steep steps of the tower pondering how to effect this, when Sir Reginald disturbed the concentration of my mind by slipping, recovering himself, and crying out: "By Jove, one might easily break one's neck down this staircase!"
His words gave me a new idea, and as I went down I looked at the staircase with different eyes. Thirty feet down it was a small door; I pushed it open, and saw the church bells.
We walked straight down to the village, and drove back to London. Sir Reginald came up to my rooms for some tea, and I had barely given him a whiskey and soda when Chelubai and Bottiger came; and we hardened our hearts harder by yet more bridge with him. The three of them got as near snarling as politeness allows, or even nearer. I enjoyed it, for I felt that as I had had the tiresome drive, they should in all justice have their share of Sir Reginald now. I have never been at an afternoon party at which the guests were so hard put to it to keep from flying at one another's throats, or the hostess be hard put to it to keep the peace. Angel showed an admirable tact and quickness.
When at last, with a last languishing glance and last compliment, Sir Reginald took his leave of us, Bottiger broke out, saying: "Really, Roger, I can't understand how you can allow that insufferable old ruffian to bore your sister all day—the drive was enough!"
I said severely: "The path of Philanthropy cannot be all roses. You should not expect it."
Chelubai said, with a very honorable warmth: "I quite feel with Bottiger. It grates on me—grates on me."
"Your sentiments do both of you infinite credit," I said dryly. "But if we went into society we should meet him in the best drawing-rooms, boring the select. He is much sought after, for he is still marriageable."
Bottiger received this statement of fact with one of his ingenuous growls, and said grimly: "Well, he won't be marriageable long."
Chelubai looked depressed and said: "Is that really so? Is he really sought after? Well, perhaps I have been too hard on him."
"Well, now, let us be practical," I said, and I told them of our exploration, assuring them that the church tower was useless on account of the height of the parapet, and the bad roads on account of the groom. Then I put before them my estimate of the value of the tower steps.
Their faces, which had fallen, brightened when I talked of them, and when I had done, Chelubai said: "I'll use the handkerchief! I'm better at it than you are, and Bottiger must keep out of this operation because he made the bet."
"Certainly, if you insist on it," I said. "I wouldn't rob you of the practice on any account."
"I know you think I'm bloodthirsty," said Chelubai, with an apologetic air. "But I'm not, really; but in business I learnt to like thoroughness, and I haven't forgiven myself yet for my failure in the case of Albert Amsted Pudleigh."
"Don't let it distress you," I said. "You did your best."
"Ah, you Britishers lack conscientiousness," said Chelubai sadly. "How can we really satisfy our aspirations if we are not thorough? We started in to knock him on the head, and, failing to allow for the abnormal thickness of his skull, we did not do it. It was a failure."
Angel and Bottiger looked at him with somewhat perplexed faces, as if they could not quite follow his enthusiasm; but I understood, and I said warmly: "Yours is a noble nature, Chelubai! You want to redeem your character for conscientious thoroughness, and I will never stand in your way. You shall use the handkerchief."
Chelubai looked very pleased.
On the morrow he and I drove down to Aldley on the Hill in his motor-car. He agreed with me at once that the parapet afforded no specious excuse for an accident to an elderly baronet, but he was charmed with the steepness of the tower steps, and when I showed him the belfry door he cried with genuine enthusiasm: "Perfect! Perfect! The very place for me! I will lie in wait here, and you need only contrive that Sir Reginald comes down last."
We perceived that the hinges of the belfry door had been disgracefully neglected, and going down to the car we brought up an oil can and oiled them. Then we moved the door backwards and forwards till it worked without a squeak. For about half an hour after that Chelubai practised springing quickly and silently out of it, with an earnest perseverance that set him perspiring freely. When he had become really expert, we descended and drove home.
A tiresome delay of nearly a fortnight followed while we waited for a clear day. Sir Reginald fell in my estimation. He fretted and fumed at the fog, he was almost in a fury about it; but he had not the wit to drive round in his phaeton one morning and assert that the day was clear. We should not have cavilled at the statement.
At last I awoke one morning to find that a strong southwest wind had cleared away the fog, and the sky was plainly to be seen. I was very cheerful at breakfast, but Angel was nervous and excited, paler than her wont, and showed a poor appetite. I reasoned with her gently on the unphilanthropic impropriety of this unfitting distress at the thought of cutting short the career of our appalling Old Man of the Sea, but to very little purpose. Sir Reginald drove up soon after breakfast, in his usual excellent spirits. I wired to Chelubai and we started. On the way down I saw that Angel could by no means throw off the weight on her spirit; but that did not matter to Sir Reginald, who could, and did, talk for the two. I began to think that women might be very useful for such light philanthropic tasks as hocussing, but when it came to serious Philanthropy they lacked the firmness and resolution which are the peculiar attributes of sensible men. Yet, after all, Angel was very young; she might grow firmer with the years.
