Part 40 (1/2)
”They deserve to be!” declared Reay, hotly--”It isn't right--it isn't just that two or three, or let us say four or five men should be able to control the money-markets of the world. They generally get their wealth through some unscrupulous 'deal,' or through 'sweating' labour. I hate all 'cornering' systems. I believe in having enough to live upon, but not too much.”
”It depends on what you call enough,”--said Helmsley, slowly--”We're told that some people never know when they _have_ enough.”
”Why _this_ is enough!” said Reay, looking admiringly round the little kitchen in which they sat--”This sweet little cottage with this oak raftered ceiling, and all the dear old-fas.h.i.+oned crockery, and the ingle-nook over there,--who on earth wants more?”
Mary laughed.
”Oh dear me!” she murmured, gently--”You praise it too much!--it's only a very poor place, sir,----”
He interrupted her, the colour rus.h.i.+ng to his brows.
”Please don't!”
She glanced at him in surprise.
”Don't--what?”
”Don't call me 'sir'! I'm only a poor chap,--my father was a shepherd, and I began life as a cowherd--I don't want any t.i.tles of courtesy.”
She still kept her eyes upon him thoughtfully.
”But you're a gentleman, aren't you?” she asked.
”I hope so!” And he laughed. ”Just as David is! But we neither of us wish the fact emphasised, do we, David? It goes without saying!”
Helmsley smiled. This Angus Reay was a man after his own heart.
”Of course it does!”--he said--”In the way you look at it! But you should tell Miss Deane all about yourself--she'll be interested.”
”Would you really care to hear?” enquired Reay, suddenly, turning his clear grey eyes full on Mary's face.
”Why certainly I should!” she answered, frankly meeting his glance,--and then, from some sudden and inexplicable embarra.s.sment, she blushed crimson, and her eyelids fell. And Reay thought what a clear, healthy skin she had, and how warmly the blood flowed under it.
”Well, after tea I'll hold forth!” he said--”But there isn't much to tell. Such as there is, you shall know, for I've no mysteries about me.
Some fellows love a mystery--I cannot bear it! Everything must be fair, open and above board with me,--else I can't breathe! Pouf!” And he expanded his broad chest and took a great gulp of air in as he spoke--”I hate a man who tries to hide his own ident.i.ty, don't you, David?”
”Yes--yes--certainly!” murmured Helmsley, absently, feigning to be absorbed in b.u.t.tering a scone for his own eating--”It is often very awkward--for the man.”
”I always say, and I always will maintain,”--went on Reay--”let a man be a man--a something or a nothing. If he is a criminal, let him say he is a criminal, and not pretend to be virtuous--if he is an atheist, let him say he is an atheist, and not pretend to be religious--if he's a beggar and can't help himself, let him admit the fact--if he's a millionaire, don't let him skulk round pretending he's as poor as Job--always let him be himself and no other!--eh?--what is it, David?”
For Helmsley was looking at him intently with eyes that were almost young in their sudden animation and brilliancy.
”Did you ever meet a millionaire who skulked round pretending he was as poor as Job?” he enquired, with a whimsical air--”_I_ never did!”
”Well no, I never did, either!” And Reay's mellow laughter was so loud and long that Mary was quite infected by it, and laughed with him--”But you see millionaires are all marked men. Everybody knows them. Their portraits are in all the newspapers--horrid-looking rascals most of them!--Nature doesn't seem to endow them with handsome features anyway.
'Keep your gold, and never mind your face,'--she seems to say--'_I'll_ take care of that!' And she does take care of it! O Lord! The only millionaire I ever saw in my life was ugly enough to frighten a baby into convulsions!”
”What was his name?” asked Helmsley.
”Well, it wouldn't be fair to tell his name now, after what I've said!”