Part 17 (1/2)
”I've got no luck, you see,” he explained patiently. ”This summer I did nearly get back to what you may call the old style. I was in a reg'lar job; I contrived to dress myself up almost like a duke, and I sets out on Sunday afternoon with the full intention of calling on some old friends I hadn't seen for a good many years. It didn't come off.”
”Drink, I suppose.”
”Yes,” he said. ”A chap driving one of these motors had taken a drop too much. I was in St. Mary's in Praed Street for over six weeks. If it had been anybody but me, the car would have been driven by some well-to-do gentleman, and I should have found myself compensated for life. As I say, I never did have my share of good fortune, and I s'pose I never shall. All I haven't had of that, I hope will be pa.s.sed on to my daughter.”
”She ought to do something for you.”
”I don't want her to. I've no wish to interfere with her. I can't flatter myself I've done her any good, and I'd like to have the satisfaction of feeling I've done her no harm. Here, I think,” looking around him, ”we say oh revor.”
Gertie took out her purse; he gave an emphatic shake of the head, and went.
The next night he was at the same place, improved in appearance, and Gertie allowed him to accompany her along Marylebone Road so far as Harley Street. On the following evening he furnished an escort to Upper Baker Street, and afterwards extended the journey. His manner was always respectful, and he still made no attempt to walk abreast with her. Sometimes a constable would say, ”Hullo, Joe!” and he replied, ”Good evening, sir. Not bad weather for the time of year!”
and going on, informed Gertie where, and in what circ.u.mstances, the acquaintance had been made.
It happened, on one occasion, that Gertie saw Mr. Trew on the box seat of his small brown omnibus coming along from the Great Central Station; he was preparing to flourish a cheery salute, when he caught sight of her companion. Almost dropping his whip, he gave his head a jerk to send the s.h.i.+ning silk hat well back, and thus give relief to a suddenly heated brain.
Mrs. Mills was waiting on the Friday evening, some doors east of her own shop; Gertie's new friend did not wait for instructions from his companion, but left her instantly.
”Who's looking after the counter, aunt?”
”Mr. Bulpert,” replied the other, panting. ”I've give him a cigar to stick in his face. He wants to see you. And I want to see you, too.
Who is that you were talking to?”
”The elderly man I told you about. The one who always waits now to see me part of the distance home. Quite a character in his way.”
”Quite a bad character,” snapped Mrs. Mills.
”Do you know him?”
Her aunt gave a gulp. ”I had the word from Mr. Trew,” she said, still rather breathless, ”and his idea is that you may as well know it now as later on. That man is your father, my dear--your father; and the less you see of him the better. Now, perhaps, you can realize why I knew it was no use letting you carry on with Mr. Dougla.s.s. It was bound to come out some day!”
”My father,” said the girl slowly and thoughtfully.
”Your very own, dearie. Don't let it upset you more than you can help.
I know you've a good deal to put up with just now. Come along and see Mr. Bulpert. A little sweethearting talk will cheer you up.”
Bulpert admitted he had one or two questions to put; but on Gertie ordering that they should be offered there and then, he said, gloomily, that some other time would do as well. The girl told him the news just communicated by her aunt, and waited hopefully for the comment; Bulpert remarked, with an indulgent air, that it took all sorts to make a world, and he thought no worse of Gertie because of the fact that she possessed a parent with a spotted record. He offered to see her father and give him a definitely worded warning; the girl answered that the matter could be left in her hands.
”But we don't want him to be a drain on us,” he contended. ”I know what these individuals are like. Species of blackmail, that's what it amounts to. And I don't wish to see you working your fingers to the bone, and a certain proportion of the money earned being paid out to him. I couldn't bear it, so I tell you straight!” He slapped a pile of magazines on the counter.
”I'm rather worried,” she said, ”and I don't want any more misunderstandings. I told you not long ago I shouldn't go back to Great t.i.tchfield Street once I was married.”
”That's what I wanted to speak to you about. You're not serious, I s'pose, in saying this. You're only doing it to test my affection.”
”I mean every word.”
”Very well!” announced Bulpert defiantly. ”Understand, then, that the engagement's off. Entirely and absolutely off. And if you're so ill-advised as to bring an action for breach, you jolly well can.
Won't be a bad advert, for a public man like F. W. B. It'll get him talked about!”
CHAPTER XI.