Part 20 (1/2)

And then a graver misfortune threatened.

It arose out of the fact that, though Denry was a financial genius, he was in no sense qualified to be a Fellow of the Inst.i.tute of Chartered Accountants. The notion that an excess of prosperity may bring ruin had never presented itself to him, until one day he discovered that out of over two thousand pounds there remained less than six hundred to his credit at the bank. This was at the stage of the Thrift Club when the founder of the Thrift Club was bound under the rules to give credit.

When the original lady member had paid in her 2 or so, she was ent.i.tled to spend 4 or so at shops. She did spend 4 or so at shops. And Denry had to pay the shops. He was thus temporarily nearly 2 out of pocket, and he had to collect that sum by trifling instalments. Multiply this case by five hundred, and you will understand the drain on Denry's capital. Multiply it by a thousand, and you will understand the very serious peril which overhung Denry. Multiply it by fifteen hundred and you will understand that Denry had been culpably silly to inaugurate a mighty scheme like the Universal Thrift Club on a paltry capital of two thousand pounds. He had. In his simplicity he had regarded two thousand pounds as boundless wealth.

Although new subscriptions poured in, the drain grew more distressing.

Yet he could not persuade himself to refuse new members. He stiffened his rules, and compelled members to pay at his office instead of on their own doorsteps; he inst.i.tuted fines for irregularity. But nothing could stop the progress of the Universal Thrift Club. And disaster approached. Denry felt as though he were being pushed nearer and nearer to the edge of a precipice by a tremendous mult.i.tude of people. At length, very much against his inclination, he put up a card in his window that no new members could be accepted until further notice, pending the acquisition of larger offices and other rearrangements.

For the shrewd, it was a confession of failure, and he knew it.

Then the rumour began to form, and to thicken, and to spread, that Denry's famous Universal Thrift Club was unsound at the core, and that the teeth of those who had bitten the apple would be set on edge.

And Denry saw that something great, something decisive, must be done and done with rapidity.

II

His thoughts turned to the Countess of Ch.e.l.l. The original attempt to engage her moral support in aid of the Thrift Club had ended in a dangerous fiasco. Denry had been beaten by circ.u.mstances. And though he had emerged from the defeat with credit, he had no taste for defeat.

He disliked defeat even when it was served with jam. And his indomitable thoughts turned to the Countess again. He put it to himself in this way, scratching his head:

”I 've got to get hold of that woman, and that's all about it!”

The Countess at this period was busying herself with the policemen of the Five Towns. In her exhaustless pa.s.sion for philanthropy, bazaars, and platforms, she had already dealt with orphans, the aged, the blind, potter's asthma, creches, churches, chapels, schools, economic cookery, the smoke-nuisance, country holidays, Christmas puddings and blankets, healthy musical entertainments, and barmaids. The excellent and beautiful creature was suffering from a dearth of subjects when the policemen occurred to her. She made the benevolent discovery that policemen were overworked, underpaid, courteous and trustworthy public servants, and that our lives depended on them. And from this discovery it naturally followed that policemen deserved her energetic a.s.sistance.

Which a.s.sistance resulted in the erection of a Policemen's Inst.i.tute at Hanbridge, the chief of the Five Towns. At the Inst.i.tute policemen would be able to play at draughts, read the papers, and drink everything non-alcoholic at prices that defied compet.i.tion. And the Inst.i.tute also conferred other benefits on those whom all the Five Mayors of the Five Towns fell into the way of describing as ”the stalwart guardians of the law.” The Inst.i.tute, having been built, had to be opened with due splendour and ceremony. And naturally the Countess of Ch.e.l.l was the person to open it, since without her it would never have existed.

The solemn day was a day in March, and the hour was fixed for three o'clock, and the place was the large hall of the Inst.i.tute itself, behind Crown Square, which is the Trafalgar Square of Hanbridge. The Countess was to drive over from Sneyd. Had the epoch been ten years later she would have motored over. But probably that would not have made any difference as to what happened.

In relating what did happen I confine myself to facts, eschewing imputations. It is a truism that life is full of coincidences, but whether these events comprised a coincidence, or not, each reader must decide for himself according to his cynicism or his faith in human nature.

The facts are: First, that Denry called one day at the house of Mrs.

Kemp a little lower down Brougham Street, Mrs. Kemp being friendly with Mrs. Machin, and the mother of Jock, the Countess's carriage-footman, whom Denry had known from boyhood. Second, that a few days later, when Jock came over to see his mother, Denry was present, and that subsequently Denry and Jock went for a stroll together in the Cemetery, the princ.i.p.al resort of strollers in Bursley. Third, that on the afternoon of the opening ceremony the Countess's carriage broke down in Sneyd Vale, two miles from Sneyd and three miles from Hanbridge. Fourth, that five minutes later Denry, all in his best clothes, drove up behind his mule. Fifth, that Denry drove right past the breakdown, apparently not noticing it. Sixth, that Jock touching his hat to Denry as if to a stranger (for, of course, while on duty a footman must be dead to all human ties) said:

”Excuse me, sir,” and so caused Denry to stop.

These are the simple facts.

Denry looked round with that careless half-turn of the upper part of the body which drivers of elegant equipages affect when their attention is called to something trifling behind them. The mule also looked round-it was a habit of the mule's-and if the dog had been there the dog would have shown an even livelier inquisitiveness; but Denry had left the faithful animal at home.

”Good afternoon, Countess,” he said, raising his hat, and trying to express surprise, pleasure, and imperturbability all at once.

The Countess of Ch.e.l.l, who was standing in the road, raised her lorgnon, which was attached to the end of a tortoisesh.e.l.l pole about a foot long, and regarded Denry. This lorgnon was a new device of hers, and it was already having the happy effect of increasing the sale of long-handled lorgnons throughout the Five Towns.

”Oh! It's you, is it?” said the Countess. ”I see you 've grown a beard.”

It was just this easy familiarity that endeared her to the district. As observant people put it, you never knew what she would say next, and yet she never compromised her dignity.

”Yes,” said Denry. ”Have you had an accident?”