 
Transcriber's Notes:
IN QUEER STREET
BYFERGUS HUMEAUTHOR OF | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
CONTENTS | |
| CHAPTER | |
| I. | THE BOARDING-HOUSE |
| II. | OLD SCHOOL-FELLOWS |
| III. | MAN PROPOSES |
| IV. | THE ADVERTISEMENT |
| V. | THE NEXT STEP |
| VI. | SEEKING TROUBLE |
| VII. | AN AMAZING DISCOVERY |
| VIII. | FAMILY HISTORY |
| IX. | GWEN |
| X. | VANE'S AUNT |
| XI. | MACBETH'S BANQUET |
| XII. | CUPID'S GARDEN |
| XIII. | DANGER |
| XIV. | AT BAY |
| XV. | A FRIEND IN NEED |
| XVI. | EXPLANATIONS |
| XVII. | BLACKMAIL |
| XVIII. | HENCH'S DIPLOMACY |
| XIX. | A DENIAL |
| XX. | REAPING THE WHIRLWIND |
| XXI. | THE SUNSHINE OR LIFE |
IN QUEER STREET
IN QUEER STREET
CHAPTER I
THE BOARDING-HOUSE
"Here," explained the landlady, "we are not wildly gay, as the serious aspect of life prevents our indulging in unrestrained mirth. Each one of us is devoted to an ideal, Mr. Spruce."
"And what is the ideal, Mrs. Tesk?" asked the twinkling little man who was proposing himself as a boarder.
"The intention of gaining wealth in virtuous ways, by exercising the various talents with which we have been endowed by an All-seeing Providence."
"If you eliminate the word 'virtuous,' most people have some such ideal," was the dry reply of Mr. Spruce. "I want money myself, or I shouldn't come to live here. A Bethnal Green lodging-house isn't my idea of luxury."
"Boarding-house, if you please," said Mrs. Tesk, drawing up her thin figure. "I would point out that my establishment is most superior. Brought up in scholastic circles, I assisted my father and my husband for many years in teaching the young idea how to shoot, and----"
"In plain English, you kept a school."
"Crudely put, it is as you say, Mr. Spruce," assented the landlady; "but habit has accustomed me to express myself in a more elegant way. My husband and my father having been long numbered with the angelic host, I was unable to continue successfully as a teacher of youth. A learned friend suggested to me that an excellent income might be derived from a high-class boarding-house. Therefore I rented this mansion for the purpose of entertaining a select number of paying guests."
"Paying guests! How admirably you express yourself, Mrs. Tesk."
"It has always been my custom to do full justice to our beautiful language, Mr. Spruce. Even my establishment has a name redolent of classic times. It is called--and not unfittingly I think--The Home of the Muses."
"So I observed in your advertisement. Why not call this place Parnassus? Then one word would serve for five."
"The suggestion is not without merit," said the former school-mistress. "I perceive, Mr. Spruce, that you have some knowledge of the classics."
"I was educated at Winchester and Cambridge, Mrs. Tesk. The Home of the Muses--what a delightful name and how very appropriate."
Poor Mrs. Tesk having no sense of humour, did not understand that this last remark was ironical, and smiled gravely in full approval. Spruce screwed in his eye-glass, and glanced with a shrug at his surroundings. These were scarcely calculated to satisfy a sybarite, being extremely ugly, inartistic, well-worn and dingy. The room, of no great size, was over-crowded with clumsy furniture made in the early years of the nineteenth century, when solidity was much more valued than beauty. What with six ordinary chairs, two armchairs, a horse-hair sofa to match, a sideboard, a bookcase, and a fender-stool all of mahogany, to say nothing of an Indian screen and a rosewood piano, there was scarcely room to move. And everywhere appeared patterns;--on the carpet, on the wall-paper, on the curtains and on the table-cloth: the eye ached to find some plain spot, which was not striped, or spotted, or scrolled, or dotted. The sole redeeming feature of the dreadful apartment was that many years and constant use had mellowed everything into a sober congruity, so that the whole looked comfortable and homely. As the Home of the Muses, it was an entire failure; as the sanctum of the sedate middle-aged woman in the worn black silk gown, it was quite successful. And as there were many out-of-date educational volumes in the bookcase, and as the walls were decorated with samplers, water-coloured drawings, geographical maps, and even with framed specimens of hand-writing, it could be easily guessed that the apartment belonged to a retired school-mistress. There was something quite pathetic in Mrs. Tesk's flotsam and jetsam, which she had saved from the dire wreck of her superior fortunes.
And the landlady was as suited to the room as her visitor was unsuited, for there could not be a greater contrast than the two presented to one another. Mrs. Tesk belonged to a bygone age, while Spruce had to do with the very immediate present. In her shabby-genteel gown, which clothed a thin bony figure, and with a severe parchment-coloured face, the former teacher of the young looked very respectable indeed. Her mittens, her be-ribboned cap, her long gold chain, her large brooch containing locks of hair, and her cloth boots suggested the stories of Emma Jane Worboise and Mrs. Henry Wood. She was prim, pedantic and eminently genteel, the survival of an epoch when women wore full skirts and believed that their duty was to keep house, rather than to smash windows. Spruce stared at her through his eye-glass as he would have done at a prehistoric animal.
The would-be boarder was the last expression of man, as representing the lily of the fields which toils not. He resembled a cherub and was dressed like a Nut, that last variety of the masher, the swell, the dandy and the buck. With his clean-shaven pink and white face, his mild blue eyes, his smooth fair hair, little hands, little feet, and general well-groomed aspect, he looked like a good boy thoroughly acquainted with the Church Catechism. But his extravagant attire suggested Piccadilly, music-halls, the Park and afternoon teas. He wore a pale-green suit, the coat of which was made to show his waist, and turned-up trousers, which revealed purple socks and brogues of russia leather. His waistcoat was cut low, revealing a lavender-hued shirt and a purple scarf painted with a portrait of a famous dancer; and he held a green Trilby hat in his gloved hands, together with a gold-headed cane and an unlighted cigarette, which he did not dare to smoke in the severe presence of Mrs. Tesk. On the whole, Mr. Cuthbert Spruce was a thing of beauty, and wore as many colours as Joseph did when he put on his famous coat. He was the kind of male doll that virile men long to kick but dare not lest they should smash the thing.
When he had completed his survey of the room and of Mrs. Tesk, the Nut explained himself glibly. "I have come down here for a few months in order to study character for a book. Until I write that book I am rather hard up, so I should like to know if your terms are----"
"Twenty-five shillings a week," interrupted Mrs. Tesk solemnly. "No one, not even the most captious, can call such terms expensive or prohibitive."
"I certainly don't. In fact you ask so little that I am not sure if you can make me comfortable at the price."
"Good food, a good bed and genteel society, Mr. Spruce. What more does mortal man require, save a fire, which is not necessary, seeing that summer is with us in all its annual glory?"