However, under the bracing influence of the south wind she brightened somewhat, and when we reached Aldley she was no longer pale. For her sake I should have liked to get the business over before lunch, but Sir Reginald was bent on lunching first and looking at the five counties afterwards; and since it was the last time he would entertain us, I did not care to balk his desire. Moreover, I thought of the last breakfast of the condemned criminal. It was an excellent lunch. Sir Reginald had sent down his cook and a footman to prepare and serve it, but to my extreme disgust I found myself unable to enjoy it as it deserved to be enjoyed. The thought that I was sharing the last meal of a condemned criminal kept forcing itself on me with most injurious effect to my palate. I was ashamed of my weakness, for, after all, Chelubai was going to be the actual deliverer of Humanity, not I. Angel seemed to be enjoying it as little as I, and our conversation kept dying down. But Sir Reginald ate and talked for the three of us, whether it was the inspiration of Angel's presence, or the exhilarating drive, or the memory of the terrible country fare we had had to deal with on our last visit to Aldley, I do not know, but he ate, and ate largely, of everything, and drank as much as he ate. Two glasses of old brown sherry, half a bottle of hock, a bottle and a half of champagne and three glasses of liqueur brandy raised him to such a height of spirits as I have never seen in a human being.
After lunch he was almost boisterous; he no longer toddled, but skipped. Fortunately, at the foot of the tower he stopped us and told us a long, humorous anecdote. We were hardly in the mood for humor of any kind, and it is quite inconceivable that we could, at any moment in our lives, have been m the mood for humor of that kind. Every one of the gurgling bleats with which he starred it was an insult to our intelligence. My anger grew and grew; the truth of Chelubai's contention, that a man who could wantonly and without ceasing raise such an evil passion in a fellow creature was truly an enemy of Humanity, grew plainer and plainer. I saw that Angel's eyes were blazing with a fury as savage as my own.
"Let us go to the top of the tower," I said, in a choking voice.
Angel led the way with a resolute step. I perceived that now nothing would induce her to lift a finger to save him. Sir Reginald bustled up after her. I followed in a cold, murderous fury. When he came out on the top of the tower he was very short of breath. Without waiting to recover it, he stuttered out a pun.
It was the last straw. I could scarcely wait for Chelubai and his handkerchief; only by the most violent effort could I refrain from hurling Sir Reginald into space. Then the thought of Chelubai's disappointment at the loss of his chance of retrieving his unfortunate error in the case of Albert Amsted Pudleigh gave me control over myself. I began to cool down.
We examined the five counties from the four sides of the tower. Sir Reginald made puns on the names of three of them—incredible puns—puns so base that I cannot soil this page with them. I seethed.
Then the need came on me to say something—anything. By some odd chance the thing I found to say was: "You've put down the Children's Hospital in Jamaica Place for £5,000 in your will, haven't you, Sir Reginald?"
"No," said Sir Reginald, with a gurgling bleat. "I've left the £5,000 to the Mission to the Patagonians. My great-aunt Amelia was interested in them."
My blood ran cold; he could not have cooled it more effectually if he had thrown a bucket of cold water over me. If there is one thing I deplore, it is the diversion of the moneys of the charitable into foreign channels when they are so bitterly needed at home. I could be no party to this diversion. Moreover, I had made up my mind that Sir Reginald was only enough of an enemy of the human race to justify our removing him, if that removal meant £10,000 for my Children's Hospital.
My resolve was taken on the instant. I whispered to Angel, "The job is off!" and went down the steps.
When I came to the belfry door I opened it. There was Chelubai, masked.
"I'm ready for him," he said, gritting his teeth.
"The job's off!" I said curtly.
"Off—off? What for?" cried Chelubai.
"Idiots that we were, we never ascertained if he'd left the £5,000 to my Children's Hospital! He's left it to the Mission to the Patagonians instead."
"Well, what's the matter with the Patagonians? They're all right. There's no flies on the Patagonians," said Chelubai.
"There shall be no missionaries on them, either, if I can help it," I said bitterly. "Come along."
"No, no! I'm going to out him! Why—why I just yearn to out him!" said Chelubai vehemently.
"Well, you're not going to. Five thousand for the Children's Hospital is not reason enough. You come along." And without more ado I seized his arm and dragged him, protesting, down the stairs.
He was still protesting violently, urging me to let him return and do the job, when Angel came out of the door at the bottom of the tower. She wore a very cheerful air; I could see that my change of purpose had been a great relief to her. I was relieved myself.
But when Sir Reginald followed her out, my face darkened, and I said sternly: "Sir Reginald, I have been deceived in you. You have proved yourself unworthy our acquaintance."
"Eh? What?" cried Sir Reginald, gaping at me.
"It is not your atrocious bridge," I said, hardening my heart as I thought of the wrongs Angel and I had endured at his hands. "It is not your anecdotes, nor your puns, nor your views on the fiscal question. It is that when a worthy object of charity was presented to your notice you preferred an unworthy one. You preferred the Patagonians to the sick children of Stepney"
"God bless my soul! Is the man mad?" said Sir Reginald.
"That choice"—I went on in my best forensic manner—"shows a hideous deformity in your character which I cannot tolerate. I can no longer allow my sister to associate with you; I can no longer associate with you myself. We will return by train."
"B-b-but—" stammered Sir Reginald.
"Silence. I will hear nothing," I said, raising my hand. "Go—go to your Patagonians."
"Oh, damn the Patagonians!" said Sir Reginald.
"And these are the sentiments and language of the man who has left them £5,000 in his will. Come, Angel," said I; and I turned on my heel.