Part 5 (1/2)
”The pay offered is four hundred rupees a month, and house rent; not much, I admit, considering the fall of the rupee and Rangoon prices; but we have been compelled to modify expenses, our profits are run so fine, thanks to an active German mercantile element. Well, what do you think, Shafto?”
Shafto thought Mr. Martin a species of genie, who was offering him a magic carpet that would transport him into the great, hurrying, active world; into the land of suns.h.i.+ne he had longed to see; he would have jumped at the proposal if the salary had been half, and he replied:
”I shall be glad to accept.”
”Then that's all right! I was afraid you might have some ties in this country. Of course, in time you are bound to get a rise, and I believe there are boarding-houses in Rangoon where they make you fairly comfortable.”
”When do you wish me to start?”
”As soon as you can get under way,” was the unexpected reply. ”One of the Bibby Line sails on Sat.u.r.day week, and that brings me to another matter. You have to pay for your own pa.s.sage and outfit. The pa.s.sage money is six hundred rupees; the outfit, good English boots, cool clothes, a solar topee, and a revolver--and a medicine-chest might come in handy. No doubt some of your relations will help, or give you a loan. You see, you are getting a big rise and a capital opening in a new line.”
”That is true, sir,” replied Douglas, whose face had considerably lengthened, ”but I'm afraid I cannot manage the ready money--near a hundred pounds. Is my salary paid in advance?”
”No, that is out of the question in a province where cholera carries a man off in a couple of hours. I am sorry about the pa.s.sage; at one time we did pay, but now we have to pinch and consider our expenses.
No doubt you would like to talk over the matter with your people?”
”Well, yes, I should, thank you,” he answered, staring fixedly at the floor.
”Then let me have your decision before mail day. I may tell you, Shafto, that, irrespective of Mr. Tremenheere's interest, you have given us entire satisfaction, and for this chance, and it _is_ a chance, you have only yourself to thank. You can take a couple of days' leave and let me hear from you definitely on Friday morning.”
It was only eleven o'clock, an oppressively warm July day, and Douglas walked up to Lincoln's Inn Fields, took a seat in the cool shade of the finest trees in the largest square in London, and there endeavoured to think out some plan.
”I say, what a chance!” he muttered to himself. ”What a stroke of luck! A new start in life, offering change and freedom.” Yet he must lose it--and all for a paltry hundred pounds. Paltry--no; to him it represented a huge and unattainable fortune; there wasn't a soul from whom he could borrow; not from the Tebbs, nor the Tremenheeres, and his a.s.sociates at ”Malahide” were, with one detestable exception, as poor as himself. After long meditation, entirely barren of inspiration, he went down to the Strand and lunched at Slater's, and then took the Tube to Bayswater Public Library, where he got hold of some books on Burma--Burma, the land of the PaG.o.da and Golden Umbrella. Somehow the very name fired his imagination and thrilled his blood.
After sitting in the library, greedily devouring information, he strolled back to Lincoln Square, in time for dinner, and all that evening he kept his great news to himself. It would have seemed natural for an only son to carry such important tidings to his mother; but Mrs. Shafto was the last woman to welcome his confidences. She was entirely without the maternal instinct and, armed with a certain fierce reserve, held her son inflexibly at arm's length. A stranger would scarcely have discovered the relations.h.i.+p--unless they happened to note that the pair walked to church together on Sunday, and that she pecked his cheek of a night before retiring. As a matter of course, she made use of Douglas and, insisting on maternal claims, thrust on him disagreeable interviews, sent him messages, borrowed his money--when short of change--and allowed him to pay her taxis. Honestly, she did not care for the boy. He was too detached and self-contained; he had such odd ideas and resembled his father in many respects--especially in appearance--though Douglas's expression was keener and more animated, he had the same well-cut features, fine head, and expressive dark grey eyes.
Yes, he recalled too forcibly a dead man whom she had neglected, detested and deceived. And as for Douglas, for years he had been sensible of the smart of a baffled instinct, a hunger for a mother's love and affection, which had never been his--and never would be his.
In the drawing-room, after dinner, the boarders were amusing themselves as usual and making a good deal of noise, yet somehow the circle presented an air of rather spurious gaiety. Mrs. Shafto, in a smart black-and-gold evening frock, was smoking a cigarette and playing auction-bridge with Mr. Levison and the two j.a.panese; the Misses Smith and various casual boarders were engrossed at c.o.o.n-can. Another group was a.s.sembled about the piano. Douglas Shafto sat aloof in the window seat absorbed in the book on Burma and acquiring information; for even if he were never to see the country, it was as well to learn something about it. Rangoon, the capital (that fact he already knew), once a mere collection of monasteries around the Great PaG.o.da, was now a.s.sumed to be the Liverpool of the East, the resting-place of Buddha's relics, and an important industrial centre. As his reading was disturbed by the boisterous chorus at the piano, and the shrieks of laughter from the c.o.o.n-can set, he tucked the volume under his arm and slipped out of the room as noiselessly as possible. He could rest at peace up in his ”c.o.c.k loft” and endeavour to puzzle out some means of reaching the land of the Golden Umbrella--even if he worked his pa.s.sage as a cabin steward. In pa.s.sing the door of Mrs. Malone's den, some strange, unaccountable impulse constrained him to knock. Yes; he suddenly made up his mind that he would confide in _her_--and why not? She was always so understanding, sympathetic and wise.
In reply to a shrill ”Come in,” he entered and found the old lady sitting by the open window with a black cat on her lap. The room was small and homelike; there were some shabby rugs, a few fine prints, a case of miniatures, and, in a cabinet, a variety of odd ”bits” which Mrs. Malone had picked up from time to time.
”So it's you, Douglas,” she exclaimed; ”come over and sit down. I'm always glad to see you; you know you have the private entree!” and she laughed. ”What have you been doing with yourself to-day?”
As he muttered something indefinite, she added, ”What's your book?”
holding out her hand. ”Burma, I declare! One does not hear much of that part of the world; it's always connected in my mind with rice and rain. Douglas,” suddenly raising her eyes, ”I believe you have something on your mind. What is it? Come now--speak out--is it a love affair, or money? You know I'm _safe_.”
Thus invited, in a few halting sentences, he told her of his friend's good offices, the offer, his supreme delight--and subsequent despair.
”A hundred pounds--yes, well, it's a tidy sum,” she admitted, ”and you will want all that. I think Gregory and Co. might pay your pa.s.sage, as the salary is not large.”
”No,” agreed Shafto, ”but I'll be only too glad to earn it. It's this blessed ready money that stumps me.”
He began to pace about the room with his hands in his pockets, then suddenly broke out:
”Mrs. Malone, I'd give one of my eyes to go; to be up and doing, and get out into the world--especially to the East. Isn't it hard lines--one moment to be offered a splendid chance, and the next to have it s.n.a.t.c.hed away.”
”I suppose you couldn't borrow?” she suggested, looking at him over her spectacles.