"I don't think much of its annual glory comes to Bethnal Green, Mrs. Tesk. However, your terms will suit me, and I'll bring my boxes this afternoon. I can have a bath, I suppose?"
"Sixpence extra if cold and one shilling if warm."
"A cold bath will suit me as it is summer. Have you a valet in the house?"
"No, Mr. Spruce. Such a menial is only to be found in the houses of the rich, as I understand from the perusal of novels read for recreation. Here you will find plain living and high thinking. My cook is an old servant, who is able to roast and boil healthy viands. Amelia, who is sixteen, attends to the house-work, and there is the boy, Simon Jedd--commonly called Bottles, which is a facetious appellation given to him by a paying guest inclined to merriment. Such is my staff."
"And the paying guests?" asked Spruce, who began to think that five and twenty shillings was quite the top price to ask for such board and lodging.
Mrs. Tesk coughed. "Our circle is limited at present to a chosen few, as London is rather empty just now, on account of the summer season, which attracts people to the green woods and the sounding sea. There is Madame Alpenny, who is of Hungarian extraction, but who married an Englishman; together with her daughter, Zara, a dancer of repute at the Bijou Music-hall. I hesitated to accept the daughter as a paying guest," added Mrs. Tesk loftily, "as my education scarcely permits me to approve of the profession of Terpsichore."
"She was one of the Muses, you know," Spruce reminded her; "and as this is the Home of those ladies----"
"Quite so," interrupted Mrs. Tesk in her most stately fashion. "That fact may have biassed me in my permitting her to reside under my roof. Also, not having many paying guests at present, the money was a consideration, and humanity interdicted me from parting mother and child; although I am bound to say that Madame Alpenny refused to come if I did not take her daughter also. Finally I consented, and since seeing Zara dance I have not regretted my yielding. She exhibits the poetry of motion in a high degree and is quite respectable."
"Any other paying guests?"
"Mr. Edward Bracken--ordinarily termed Ned,--who plays the violin in the Bijou orchestra with great delicacy, and Mr. Owain Hench, who is at present absent, and will not return for a week."
Spruce rose and looked surprised. "Owain Hench. Will you spell his first name, Mrs. Tesk? I fancy I know him."
Mrs. Tesk spelt the name slowly. "It is a Welsh title!" she said as if Hench was a member of the House of Lords, "and the spelling is peculiar. In history we are told of Owen Tudor, and Owen Glendower, who signed their Christian appellations somewhat differently."
"It is the proper Welsh spelling," said Spruce, smiling. "He must be the same fellow I used to know at Winchester. We used to rag him about the queer way in which he spelt his name. Fancy Hench in this galley"--and he looked disdainfully round the shabby room--"I thought he was rich."
"I am not acquainted with the financial affairs of Mr. Hench," said the landlady stiffly; "but I am quite certain that he is by no means endowed largely with specie. Nevertheless he is a kind-hearted and estimable young man, who will yet achieve fame and fortune, although in what particular direction it is at present hard to say. He has resided here for six months, so I can speak of his qualities with some knowledge."
Spruce walked to the door. "I shall be glad to see Hench again," he remarked lightly. "Well, Mrs. Tesk, you may expect me and my luggage by four o'clock."
"I understand." Mrs. Tesk folded her hands and bowed graciously. "You will be in time for afternoon tea, when I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to Madame Alpenny, Mademoiselle Zara, and to Mr. Edward Bracken. You will find us a happy family, Mr. Spruce, and I trust you will never regret coming to stay in The Home of the Muses."
Spruce stifled a laugh and went out, lighting his cigarette and putting his hat on in the hall. He was immensely amused with the stately old-fashioned airs of the ex-school-mistress, and promised himself some fun in drawing her out. He did not anticipate a rosy time in the boarding-house, which was much too shabby and poor and sordid for one of his pleasure-loving nature; but he felt that the companionship of his old schoolfellow would enable him to pass the time fairly pleasantly. In his explanation to Mrs. Tesk as to his reason for coming to Bethnal Green, Mr. Spruce had not been entirely truthful, but the excuse of gathering material for a book would serve his purpose. The truth was that the Nut had been mixed up in a gambling affair with which cheating had been connected, so he had wisely determined to obliterate himself for a few months. Not being able to go abroad or into the country by reason of a lean purse, he had made up his mind to rusticate in Bethnal Green, and hoped that when the scandal was ended he could return to the West End. In the meantime, he was safe from observation, as no one would ever suspect that he was in London, so near and yet so far from civilization. He intended to give to Hench the same excuse as he had already given to Mrs. Tesk, and had no doubt but what it would be accepted. Hench, as he considered, was smart in many ways and the reverse in a few. While at Winchester he had been considered clever, but always over-confident that others were as honourable as himself, a belief which led to his being taken advantage of on many occasions. Spruce had never been intimate with Hench, as he belonged to a different set, but he was quite ready to be intimate with him now in such a dull locality as Bethnal Green. The cherubic little man by no means cared for the plain living and high thinking to which Mrs. Tesk had alluded, as he preferred high living and plain thinking, the latter having to do with thoughts of how to kill time by amusing himself. It was not likely that Hench would be of the same opinion, as from what Spruce remembered he had always been a solid sort of chap. Of course, it was eight years since the Nut had seen the young man, but if living in The Home of the Muses denoted his status, it was probable that he would be more solid than ever. And solid in the opinion of Mr. Spruce meant woeful dullness and pronounced common-sense. Therefore he scarcely anticipated that Hench would prove to be an ideal companion.
However, owing to the trouble in the West End, Spruce had to make the best of things, and duly arrived at the appointed time with his five boxes. People did not usually come to Mrs. Tesk's establishment with so much luggage, but Spruce being a Nut, and eminently fashionable, required many clothes to set off his rather mean little person. Amelia, the maid-of-all-work, and Jedd, who was facetiously called "Bottles," helped the cabman to carry up the many trunks to the new-comer's bedroom, and looked upon him with awe as the owner of such costly paraphernalia. Mrs. Tesk was also pleased in her stately fashion, as the arrival of such a quantity of luggage imparted dignity in some mysterious way to her establishment. By four o'clock the new paying guest had taken possession of his new abode, and was on his way to the drawing-room to meet those already assembled under Mrs. Tesk's hospitable roof. To do honour to the occasion, and to produce a good impression, Spruce had changed into a brand-new suit, and looked like Solomon-in-all-his-glory when he entered the stuffy apartment grandiloquently termed the drawing-room. It was tolerably large and less crowded with furniture than the sanctum of the landlady, but the windows being closed and the day being warm, Spruce gasped when he ventured in. It was like entering the coolest room of a Turkish bath.
"Allow me," said Mrs. Tesk in her deepest and most genteel voice. "Mr. Spruce, permit me to introduce you to Madame Alpenny, to Mademoiselle Zara Alpenny and to Mr. Edward Bracken. Madame Alpenny, Mademoiselle Alpenny and Mr. Edward Bracken, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Spruce, our new companion."
