Part 21 (1/2)

”May stop and see me, may she! Bless her heart!”

Jack Rock felt that he had the chance of his life. He also felt that he would like to obliterate what, in his humility, he now declared to have been a sad blunder--the offer of his butcher's shop. A man like Andy, a lad with friends like that--Mr. Harry Belfield, Mr. Foot, M.P., Mr. and Miss Wellgood, above all this dazzling Miss Doris Flower--to be the Meriton butcher! Perish the thought! Publis.h.i.+ng was a gentleman's business. Aye, and his Andy should not go back to Canada. If he did, old Jack felt that the best part of his own life would be carried far away across the seas.

The thing should be done dramatically. ”I'd like Andy to have a story to tell her!” It was not at all doubtful whom he meant by ”her.”

Nearly six--the bank was shut long ago. But George Croton was a friend as well as a bank manager; he would just have had tea. Jack crossed the street and dropped in.

”Why, of course I can, Jack,” said Mr. Croton, wiping his bald head with a red handkerchief. ”You've securities lodged with us that more than cover it. Draw your cheque. We won't wrong you over the interest till you adjust the account. Going to buy a Derby winner?”

”I ain't so sure I'm not goin' to enter one,” said Jack. He wrote his cheque. ”That'll be all right to-morrow morning?”

”Unless our shutters are up, it will, Jack,” Mr. Croton jestingly replied.

”Thank G.o.d I've been a careful man,” thought old Jack. ”One that knows a horse too! Her talkin' about 'Andy'!” The Nun continued to amuse and delight him immensely. Why, he'd seen her picture on the h.o.a.rdings last time he went up to Tattersall's, to sell that bay filly! Lord, not to have thought of that! That was her--the Nun! He thought much more about Miss Flower than about Andy as he took his way to Andy's lodgings.

Andy was at home; he had been back from town nearly an hour. But his own concerns were quite out of his head. Harry Belfield had been waiting for him--actually waiting, Harry the Great!--and had hailed him with ”I had to come and tell you all about it myself, old fellow!”

In Andy's great devotion to Harry there was mingled an element which seemed to himself absurd, but which held its place obstinately--dim and denied, yet always there. It was a sense of something compa.s.sionate, something protective, not diminis.h.i.+ng his admiration but qualifying it; making him not only believe that all would, but also urgently pray that all might, go well with Harry, that Harry might have everything that he wished, possibly that Harry might wish the things that he ought to have, though Andy's conscious a.n.a.lysis of the feeling did not reach as far as this. He would not only set his hero on a pedestal, he would have the pedestal securely fenced round, barricaded against danger, ensured against bombs; even a screen against strong and sudden winds might be useful to the statue.

The statue, it now appeared, had taken all these precautions for itself.

Vivien Wellgood was each and all of these things--fence, screen, and barricade. And many other things besides, such as an ideal, an incentive, an inspiration. It was among Harry's attractions that he was not in the least ashamed of his emotions or shy about them.

”With the girls one meets in town it's a bargain,” said Harry. ”With her--oh, I can talk to you, old man!--it really does seem a sort of sacrament.”

”I know. I mean I can imagine.”

”Not things a fellow can talk about to everybody,” Harry pursued.

”Too--well, sacred, you know. But when for absolutely the first time in your life you feel the real thing, you know the difference. The pater told me not to be in a hurry about it; but a thing like that's just the same now or a thousand years hence. It's there--and that's all about it!”

Andy felt a little out of his depth. He had had one fancy himself, but it had been nothing like so wonderful as this. It was Harry's privilege to be able to feel things in that marvellous way. Andy was not equal even to commenting on them.

”When are you going to be married?” he asked, sticking to a matter-of-fact line of sympathy.

”Going to wait till October--rather a bore! But here it's nearly July, and I've got my tour of the Division fixed for September. After all, things aren't so bad as they might be. And when I'm through with the campaign--a honeymoon in Italy! Pretty good, Andy?”

”Sounds all right,” laughed Andy. ”I expect I shall have to send you my blessing from Montreal.”

”From Montreal? What--you're not going back?”

”The business is a frost in London, Harry; and I've nothing else to look to.”

”Lord, now, what a pity! Well, I'm sorry. We shall miss you, Andy.

Still, it's a ripping fine country, isn't it? Mind you cable us congratulations!”

”I'm not quite certain about going yet,” said Andy. He felt rather like being seen off by the train--very kindly.

”Oh, well, I hope you won't have to, old chap, I really do. But it'll be better than the shop! I say--I told Billy and the girls about that. They roared.”

”I know they did--I met them at lunch to-day.”

”Had they heard about me?” Harry asked rather eagerly. ”Or did you tell them? What did they say?”