Part 42 (1/2)

”Dinner, we call it,” said Sid. ”But that's all right. You can't get anything to eat hereabout. If you're not too haughty to do a bit of slumming, there's some mutton spoiling for me now----”

The word ”mutton” affected Kipps greatly.

”It won't take us 'arf an hour,” said Sid, and Kipps was carried.

He discovered another means of London locomotion in the Underground Railway, and recovered his self-possession in that interest. ”You don't mind going third?” asked Sid, and Kipps said, ”Nort a _bit_ of it.” They were silent in the train for a time, on account of strangers in the carriage, and then Sid began to explain who it was that he wanted Kipps to meet. ”It's a chap named Masterman--do you no end of good.

”He occupies our first floor front room, you know. It isn't so much for gain I let as company. We don't _want_ the whole 'ouse, and another, I knew the man before. Met him at our Sociological, and after a bit he said he wasn't comfortable where he was. That's how it came about. He's a first-cla.s.s chap--first-cla.s.s. Science! You should see his books!

”Properly he's a sort of journalist. He's written a lot of things, but he's been too ill lately to do very much. Poetry he's written, all sorts. He writes for the _Commonweal_ sometimes, and sometimes he reviews books. 'E's got 'eaps of books--'eaps. Besides selling a lot.

”He knows a regular lot of people, and all sorts of things. He's been a dentist, and he's a qualified chemist, an' I seen him often reading German and French. Taught 'imself. He was here----”

Sid indicated South Kensington, which had come opportunely outside the carriage windows, with a nod of his head, ”--three years. Studying science. But you'll see 'im. When he really gets to talking--he _pours_ it out.”

”Ah!” said Kipps, nodding sympathetically, with his two hands on his umbrella k.n.o.b.

”He'll do big things some day,” said Sid. ”He's written a book on science already. 'Physiography,' it's called. 'Elementary Physiography'!

Some day he'll write an Advanced--when he gets time.”

He let this soak into Kipps.

”I can't introduce you to Lords and swells,” he went on, ”but I _can_ show you a Famous Man, that's going to be. I _can_ do that.

Leastways--unless----”

Sid hesitated.

”He's got a frightful cough,” he said.

”He won't care to talk with me,” weighed Kipps.

”That's all right; _he_ won't mind. He's fond of talking. He'd talk to anyone,” said Sid, rea.s.suringly, and added a perplexing bit of Londonized Latin. ”He doesn't _pute_ anything, _non alienum_. You know.”

”_I_ know,” said Kipps, intelligently, over his umbrella k.n.o.b, though of course that was altogether untrue.

--3

Kipps found Sid's shop a practical looking establishment, stocked with the most remarkable collection of bicycles and pieces of bicycle that he had ever beheld. ”My hiring stock,” said Sid, with a wave to this ironmongery, ”and there's the best machine at a democratic price in London, The Red-Flag, built by _me_. See?”

He indicated a graceful, grey-brown framework in the window. ”And there's my stock of accessories--store prices.

”Go in for motors a bit,” added Sid.

”Mutton?” said Kipps, not hearing him distinctly.

”Motors, I _said_.... 'Owever, Mutton Department 'ere,” and he opened a door that had a curtain guarded window in its upper panel, to reveal a little room with red walls and green furniture, with a white clothed table and the generous promise of a meal. ”f.a.n.n.y!” he shouted. ”Here's Art Kipps.”

A bright-eyed young woman of five or six and twenty in a pink print appeared, a little flushed from cooking, and wiped a hand on an ap.r.o.n and shook hands and smiled, and said it would all be ready in a minute.

She went on to say she had heard of Kipps and his luck, and meanwhile Sid vanished to draw the beer, and returned with two gla.s.ses for himself and Kipps.