During the landlady's long-winded introduction the Nut bowed to the several people mentioned and swiftly noted their outward looks. The Hungarian lady, who had married an Englishman, was a very stout woman, slightly taller than Spruce himself, which was not saying much, and the remains of former beauty were apparent in her face if not in her figure. It is true that her complexion was sallow and her hair an unpleasant red, but she had finely-cut features and splendid eyes, dark, eloquent and alluring. She wore a dark dress spotted with orange circles, a loose black velvet mantle trimmed with beads, and a large floppy picture-hat, together with many costly bracelets, rings, chains, brooches and lockets. Evidently she carried her fortune on her person for security, and looked like a walking jeweller's shop. Spruce saw at a glance that she was a lady, although why she should wear such shabby clothes and live in such a shabby place when she possessed such valuable ornaments he could not say. Privately he decided that she looked interesting, and determined to find out all about her during his stay in the boarding-house.
"You will find us very quiet here," observed Madame Alpenny in excellent English, and smiling with very white teeth at the new-comer's resplendent appearance; "it will be dull in these parts for a young gentleman."
"Oh, I can make myself at home anywhere, Madame," replied Spruce, accepting a cup of very weak tea from Mrs. Tesk. "My visit here is only to collect material for a novel."
"I read the stories of my countryman, Maurus Jokai," said Madame with a nod. "You write like him. Is it not so?"
"By no means. I know nothing of Maurus Jokai."
"Gaszynski! Morzycka! Zmorski! Mukulitch! Riedl! Vehse?" the foreign lady ran off these difficult names of Polish, Russian and Hungarian authors still smiling; "you know them. Eh? What?"
"Never heard of them Madame. They sound like names out of the Book of Numbers to me. I am a very ignorant person, as you will find."
"Ah, say not so, Mr. Spruce. You like amusement perhaps. The dance, the cricket, the five o'clock tea? Tell me."
"All those things are more in my line. I hear from Mrs. Tesk that your daughter dances?"
"Ah, yes. Zara?"
"I am at the Bijou Music-hall just now in a Fire-dance," said the girl in an indifferent manner, for Spruce had not made the same impression on her as he had on her mother; "and Mr. Bracken here is in the orchestra."
"Second-violin," growled Bracken, who was paying great attention to the thin bread and butter. "Hard work and bad pay"--he stole a glance at the dancer--"but I have my compensations."
The look was sufficient to make Spruce understand that the young man was in love with Zara, just as the frown of Madame Alpenny, who had intercepted the look, showed him the mother's disapproval. The dancer was a tall and rather gaunt girl, handsome in a bold gipsy flamboyant way, with flashing dark eyes and a somewhat defiant manner, while the violinist was roughly good-looking, and seemed to pay very little attention to his dress. Evidently a romance was in progress here, and Spruce promised himself some amusement in watching the efforts--which he was sure were being made--of the mother to keep the lovers apart.
"You see," said Mrs. Tesk complacently, "we have many talents assembled here, Mr. Spruce. Mademoiselle Zara indulges in the light fantastic toe; Mr. Bracken is devoted to the noble art of music, and Madame Alpenny is conversant with the literature of foreign nations, which is natural considering her nationality. In my own person, I represent the English element of letters, and if you enjoy heart to heart talks, I am prepared to discuss poetry with you from Dan Chaucer down to Robert Browning."
"Thanks very much," said the new guest hastily and scarcely relishing the prospect; "but my doctor won't let me read much, as my health is not very good. But I daresay," he added, glancing round at the queer set he found himself amongst, "we can get up a game of bridge occasionally."
"Ah, but certainly," cried Madame with vivacity and her splendid eyes flashed; "for my part I delight in cards!"
"My preference is for Patience," said Mrs. Tesk solemnly. "I find it relieves the strain on my mind. So long as the stakes are not very high, Mr. Spruce, I shall be delighted to join you and Madame and Mademoiselle Zara in a friendly game. Oh, you will not find us dull, I think. And when Mr. Owain Hench returns he will be able to inform you about many parts of the world not usually accessible to the ordinary person."
Spruce rather resented Mrs. Tesk calling him an ordinary person, as he considered that he was head and shoulders above the assembled company. However, he did not allow any sign of annoyance at her density to escape him, but uttered a little chuckling laugh of acquiescence. "I'll be glad to see Hench again. He was always a good chap."
"Ah!" Madame glanced at her defiant daughter and then at Spruce; "it appears, then, that you know Mr. Hench?"
"We were at school together."
"So! He is a charming young man."
Zara laughed meaningly. "With money mamma thinks that he would be still more charming," she said significantly, and the sallow face of Madame grew red.
"It is true," she admitted frankly. "When one has a daughter, one must be careful of charming young men who are not rich. What do you say, Mr. Spruce?"
"Well, I never had a daughter, so I can't say anything," replied the little man, who was rapidly understanding many things. "And your opinion, Mr. Bracken, if I may ask it?" He put the question advisedly, as the mention of Hench's name had brought a scowl to the face of the violinist.
"Money isn't everything," growled Bracken, passing his hand through his rough hair, which he wore a trifle long, after the fashion of musicians. "Hench is a good fellow, and being clever will be rich some day."
"Ah! no"--Madame Alpenny shook her head vehemently--"he is too--what you call--careless of money. He is idle; he is a mystery."
Spruce opened his pale blue eyes at the last word, and put in his monocle to stare at the Hungarian lady. "There never was any mystery about Hench at school," he observed rather puzzled. "He was always rather a commonplace sort of chap."
"There is a mystery," insisted Madame more vehemently than ever. "I have seen him before, but where--no, it is impossible to say."
"You don't mean to say that he is wanted by the police?" asked Bracken.
"Don't speak like that!" cried Zara with a frown. "Mr. Hench is the most honourable man in the world. There is nothing mean about him."
"He is all that is agreeable and polite," said her mother gravely; "and but for one thing I have no fault to find with him. Still, I have seen him somewhere, that young gentleman; he has a history!"
"History! mystery! You jump to conclusions, mamma."
"Zara, my father was a diplomatist, and I am observant."
"Suspicious, I should say," remarked Bracken under his breath.
But low as he spoke the woman heard him. "Of some people I am," she said with a dark glance, which revealed that she was not so good-humoured as she looked.
Zara rose with a swing of her skirts and looked as graceful and as dangerous as a pantheress. "I am going to lie down," she observed rather irrelevantly. "I always lie down, Mr. Spruce, so as to prepare for the fatigues of the night. If you ask Mr. Bracken he will take you to the smoking-room."
"Oh, thanks," gasped Spruce, who did not wish to remain in the company of the violinist, whom he privately termed a bounder; "but I am going to my room to write letters."
