Part 45 (2/2)

'She has great hopes that the change will be just what I need.'

'I should say so too--if you were going to rest. But if you have to set to work at once it seems to me very doubtful.'

'Never mind. For Heaven's sake don't discourage me! If this fails I think--upon my soul, I think I shall kill myself.'

'Pooh!' exclaimed Biffen, gently. 'With a wife like yours?'

'Just because of that.'

'No, no; there'll be some way out of it. By-the-bye, I pa.s.sed Mrs Reardon this morning, but she didn't see me. It was in Tottenham Court Road, and Milvain was with her. I felt myself too seedy in appearance to stop and speak.'

'In Tottenham Court Road?'

That was not the detail of the story which chiefly held Reardon's attention, yet he did not purposely make a misleading remark. His mind involuntarily played this trick.

'I only saw them just as they were pa.s.sing,' pursued Biffen. 'Oh, I knew I had something to tell you! Have you heard that Whelpdale is going to be married?'

Reardon shook his head in a preoccupied way.

'I had a note from him this morning, telling me. He asked me to look him up to-night, and he'd let me know all about it. Let's go together, shall we?'

'I don't feel much in the humour for Whelpdale. I'll walk with you, and go on home.'

'No, no; come and see him. It'll do you good to talk a little.--But I must positively eat a mouthful before we go. I'm afraid you won't care to join?'

He opened his cupboard, and brought out a loaf of bread and a saucer of dripping, with salt and pepper.

'Better dripping this than I've had for a long time. I get it at Mr Bailey's--that isn't his real name, of course. He a.s.sures me it comes from a large hotel where his wife's sister is a kitchen-maid, and that it's perfectly pure; they very often mix flour with it, you know, and perhaps more obnoxious things that an economical man doesn't care to reflect upon. Now, with a little pepper and salt, this bread and dripping is as appetising food as I know. I often make a dinner of it.'

'I have done the same myself before now. Do you ever buy pease-pudding?'

'I should think so! I get magnificent pennyworths at a shop in Cleveland Street, of a very rich quality indeed. Excellent f.a.ggots they have there, too. I'll give you a supper of them some night before you go.'

Biffen rose to enthusiasm in the contemplation of these dainties.

He ate his bread and dripping with knife and fork; this always made the fare seem more substantial.

'Is it very cold out?' he asked, rising from the table. 'Need I put my overcoat on?'

This overcoat, purchased second-hand three years ago, hung on a door-nail. Comparative ease of circ.u.mstances had restored to the realist his ordinary indoor garment--a morning coat of the cloth called diagonal, rather large for him, but in better preservation than the other articles of his attire.

Reardon judging the overcoat necessary, his friend carefully brushed it and drew it on with a caution which probably had reference to starting seams. Then he put into the pocket his pipe, his pouch, his tobacco-stopper, and his matches, murmuring to himself a Greek iambic line which had come into his head a propos of nothing obvious.

'Go out,' he said, 'and then I'll extinguish the lamp. Mind the second step down, as usual.'

They issued into Clipstone Street, turned northward, crossed Euston Road, and came into Albany Street, where, in a house of decent exterior, Mr Whelpdale had his present abode. A girl who opened the door requested them to walk up to the topmost storey.

A cheery voice called to them from within the room at which they knocked. This lodging spoke more distinctly of civilisation than that inhabited by Biffen; it contained the minimum supply of furniture needed to give it somewhat the appearance of a study, but the articles were in good condition. One end of the room was concealed by a chintz curtain; scrutiny would have discovered behind the draping the essential equipments of a bedchamber.

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