Part 23 (2/2)

This anatomised figure made him forget for a s.p.a.ce that he was ”practically a gentleman” altogether, and he was still surveying its extraordinary complications when another reminder of a world quite outside those spheres of ordered gentility into which his dreams had carried him overnight, arrived (following the servant) in the person of Chitterlow.

--5

”Ul-_lo_!” said Kipps, rising.

”Not busy?” said Chitterlow, enveloping Kipps' hand for a moment in one of his own and tossing the yachting cap upon the monumental carved oak sideboard.

”Only a bit of reading,” said Kipps.

”Reading, eh?” Chitterlow c.o.c.ked the red eye at the books and other properties for a moment and then, ”I've been expecting you 'round again one night.”

”I been coming 'round,” said Kipps. ”On'y there's a chap 'ere----. I was coming 'round last night on'y I met 'im.”

He walked to the hearthrug. Chitterlow drifted around the room for a time, glancing at things as he talked. ”I've altered that play tremendously since I saw you,” he said. ”Pulled it all to pieces.”

”What play's that, Chit'low?”

”The one we were talking about. You know. You said something--I don't know if you meant it--about buying half of it. Not the tragedy. I wouldn't sell my twin brother a share in that. That's my investment.

That's my Serious Work. No! I mean that new farce I've been on to. Thing with the business about a beetle.”

”Oo yes,” said Kipps. ”_I_ remember.”

”I thought you would. Said you'd take a fourth share for a hundred pounds. _You_ know.”

”I seem to remember something----”

”Well, it's all different. Every bit of it. I'll tell you. You remember what you said about a b.u.t.terfly? You got confused, you know--Old Meth.

Kept calling the beetle a b.u.t.terfly and that set me off. I've made it quite different. Quite different. Instead of Popplewaddle--thundering good farce name that, you know; for all that it came from a Visitors'

List--instead of Popplewaddle getting a beetle down his neck and rus.h.i.+ng about, I've made him a collector--collects b.u.t.terflies, and this one you know's a rare one. Comes in at window, centre.” Chitterlow began to ill.u.s.trate with appropriate gestures. ”Pop rushes about after it.

Forgets he mustn't let on he's in the house. After that----. Tells 'em.

Rare b.u.t.terfly, worth lots of money. Some are, you know. Everyone's on to it after that. b.u.t.terfly can't get out of room, every time it comes out to have a try, rush and scurry. Well, I've worked on that. Only----”

He came very close to Kipps. He held up one hand horizontally and tapped it in a striking and confidential manner with the fingers of the other.

”Something else,” he said. ”That's given me a Real Ibsenish Touch--like the Wild Duck. You know that woman--I've made her lighter--and she sees it. When they're chasing the b.u.t.terfly the third time, she's on! She looks. 'That's me!' she says. Bif! Pestered b.u.t.terfly. _She's_ the Pestered b.u.t.terfly. It's legitimate. Much more legitimate than the Wild Duck--where there isn't a duck!

”Knock 'em! The very t.i.tle ought to knock 'em. I've been working like a horse at it.... You'll have a gold mine in that quarter share, Kipps....

_I_ don't mind. It's suited me to sell it, and suited you to buy. Bif!”

Chitterlow interrupted his discourse to ask, ”You haven't any brandy in the house, have you? Not to drink, you know. But I want just an eggcupful to pull me steady. My liver's a bit queer.... It doesn't matter, if you haven't. Not a bit. I'm like that. Yes, whiskey'll do.

Better!”

Kipps hesitated for a moment, then turned and fumbled in the cupboard of his sideboard. Presently he disinterred a bottle of whiskey and placed it on the table. Then he put out first one bottle of soda water and after the hesitation of a moment another. Chitterlow picked up the bottle and read the label. ”Good old Methusaleh,” he said. Kipps handed him the corkscrew and then his hand fluttered up to his mouth. ”I'll have to ring now,” he said, ”to get gla.s.ses.” He hesitated for a moment before doing so, leaning doubtfully as it were towards the bell.

When the housemaid appeared he was standing on the hearthrug with his legs wide apart, with the bearing of a desperate fellow. And after they had both had whiskeys--”You know a decent whiskey,” Chitterlow remarked and took another ”just to drink.”--Kipps produced cigarettes and the conversation flowed again.

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