"Fancy staying in to write letters on this beautiful day. Mr. Bracken will be wiser, I am sure, and take a walk."
"You've hit it," said Mr. Bracken, taking out a well-worn briar pipe. "I'm off for a breather." And he escorted Zara out of the room without noticing Spruce, to whom he had taken a dislike.
Madame Alpenny half arose when she saw the two departing in company, but sat down again with a frown. In a few minutes she walked to the window and drew a sigh of relief on seeing Bracken standing on the pavement lighting his pipe. Spruce guessed by this by-play that she did not approve of the violinist being with her daughter, and became more certain than ever that the romance he had conjectured existed. Zara had got rid of Bracken, it was evident, so as not to leave him in the company of her mother. Hence her mention that the violinist would show Spruce the smoking-room, and her suggestion of a walk for Bracken when the new guest refused the offer of tobacco. However, Madame now seeing that the two were parted, returned to her seat satisfied, and resumed her talk about Mr. Hench.
"You must tell me of your old schoolfellow," she said graciously; "he is a young man I greatly admire. I study his character."
"An admirable character," said Mrs. Tesk loftily.
"I cannot help you, Madame, as I haven't seen Hench for years," said Spruce.
"Ah indeed! You will find him very mysterious!" And she nodded significantly.
CHAPTER II
OLD SCHOOL-FELLOWS
Mr. Spruce found The Home of the Muses less dull than he expected it to be, in spite of its ridiculous name. For six days he amused himself very tolerably in contemplating the novelty of his surroundings, and in getting what amusement he could out of the same. Desiring "something new," after the fashion of the Athenians, he explored Bethnal Green more or less thoroughly, and learned that the seamy side of life here exhibited had attractions for a keen-witted observer, as he truly was. People in the West End were always on the look-out for money with which to indulge their fancies; people in this neighbourhood hunted likewise for the nimble shilling, but used it when obtained to keep a roof over their heads and bread in their mouths. But the excitement of the money-chase was always the same, and Spruce watched the same with great interest. In fact he took part in the hunt for dollars himself, as he also had to live in such comfort as his depleted purse could command.
That Destiny had not dealt lavishly with Spruce was due to his own crooked way of propitiating the whimsical goddess, since he disliked honest toil. On leaving college and entering the great world, he had enjoyed a fair fortune nursed for years by jealous guardians, which ought to have kept him in luxury for the whole of his useless life. But the Nut, thinking he possessed the purse of Fortunatus, dipped into it too freely, and like the earthen pot at once smashed when the brass pots dashed against him. He entered a fast set, fascinating and expensive, whose members gambled heavily, who flirted freely with free-lance ladies and who ran up bills on every occasion. A few years of this life reduced Spruce to living on his wits, and as these were sharp enough, he managed to scramble along somehow and keep his head above water.
But not making money fast enough honestly, he attempted to cheat at cards, and therefore was expelled from his profligate paradise. For this reason he had come to rusticate in Bethnal Green, and intended to return as soon as he could make sure of being tolerated in his former haunts and by his former associates. But as he had committed the one crime which society, however rapid, will never condone, the prospect of his being whitewashed was not very promising. However, the little man knew that money covers a multitude of sins, and would go far to excuse the particular sin of cheating, which had ruined him. He therefore looked here, there and everywhere during his retirement in the hope of making money, so that he could return with full pockets to the West End. But it must be admitted that Bethnal Green was not exactly Tom Tiddler's ground, and little gold and silver did Spruce pick up.
The Nut certainly won a certain amount of money from Madame Alpenny, who was a born gambler, and staked her jewellery when coin was wanting. She was always hard up, as she frankly informed Spruce when she came to know him better, and had long since turned what money she possessed into the costly ornaments she wore. Zara earned enough to keep her mother and herself at the boarding-house, but otherwise spent her earnings on herself, knowing, as she did, that Madame Alpenny would only gamble away what was given her. Therefore the old woman sometimes had to sell a brooch or a bracelet in order to get funds for her gambling. She was clever at cards, but scarcely so clever, and it may be added unscrupulous, as Spruce, so by the end of the week her person was not quite so lavishly decorated with jewellery as it had been when the Nut first set eyes on her. But in spite of her bad luck, the Hungarian lady always behaved amiably towards Spruce, as she took him at his own valuation and believed him to be a rich young man indulging in the fantastic whim of living in Mrs. Tesk's house. It did not take much time for the Nut to see that Madame Alpenny's agreeable demeanour was due to the hope she entertained that he would make love to Zara, and perhaps become her son-in-law. Spruce had about as much idea of courting the dancer as of flying, but he allowed the lady to think that he admired her daughter so that she might continue to gamble. Being quite deceived as to his real status and his real intentions, she did; so Spruce found himself much better off in pocket by the end of the week, and about the time when Owain Hench was expected back.
The little man was waiting for Hench, as he greatly desired to see if any money could be made out of him. People who travelled about the world, as Hench apparently did, often found gold-mines, or knew of some hidden treasure, or had an idea of how to make money in large quantities. Spruce was very vague as to how he could exploit Hench to his own advantage, as he had not seen him for eight years and did not know his possibilities. However, he was assured that while residing under the same roof as Hench he would soon be able to learn if he was worth making a friend of, and so waited anxiously for the young man's return. Meanwhile he gambled with Madame Alpenny; made himself agreeable to the ex-school-mistress, whom he found a frightful bore; and went several times to the Bijou Music-hall to see Mademoiselle Zara dance. To his surprise he found that she was really a very brilliant artist, who was entirely thrown away on a Bethnal Green audience, and asked himself quite seriously if it would not be worth while to marry her and secure for her an engagement at the West End. If she made a success there--as he was sure she would do--then she could support him in luxury and the old woman could be got rid of somehow. Oh, Spruce found many ideas in The Home of the Muses which might result in the gain of money, although he saw plainly that to bring the same to fruition time was necessary. At all events, he was making a living out of Madame Alpenny; foresaw possibilities in Zara's dancing with the chance of profit to himself, and always kept in his scheming little mind that Hench might prove to be a valuable acquaintance. Therefore, the six days prior to the young man's return proved to be amusing and profitable and promising. As Spruce had become an adventurer and a picker-up of unconsidered trifles, after the fashion of Autolycus, he was quite content with the progress he had made so far in his new camping-ground. For that it was, since Spruce had no idea of having a home, and disliked domesticity.
It was on Sunday afternoon that Hench returned. Madame Alpenny was lying down for a rest, as she always did on the seventh day; Zara had slipped out for a walk with Bracken; and Mrs. Tesk was laboriously reading a religious book, which she found extremely dull, but considered the correct thing to peruse on the Sabbath. Spruce being left very much to his own devices, had amused himself by sorting his wardrobe, and towards five o'clock was beginning to find time hang heavy on his hands. With a yawn he descended to the smoking-room to idle away an hour with a cigarette and the Sunday papers. In the bleak little apartment devoted to the goddess Nicotine--a goddess unknown to the Olympians, it may be remarked--he came suddenly upon a tall young man who was puffing his pipe and listlessly staring out of the window. Rather from intuition than from positive knowledge, the Nut guessed that this was the returned wanderer.
