Part 23 (2/2)
While he was thus engaged he heard a kind of tumult outside, in which he recognised the treble of the oily-headed clerk coming in a bad second to a deep, ba.s.s voice. Then the door opened and a big, burly man, with a red face and a jovial, rolling eye, appeared with startling suddenness and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:
”d.a.m.n Ranson, d.a.m.n Richards, or d.a.m.n them both, with the Son thrown in!
I ask you, young man”--here he addressed G.o.dfrey seated on the corner of the sofa--”what is the use of a firm of lawyers whom you can never see? You pay the brutes, but three times out of four they are not visible, or, as I suspect, pretend not to be, in order to enhance their own importance. And I sent them a telegram, too, having a train to catch. What do you think?”
”I don't know, Sir,” G.o.dfrey answered. ”I never came to a lawyer's office before, and I hope I shan't again if this is the kind of room they put one into.”
”Room!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the irate gentleman, ”call it a dog kennel, call it a cesspool, for, by heaven, it smells like one, but in the interests of truth, young man, don't call it a room.”
”Now that you mention it, there is a queer odour. Perhaps a dead rat under the floor,” suggested G.o.dfrey.
”Twenty dead rats, probably, since I imagine that this hole has not been cleaned since the time of George II. We are martyrs in this world, Sir. I come here to attend to the affairs of some whippersnapper whom I never saw and never want to see, just because Helen Ogilvy, who was my first cousin, chooses to make me a trustee of her confounded will, in which she leaves money to the confounded whippersnapper, G.o.d knows why.
This whippersnapper has a father, a parson, who can write the most offensive letters imaginable. I received one of them this morning, accusing the whippersnapper of all sorts of vague things, and me and my fellow trustee, who is at present enjoying himself travelling, of abetting him. I repeat, d.a.m.n Ranson, Richards and Son; d.a.m.n the parson, d.a.m.n Helen--no, I won't say that, for she is dead--and especially d.a.m.n the whippersnapper. Don't you agree with me?”
”Not quite, Sir,” said G.o.dfrey. ”I don't mind about Ranson, Richards and Son, or anybody else, but I don't quite see why you should d.a.m.n me, who, I am sure, never wished to give you any trouble.”
”You! And who the Hades may you be?”
”I am G.o.dfrey Knight, and I suppose that you are my trustee, or one of them.”
”G.o.dfrey Knight, the young man whose father gives us so much trouble, all at our own expense, I may remark. Well, after hearing so much of you on paper, I'm deuced glad to meet you in the flesh. Come into the light, if you can call it light, and let me have a look at you.”
G.o.dfrey stepped beneath the dirty pane and was contemplated through an eyegla.s.s by this breezy old gentleman, who exclaimed presently:
”You're all right, I think; a fine figure of a young man, not bad looking, either, but you want drilling. Why the devil don't you go into the army?”
”I don't know,” answered G.o.dfrey, ”never thought of it. Are you in the army, Sir?”
”No, not now, though I was. Commanded my regiment for five years, and then kicked out with the courtesy t.i.tle of Major-General. Cubitte is my name, spelt with two 't's' and an 'e,' please, and don't you forget that, since that 'e' has been a point of honour with our family for a hundred years, the Lord knows why. Well, there we are. Do you smoke?”
”Only a pipe,” said G.o.dfrey.
”That's right; I hate those accursed cigarettes, still they are better than nothing. Now sit down and tell me all about yourself.”
G.o.dfrey obeyed, and somehow feeling at ease with this choleric old General, in the course of the next twenty minutes explained many things to him, including the cause of his appearance in that office.
”So you don't want to be a parson,” said the General, ”and with your father's example before your eyes, I am sure I don't wonder. However, you are independent of him more or less, and had better cut out a line for yourself. We will back you. What do you say to the army?”
”I think I should rather like that,” answered G.o.dfrey. ”Only, only, I want to get out of England as soon as possible.”
”And quite right, too--accursed hole, full of fog and politicians. But that's not difficult with India waiting for you. I'm an Indian cavalry officer myself, and could put you up to the ropes and give you a hand afterwards, perhaps, if you show yourself of the right stuff, as I think you will. But, of course, you will have to go to Sandhurst, pa.s.s an entrance examination, and so forth. Can you manage that?”
”Yes, Sir, I think so, with a little preparation. I know a good deal of one sort or another, including French.”
”All right, three months' cramming at Sc.o.o.nes' or Wren's, will do the trick. And now I suppose you want some money?”
G.o.dfrey explained that he did, having only 10 which he had borrowed from his old nurse.
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