Part 11 (1/2)

”_Was this the face that launched a thousand s.h.i.+ps_?”

Well, he had had certain aspirations, dreams, visions....

He was upon the crest whence the road ran down into Tidborough. Beneath him the spires of the Cathedral lifted exquisitely above the surrounding city.

”Those houses in King's Close are going to be eighty pounds a year, and what do you think, Mrs. Toller is going to take one!”...

CHAPTER II

I

Sabre found but little business awaiting him when he got to his office.

When he had disposed of it he sat some little time staring absent-mindedly at the cases whereon were ranged the books of his publication. Then he took out the ma.n.u.script of ”England” and turned over the pages. He wondered what Nona would think of it. He would like to tell her about it.

Twyning came in.

Twyning rarely entered Sabre's room. Sabre did not enter Twyning's twice in a year. Their work ran on separate lines and there was something, unexpressed, the reverse of much sympathy between them. Twyning was an older man than Sabre. He was only two years older in computation by age but he was very much more in appearance, in manner and in business experience. He had been in the firm as a boy checker when Sabre was entering Tidborough School. He had attracted Mr. Fortune's special attention by disclosing a serious scamping of finish in a set of desks and he had risen to head clerk when Sabre was at Oxford. On the day that Sabre entered the firm he had been put ”on probation” in the position he now held, and on the day that Sabre's father retired he had been confirmed in the position. He regarded Sabre as an amateur and he was privately disturbed by the fact that a man who ”did not know the ropes”

and had not ”been through the mill” should come to a position equal in standing to his own. Nevertheless he accepted the fact, showing not the smallest animosity. He was always very ready to be cordial towards Sabre; but his cordiality took a form in which Sabre had never seen eye to eye with him. The att.i.tude he extended to Sabre was that he and Sabre were two young fellows under a rather pig-headed old employer and that they could have many jokes and grievances and go-ahead schemes in companions.h.i.+p together. Sabre did not accept this view. He gave Twyning, from the first, the impression of considering himself as working alongside Mr. Fortune instead of beneath him; and he was cold to and refused to partic.i.p.ate in the truant schoolboy air which Twyning adopted when they were together. Twyning called this ”sidey.” He was anxious to show Sabre, when Sabre first came to the firm, the best places to lunch in Tidborough, but Sabre was frequently lunching with one of the School housemasters or at the Masters' common room. Twyning thought this stand-offish.

II

Twyning was of middle height, very thin, black-haired. His clean-shaven face was deeply furrowed in rigid-looking furrows which looked as though shaving would be an intricate operation. He held himself very stiffly and spoke stiffly as though the cords of his larynx were also rigidly inclined. When not speaking he had a habit of breathing rather noisily through his nose as if he were doing deep breathing exercises. He was married and had a son of whom he was immensely proud, aged eighteen and doing well in a lawyer's office.

He came in and closed the door. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.

Sabre, engrossed, glanced up. ”Hullo, Twyning.” He wrote a word and then put down his pen. ”Anything you want me about?” He lay back in his chair and stared, frowning, at the ma.n.u.script before him.

”Nothing particular, if you're busy,” Twyning said. ”I just looked in.”

He advanced the paper in his hand and looked at it as if about to add something else. But he said nothing and stood by Sabre's chair, also looking at the ma.n.u.script. ”That that book?”

”M'm.” Sabre was trying to retain his thoughts. He felt them slipping away before Twyning's presence. He could hear Twyning breathing through his nose and felt incensed that Twyning should come and breathe through his nose by his chair when he wanted to write.

But Twyning continued to stand by the chair and to breathe through his nose. He was reading over Sabre's shoulder.

The few pages of ”England” already written lay in front of Sabre's pad, the first page uppermost. Twyning read and interjected a snort into his nasal rhythm.

”Well, that book's not written for me, anyway,” he remarked.

Sabre agreed shortly. ”It isn't. But why not?”

Twyning read aloud the first words. ”'This England you live in is yours.' Well, I take my oath it isn't mine. Not a blooming inch of it.

D'you know what's happening to me? I'm being turned out of my house.

The lease is out and the whole d.a.m.ned house and everything I've put on to it goes to one of these lordlings--this Lord Tybar--just because one of his ancestors, who'd never even dreamt of the house, pinched the land it stands on from the public common and started to pocket ground rent.

Now I'm being pitched into the street to let Lord Tybar have a house that's no more his than the man in the moon's. D'you call that right?”

”No, I don't,” said Sabre, but with a tinge of impatience. ”I call it rotten.”