"Hullo, Hench, and how are you?" was his greeting, and he advanced with a gracious smile and an outstretched hand.
The young man rose slowly, looking very much astonished, but mechanically accepted the proferred grasp. Apparently he did not recognize that this resplendent being was his old schoolfellow, and hinted as much in a rough and ready fashion. "Who the deuce are you?" he demanded with a puzzled expression.
"Cuthbert Spruce!" replied the Nut, nettled as a vain man would be by the want of recognition.
"Cuthbert Spruce! Well?" Hench still appeared to be ignorant and waited for some light to be cast upon the subject of this hearty greeting.
"Oh, come now, you are an ass, Hench. Don't you remember Winchester, and the day you picked me up when I got lost during the hare and hounds run?"
Hench stared at the pink and white cherubic face and a smile broke over his face, as he shook the little man's hand heartily. "Of course. Little Spruce, isn't it?"
"I have already said as much," retorted the mortified Nut dryly.
"Well, I didn't see much of you at Winchester, you know," confessed the stalwart young man, sitting down for a chat; "you were in a different set, anyhow. And I don't fancy I cared much for your set, such as it was. H'm!" Hench stared hard at the other and pulled hard at his pipe. "Yes. Little Spruce, of course, commonly called The Cherub. And by gad, Spruce, you're a cherub still."
"No one could call you so, Hench," said Spruce affably, sitting down and producing a dainty cigarette-case; "you are more like Hercules, big and stolid and dull and honest."
"What a mixture of depreciation and compliment," said Hench coolly. "Well, I am glad to see you, in spite of your somewhat free speech. After all, one's heart warms to a chap from the old school."
"Rather!" agreed the Nut, whose heart never warmed towards any one or anything. "It's queer meeting you here. Let's have a look at you."
Hench laughed and shifted his position, so that the light from the window fell full upon him. A woman would have thought, as women did think, that he was well worth looking at, since he was tall and stalwart, undeniably handsome and possessed of great strength. With his well-built figure and upright carriage he looked more like a soldier than anything else. His hair, closely cropped, was brown, as were his eyes, and he had a full spade-shaped beard which added to his virile looks. The two men formed a marked contrast, and the small, dainty, over-dressed Nut looked like a doll beside the big, handsome, carelessly attired man. And it was on this attire that Spruce's eyes were fixed, as it hinted at many things. A well-worn blue-serge suit, a woollen shirt and mended brown boots did not suggest money, any more than the presence of Hench in this cheap boarding house intimated a good income. The Nut began to think that his dreams of making use of Hench were purely visionary. There was no wealth to be extracted from such an obvious pauper. Nevertheless, Spruce, who never threw away a chance, behaved very cordially and paid compliments.
"But for that beard you are just the same as you were at Winchester," he remarked. "You were always big and heroic-looking. What are you doing here?"
"Marking time!" said Hench laconically.
"In the hopes of what?"
"Of making my fortune."
"Hum!" Spruce looked dissatisfied, as he did not care about meeting old schoolfellows who required help; "you do look down on your luck."
"Not more than usual. I always make sufficient to keep my head above water by writing articles and stories for cheap newspapers and journals. But that is a poor state of things for a man of twenty-five."
"There isn't much pie-crust about it, I admit, Hench. Why, I thought you were rich. I know at school the fellows always talked about your father being a Duke of sorts constantly on the move."
"My father travelled a great deal on the Continent, certainly, and when I left school I joined him. But he died five or six years ago and left me with very little money. Since then I have been voyaging round the terrestrial globe to find money, and so far have not achieved success. But I say"--Hench broke off to re-fill his pipe--"why make me egotistical? My affairs don't interest you."
"Oh yes, they do," Spruce protested, then baited his hook with a minnow to catch a possible whale. "And if you will allow me to be your banker----"
"No! No! It's awfully good of you. But I have enough for my needs."
"Well, when you haven't, come to me. Old schoolfellows, you know, should help one another at a pinch."
"You're a good chap, Spruce," said the big man, gratefully.
Spruce smiled graciously in response to the compliment, and privately considered that Hench was as trusting as he always had been, taking men at their own valuation, instead of putting a price on them himself. However, he had gained the good-will of the man by his delicate offer--which he by no means intended should be accepted--and therefore hoped, should Hench prove to be worth powder and shot, to benefit by his artful diplomacy. "Oh, that's all right, old fellow," he said airily and blowing rings of smoke; "since we're in the same galley we may as well renew our old friendship."
"Begin a friendship, you mean," said Hench very directly. "We weren't pals at school, so far as I can recollect."
"No! that's true enough. But you picked me up out of that ditch and played the part of a Good Samaritan, so I have reason to be friendly."
"Thanks! I'm with you, Spruce. While we camp here I daresay we'll see a lot of one another, and I shan't forget your kind offer to help. I'm not quick to make friends, you know, as I find most people jolly well look after themselves to the exclusion of every one else."
"I do, myself," said the Nut coolly. "Don't think that I go about playing the part of the Good Samaritan haphazard. But an old schoolfellow, you know----"
"Yes! I understand. There's something in having been at the same desk, isn't there. But I say, Spruce, what are you doing here? Now that I cast my memory back, you were supposed to be very well off."
"Oh, I am still," lied the Nut in a most brazen way; "that is I have enough money on which to live comfortably, although not a millionaire. But the fact is, I have literary ambitions, and wish to write a book. Some fellow said that Bethnal Green had never been written up since the time of the celebrated beggar, so I thought I'd come down and gather material. I spotted Mrs. Tesk's advertisement in the papers and the name of the house attracted me."
Hench laughed. "The Home of the Muses! It's rather a queer title to give a house in this poverty-stricken neighbourhood; but then Mrs. Tesk, bless her, is queer herself. She's a good sort though, all the same. Well, you've come to the right place to get material for a sort of Charles Dickens book. We all live in Queer Street here, Spruce."
"Queer Street, which, like Bohemia, is nowhere and yet is everywhere, Hench."
"You are epigrammatic. That won't do for a book of the Dickens type."
The Nut shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what sort of book I'll write, and that's a fact. In Queer Street, which I take it comprises the whole of Bethnal Green, there are many interesting people, for I have been walking about and have kept my eyes open. But those I find most interesting are under this roof."
"Madame Alpenny?"
"Yes! She's quite a character with her jewellery and her gambling. By the way, you won't find her so decked out Hindoo fashion as hitherto. During the week of my stay here, I have won two bracelets, several rings and a pair of ear-rings."
Hench looked displeased. "You shouldn't encourage her love of gambling," he said strongly. "I'm not a saint, but it doesn't seem right for a well-to-do man such as you are to win Madame Alpenny's jewellery."
