Part 16 (1/2)

”Oh? Why?” I asked.

”You're so--so----”

But she did not say what.

We turned down Putney Hill.

I said I should say little of this, and I shall say no more. I took her home, but did not go in with her, neither, though I ought to have done so, did I seek Kitty. I went home, but all that I knew of my getting there was that I found myself sitting, with my hat and coat still on, on the edge of the bed in my red-and-green-lighted apartment.

They were turning out from the public-house below when at last I rose sluggishly and began to prepare for bed.

For half the following week I was outside and beyond myself.

But exactly a week, less a day, from that Sat.u.r.day on which I had held Evie in my arms there dropped a thunderbolt into my life. On that Friday evening I had gone as usual to the cas.h.i.+er for my wages, and he had paid me; but as I had turned away again with my eighteen s.h.i.+llings he had said, as if giving utterance to an afterthought, ”Oh--Jeffries--we find we shall not require your services after this week. You can have your notice in writing if you would prefer it.”

And he had turned to pay Sutt, the next man in the queue.

PART III

THE GARRET

I

Poor, fussy, well-meaning Kitty had done it--had done it all unwittingly. In telling her vaguely where I lived I had left the number of my house unspecified, and when a letter had come for me to the Business College on an evening when I had announced my intention of being away, she, inspired by the urgency of my affairs, had got a directory and readdressed the letter to me at Rixon Tebb & Masters'. It was a letter from the firm into whose service I hoped soon to enter, and I examined the flap of the envelope carefully when finally it did come into my hands. Polwhele (I have little doubt it was he) had steamed it open, read it and closed it again.

This time all I could get out of Gayns, whom I once more approached, was that Rixon Tebb & Masters' had no use for an employee whose mind was already elsewhere.

It was true that the sack from Rixon Tebb & Masters' was not now a matter of the first importance. That was not the thunderbolt. Scanty as my wages were I had still saved up nearly three pounds out of them; and, as the letter that Polwhele had tampered with contained the news that I might hold myself in readiness to begin my new work a month from that date, the sum was enough to tide me over. But the letter had a postscript. This was a merely formal intimation that it was a.s.sumed that I could produce the usual references of steadiness, reliability and so forth. I myself never dreamed that I should be denied them.

I was denied them, however, by Polwhele.

”But--but,” I stammered, aghast.

Polwhele referred me to my real employers, the Agency. I gave him a long and gradually lowering stare.

”Do you mean----” I began slowly.

”I mean what I say,” he snapped; and as he turned away he added in a lower voice, ”You ain't surprised, are you?”

And, remembering how I had seen him with his fingers in Mr Masters'

waste-paper basket, I could not say I was.

Again I sought Gayns. This time the cas.h.i.+er flew into a pa.s.sion.

”Confound you!” he cried. ”You're more trouble than all the rest of them put together! What is it now? A character? Oh yes, you can have a character! I'd advise you not to show it to anybody, though! First leaving us--then coming back--then days off--then d.i.c.kering with other firms! Go to Polwhele--go to the Agency--go to h.e.l.l!”