"Why not? She has the same chance of winning my money. We play quite fairly, you know, Hench, and one must pass the time somehow. But I quite understand why you don't wish me to loot the lady."
"Oh, do you." Hench grew red and smoothed his beard. "Well?"
"I have listened and looked and questioned and considered while I have been here," explained the Nut coolly, "and by doing so I have found out your romance."
"My romance!"--the big man bit his nether lip and thought that it was like the cheek of this finicky little devil to meddle with what did not in any way concern him--"what the deuce are you talking about?"
"About your romance; about Bracken's romance; and about Mademoiselle Zara, who is the subject of both romances."
"You are talking through your hat, Spruce."
"By no means. I can give you chapter and verse for my surmises. Zara Alpenny is a handsome gipsy, although to my fancy she is a trifle gaunt and fierce, as any one can see. Her mother being poor, intends that her daughter shall be the wife of a wealthy man. You have fallen in love with this divinity of the Bijou Music-hall, and so has that bounder of a violinist. Madame Alpenny, knowing your circumstances, will have nothing to do with either of you as sons-in-law, preferring yours truly."
"You!" Hench sat up and stared indignantly at the smooth speaker. "Now what the dickens do you mean by that rubbish?"
"What I say. You understand King's English, I take it. But you need have no fear so far as I am concerned. Mademoiselle Zara is not my sort, and I have no intention of forwarding Madame Alpenny's matrimonial aims. But you----"
Hench rose, looking considerably irritated. "I wish you would mind your own business," he said sharply. "You have found a mare's nest."
"Oh, well," observed Spruce lazily, "if that is the case I may as well change my mind and become a suitor for Zara's hand."
"You shall do nothing of the sort."
"Why not? You don't love her, if I am to credit your mare's nest parable."
Hench found that the Nut was too sharp for him and sat down with a defeated air. "I admire the girl, rather than love her," he admitted reluctantly. "She's a good sort and would make a good wife--something of a comrade, you know."
"I don't think that fierce-eyed girl would care for a marriage of the comrade sort, Hench. She wants love of the most pronounced and romantic kind, and that kind she is getting from Bracken. He worships her, and will carry off the prize if all you can give is cautious admiration."
"It's none of your business, anyway," fumed the big man.
"No. I admit that! But suppose I make it my business by asking Madame Alpenny for her daughter's hand. She believes me to be rich and----"
"And you are not. Come, be honest."
Spruce saw that he had overshot the mark and retreated dexterously. "I have already been honest, as I told you that I was not a millionaire but only well off. Anyhow, I am a better husband for Zara so far as money is concerned than you or that bounder."
"But hang it, man, you can't love her. You've only known her a week."
"I never said that I did love her, or could possibly come to love her. Still, Zara is handsome and clever, so why shouldn't I make her my comrade-wife, since you suggested the same kind of half-baked alliance with yourself."
"Look here, Spruce," stated the other very seriously, and irritated by the nimble wit of his schoolfellow, "you have proved yourself to be a decent sort by offering to help me. For that offer I thank you, and because of it I am willing that we should be friends. But if you make love to Zara we are sure to quarrel."
"Aren't you rather a dog-in-the-manger, Hench?"
"No. I admire the girl."
"She wants love, which you evidently can't give her," retorted Spruce in an emphatic manner. "Now, if I can love her----"
"You said that she wasn't your sort."
"She isn't. Still, she is handsome, and one might pick up a worse wife."
"But not a worse mother-in-law. So far as I am concerned it doesn't matter, as I have neither kith nor kin to my knowledge, and, moreover, I am a vagabond upon the face of the earth. But with your family connections and position and money, the marriage would not be a success, seeing that it entails your taking Madame Alpenny to the West End. There she would scarcely do you credit."
Spruce rocked with laughter, and wondered what Hench would say if he knew the true position of affairs which had been so carefully withheld from him. "I give in, old fellow," he said, wiping his eyes with a mauve silk handkerchief and wafting a perfume about the room. "I was only codding you. I don't want to marry the girl. But Bracken does."
"And so do I," rejoined Hench tartly.
"H'm! I'm not so sure of that. Yours is a cold-blooded wooing. The girl asks you for the bread of love and you give her the stone of admiration."
"She doesn't ask me for love," said the tall young man with a sigh. "I am not so blind but what I can see that she loves Bracken."
"Then why don't you sheer off?"
"I don't like any man to get the better of me."
"There speaks the buccaneer, the cave-man, the prehistoric grabber. Lord! what a weird state of things, and how simple you are, Hench, to place all your cards on the table. I can teach you a thing or two."
"I am quite sure you can," said Hench dryly, and disliking the wit of this effeminate little creature, which was so extremely keen; "but I go my own way, thank you, and dree my own weird. It is probable that I will ask Madame Alpenny if I can marry Zara, and if Zara is agreeable----"
"Which by your own showing she won't be," put in Spruce parenthetically.
"----I'll marry her. If not, I'll go away and let Bracken make her his wife."
Spruce rose with a yawn. "I fancy Madame Alpenny will have a word or two to say to that, my dear fellow. Why don't you skip now?"
"Because I admire Zara and mean to give her the chance of accepting or rejecting me," said Hench doggedly. "Also, I can't leave London for a few weeks, as I have to interview my father's lawyers."
"What about?"
"I can't tell you. My father left certain papers with his lawyers which were to be given to me when I attained the age of twenty-five. My birthday arrives shortly, and then I'll see what is to be done."
"It sounds like a mystery," yawned Spruce, apparently in a listless manner, but secretly all agog to learn what the lawyers of his friend knew; "Madame Alpenny says you are a mystery."
"Me!" Hench laughed scornfully; "why, there's nothing mysterious about me. As you said just now, I am a simple person who places all his cards on the table."
"Yes"--Spruce nodded--"more fool you. Now, if you will only allow that old woman to think that there really is a mystery connected with you--and there seems to be so far as this legal interview is concerned--she may give you a chance of becoming her daughter's husband."
"Perhaps! But why does she think me a mystery?"
"I can't tell you. She was very vague about the matter. She declares that she has seen you somewhere and that you have a history."
"History be hanged. My father had sufficient money to travel about and put me to school at Winchester. When I left I joined him, and we went through Europe to this place and that until he died and was buried in Paris. What mystery is there about that?"
"None. But your family----?"
"I haven't got any save my father, who is dead. And he told me very little about himself or his belongings. We are a Welsh family, I believe."
"Hench isn't a Welsh name."
"Owain is, anyhow, and the spelling is old Welsh," retorted the other.
"True. We used to rag you about the spelling at school. Well, with such a name as that, you might find out the truth about your family."
"I'm not curious."
"You should be then, as I would be if I were in your shoes. For all you know there may be a title and money waiting for you."
"Oh, rubbish! Well, you can tell Madame Alpenny what I have told you. No. On second thoughts, I'll tell her myself. She and her mystery, indeed!" and with a scornful nod Hench left the bleak smoking-room.
Spruce reflected that Hench was a simpleton to be so frank about his private affairs, and had not changed, so far as trusting people went, since his school-days. "Also there is a mystery," he mused. "I'll search it out."
CHAPTER III
MAN PROPOSES
Everyone, without exception, was glad that Hench had returned, for he appeared to be a favourite with all. And not the least pleased to see him was the boy Simon Jedd, commonly called "Bottles." He was a freckled, red-haired, laughing youngster of fifteen, with a wide mouth and a snub nose, not by any manner of means handsome, but genial and cheerful and extremely honest. He helped Amelia with the house-work, ran errands, waited at table, cleaned the boots of the paying guests, and earned his scanty wages by making himself uncommonly useful on all and every occasion. But being a restless youth, and much given at odd moments to reading books of highly-coloured adventure in the form of penny stories, he had a soul above his drudgery, and longed with all his heart to face dangers of the most pronounced kind. Such a lad was bound to have some sort of actual hero to worship and adore.
In Hench, Bottles saw exactly the pioneering type, which was his ideal of perfect manhood, and he looked upon the young man as the model of all the virtues which most appealed to him. This being the case, he never could do enough to prove his devotion. No bed was so well made as that of Hench; no room was kept so spotlessly clean, and no boots were so highly polished. Half amused and half touched by this genuine hero-worship, Hench lent the boy books of travel, told him about his adventures in far lands, gave him odd shillings to patronize the local picture palace and music-hall, and generally treated him in a way which made the heart of the boy swell with pride. It was no wonder that Bottles adored him and could never do enough for him.
On the morning after his return, Hench found his clothes well brushed, his bath ready, and a cup of tea at his elbow, while Bottles hovered round the room wondering what else he could do to show his rejoicing spirit. In his shabby patched clothes, and wearing an apron of green baize, Bottles grinned respectfully when Hench sat up in bed to drink his tea. He also supplied him with small-beer chronicles concerning events which had taken place in The Home of the Muses during his hero's absence. Hench cared very little for such gossip, but allowed Bottles to prattle on because it pleased the lad. And certainly Master Jedd might have been a detective, so full and clever was his report. In the course of his narrative he arrived at Spruce. Then Hench really did listen, for, simple as he was, he began to wonder if the Nut had given his true reason for this visit to Bethnal Green.
"Such a swell as he is, ain't he?" babbled Bottles, who was now slipping links and studs into Hench's shirt. "I never did see a cove come with so many boxes, sir. Must be rich, I think, though he ain't free with his money. Says he knew you at school, sir, he does. True, ain't it?"
"Quite true, Bottles!" replied Hench, nodding. "I haven't seen him for eight or more years."
"And you don't like him now you do see him, do you, sir?"
"Why should you say that?"
"Well, sir"--Bottles scratched his scarlet poll--"he don't seem to me to be quite your style. There ain't no Buffalo Bill, Pathfinder business about him. If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I don't think it's cricket his winning all that foreign lady's jewellery at cards, nohow."
"That's none of your business, Bottles."
"Sorry, sir. But I can't help seeing and thinking when I do see. And what's a swell like him doing down here, I'd like to know?"
"You'd better ask him."
"And get a clip on the ears for my pains, sir. Not me. Though I dessay he ain't the cove to hit out."
"Too kind-hearted?" asked Hench, amused.
"Well," said Bottles slowly, "I shouldn't use them words myself. Mr. Spruce is the kind of feller who'd trip you up when you wasn't looking; but I don't think he'd meet any one's eye straight. Seems to me as he might have done a glide, if you take me, sir."
"I don't take you, Bottles?"
"Bolted, mizzled, cut away," explained the boy earnestly. "Swells don't come to this place for fun."
"Don't be a fool, boy. Mr. Spruce has only come here to gather material for a book he is writing."
"Oh, he says that, do he, sir? Well, I don't think! Ho! I'll keep my eye on all the illustrated papers and see if his picture's in 'em."
"Why should his picture be in them?"
Bottles shook his head mysteriously and skipped lightly towards the door. He saw that Hench did not approve of his groundless suspicions, so made up his mind to say no more. All the same, having got the idea that Spruce had "done something" into his head, which came from reading too many penny-dreadful romances, he made up his mind to watch the Nut. This he did not tell his hero lest he should be forbidden to "follow the trail," as he put it. Therefore he held his tongue and removed himself swiftly.
While Hench took his bath and dressed slowly, he wondered if by chance the boy had hit the mark. It did appear to be strange that a well-to-do and fashionable young man should come and live amidst such sordid surroundings. Spruce's story of gathering material for a novel was plausible enough, yet somehow it did not ring true. Hench, as the Nut thought with some degree of truth, was a very simple and unsuspicious person, but he was not quite such a fool as Mr. Spruce imagined him to be. Affable as the young man had been, and pleased as he was with his old schoolfellow's offer of pecuniary aid, he could not bring himself to like the Cherub. His dandified dress, his mincing ways, his gorgeous array and use of perfume, irritated the rough-and-ready manhood of Hench. He sensed something poisonous about the little man, and resolved very rightly to be wary in his dealings with him. Moreover, Spruce was altogether too curious about matters which did not concern him, though why he should be so Hench was unable to say. The Nut had made himself acquainted with the affairs of every one in the house since his arrival, and knew much which could not possibly interest him. However, if he had come to Bethnal Green to plot and contrive, it would be a case of diamond cut diamond, for Hench guessed that Bottles would keep his eye on the little man's doings. And the eye of Bottles was sharp, while the brain of Bottles was keen; so the schemes of Mr. Spruce would be baffled in the end, always presuming that he really had any.
"But it's all bosh," said Hench aloud to himself, as he made ready to go down to breakfast. "Spruce has come here to write a book, and it's silly of me to make a mountain out of a molehill. I daresay he'll grow tired of this dull life here and cut away back to the West End. Upon my word I shan't be sorry when he goes. Strange that Bottles should dislike him so thoroughly. He's a sharp lad, is Bottles, and doesn't usually make mistakes."
Having unloaded his mind in this soliloquy, Hench descended to breakfast and enjoyed that meal all alone, as he was late and every one was out. Spruce, indeed, was having breakfast in his room, and of this Hench was glad, as he always liked to read the newspaper while drinking his coffee. This would have been impossible had such a chattering magpie as the Nut been present. But he did not escape the attentions of his old schoolfellow entirely, for Spruce made his appearance just as he finished eating. The Nut wore a suit of cream-coloured serge with a black necktie, black boots, black gloves, and a black hat of soft felt. Hench stared.
"I say, you look like a negative," he remonstrated. "Don't go out in that get-up or you'll be mobbed."
"Oh, no," said Spruce smoothly; "only pointed at. I'm accustomed to that, as I have put on a different suit every day since coming here. It must be a pleasure for these Bethnal Green rotters to see a well-dressed man."
"I don't mind a fellow being well dressed," retorted Hench with emphasis, "but I do object to over-dressing."
Spruce shrugged his shoulders. "You never did care to look decent."
"I'm decent enough; confound your impudence!"
"What with that shaggy beard and shabby clothes, and----"
"There! There! Keep off the grass, Spruce. My clothes are well enough, although I do admit my beard is a trifle out of place. But when I returned from South America six months ago I never bothered to shave. Too much trouble."
"Well, if I were a good-looking chap such as you are, I would pay more attention to my appearance. Coming out for a walk?"
"No. Not with you in that get-up!"
Spruce laughed. "Rum sort of chap you are to object to a fellow dressing decently. However, have it your own way. I'll see you this afternoon."
Hench nodded absently and filled his pipe, while Spruce departed to delight the jeering inhabitants of Bethnal Green. And they did jeer, in what Spruce considered their coarse, common, vulgar way, but did not manage to upset him in the least. He was much too conceited to think that he could possibly be wrong in his selection of clothes. And it must be confessed that, as the day was hot even for July, he looked wonderfully cool and comfortable in his white garb. The men jeered, but for the most part the women admired him, and so long as he gained admiration from the fair sex Spruce was wholly content. So he screwed in his eye-glass and strutted and smiled, and made a progress through the main streets of Bethnal Green with a heroism worthy of a better cause. And it was heroism in a way to venture amongst the great unwashed in such fantastic clothes, although in Spruce it took the form of absolute vanity, and a certainty that he was "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever."
As the day was warm and sunny the Nut did not return to luncheon, but enjoyed that meal in a City restaurant. He did not risk travelling beyond Fleet Street, lest he should stumble against some former friend who certainly would not be amiably disposed. Like the Peri, Spruce stood at the Gates of Paradise, but did not dare to venture in, so after a long look up the Strand, which was closed to him, he returned gloomily to Bethnal Green. But by the time he reached The Home of the Muses, he felt much better, as his nature was too shallow for him to be impressed strongly by any emotion--sorrowful or joyful. It was late in the afternoon when he entered the dingy drawing-room, and here he found Hench and Madame Alpenny enjoying the regulation tea. Zara, it appeared, was lying down to refresh herself for the evening's performance, and Bracken was attending a rehearsal. As for Mrs. Tesk, her mind was engaged with the approaching dinner, and she was consulting the cook in the kitchen.
As soon as Bottles, who was attending to the meal, saw Spruce stepping in he became at once upon the alert, and devoured him with his light blue eyes. Hench, noticing this espionage, sent the lad away to get fresh tea, as he did not approve of Bottles watching and listening to what did not concern him. Madame Alpenny smiled blandly when Spruce entered and complimented him on his cool looks. She was hot herself, and this was little to be wondered at, as she wore her constant black dress with the orange spots, her picture hat and her heavy bead mantle. The Nut wondered if she had any other clothes, as she never seemed to wear another garb.
"You are just in time, Mr. Spruce," said Madame Alpenny in her lively way, and after she had paid her compliment. "Tell me what you know of Mr. Hench here."
Spruce stared. "Why do you ask me that?"
"Indeed you may well ask," said Hench with a frown, "as you cannot answer the question. But Madame here will not permit me to pay attention to Mademoiselle Zara until she knows more about me."
"I am a good mother, you see, and must consider my daughter's happiness," was the reply of the Hungarian lady, as she took the freshly filled teapot from Bottles and sent him out of the room again.
"If that is the case," said Spruce politely, "then you must allow her to become Mrs. Bracken."
"Certainly I shall not. Ah, but you are smiling."
"Indeed, I think your daughter will only be happy with Bracken," insisted the Nut lightly. "He loves her, and I think that she loves him."
"In that case," commented Madame with a shrug and glancing at Hench, "there is no chance for you."
"I admire Mademoiselle Zara and wish to make her my wife," said Hench steadily. "I am young and strong, and will soon make a fortune."
"So far you have been unsuccessful," she replied dryly; "and for my daughter I prefer a ready-made fortune." Her eyes rested on Spruce as she spoke. The little man did not take the hint, but chuckled softly in his hateful fashion, so she was obliged to go on. "Tell me, Mr. Spruce, what do you know of Mr. Hench?"
"Only that he is the best fellow in the world."
Hench frowned. "I don't see how you can swear to that, seeing we have not met for eight years."
"Oh, you were always a good sort of chap," said Spruce gaily. "If you don't mind my saying so, you haven't enough brains to be wicked. It takes a clever person to sin properly."
"Ah, but you will amuse yourself with this talk," broke in Madame, smiling. "I want a good man for my daughter."
"Take Bracken, then. He's a bit of a bounder, but decent enough."
The old woman pursed up her lips and shook her head. After a few moments of reflection she spoke freely. "My daughter must marry money, and neither you, Mr. Hench, nor Mr. Bracken have any money. I will not allow you to pay your addresses to her. Nor will Zara receive them. She is a good girl and loves her old mother."
"Well, Hench," said Spruce, when this speech was ended, "now you know. Are you not heart-broken?"
"No!" retorted Hench sharply. "Nor am I defeated. Zara will decide."
"She will decide what I order her to decide!" cried Madame Alpenny furiously. "And my daughter is not for you, Mr. Hench!"
"I should prefer to discuss that question privately," said the young man in a stiff, haughty way; "there is no need for Mr. Spruce to be present."
"Oh, don't say that," chimed in the Nut reproachfully; "I may be able to help you, old fellow. You don't go the right way to work."
"It's my own way," snapped Hench restlessly, and objecting to interference.
"Then it's the wrong way," snapped Spruce in his turn. "Remember that Madame Alpenny thinks you are a mystery. Use that to help you."
"In what way?" Hench opened his brown eyes.
"Mysterious persons are always interesting, and if Madame here finds that you may turn out to be some one great, who knows but what she may change her mind?"
"Are you something great?" asked the lady, addressing Hench quickly.
"No. I am nobody, and will remain nobody. Why should you think that I am, what you call, a mystery?"
"It is hard to say," she answered dreamily and staring hard at him. "I have seen eyes like yours somewhere. They are connected with a story--a kind of family mystery. But I can't remember to whom those eyes belonged."
"Perhaps you have met our friend here before," suggested the Nut eagerly.
"No!" said Madame positively, and Hench also shook his head. "I met him here for the first time. The person who had eyes like him I met--or I fancy I met--some twenty years ago. But it is all vague and uncertain. Yet I feel that the story I allude to is here"--she touched her forehead--"a mere word will bring it back to my memory."
"Then let us try and find the magic word," cried the irrepressible Spruce. "I am desperately curious myself to fathom a mystery which the person concerned in it does not guess."