Laurence Sterne - "A Sentimental Journey"

Marden vice Harden - "Stories from Life"

William Shakespeare - "The Tragedy of King Lear"

Jack London - "The Strength of the Strong"

The Town Traveller

G >> George Gissing >> The Town Traveller




"You are making a mistake, sir," replied an indistinct voice, with
an effort at dignity.

"Oh, no, not a bit of it. Not now I've heard you speak, Mr. Clover."

"I don't understand you, sir," sounded more clearly, the pallid
visage now a muddy red and the eyes moist. "That is not my name. Be
so good as to go your way."

"Certainly. I just wanted to make sure, that's all. No fuss. Good
morning, Mr. Clover."

Gammon drew back. He heard the order "Charing Cross," and the cab
drew away.

After a moment or two of irresolution Gammon walked hurriedly back
to the nearest public-house, where he called for a glass of bitter
and the Directory. With the former he slaked a decided dryness of
the throat, the latter he searched eagerly in the section "Court."
There it was! "Polperro, Lord, 16, Lowndes Mansions, Sloane Street,
S.W. Junior Ramblers' Club. Trefoyle, Liskeard, Cornwall."

By jorrocks!

With thoughts tuned to anything but the oil and colour business he
returned to Quodlings' and had his interview with the head of the
firm. Mr. Quodling, senior, was a gruff, heavy-featured man,
decidedly of coarse fibre; when moved he swore with gusto, and it
did not take much to put him out. At present he was in an irritable
mood, and, very unlike his habit, gave scant attention to the affair
of which Gammon spoke. It would not have improved his temper had he
known that the town traveller was amusing himself with the
reflection that there was no trace of personal resemblance between
him and his brother Francis, who, on the other hand, bore a very
strong likeness indeed to--Lord Polperro.

As soon as he could get away Gammon dispatched a telegram. It was to
Miss Sparkes, whom he requested to meet him at the theatre door that
night when she left. "Something very important to tell you."

This was done on a tell-tale impulse; it showed in what direction
his thoughts and mind most readily turned just now. Thinking it over
in the hours that followed he doubted whether, after all, he would
tell Polly exactly what had happened; she could be useful to him in
the way he intended without knowing more than she had discovered for
herself. Doubt as to the identity of Lord Polperro with Mrs.
Clover's husband he had none whatever--face, voice, trick of lips,
and eyebrows made mistake an impossibility; but he must bring the
man into a position where there would be no choice but to reveal
himself, and, so far as Gammon knew, no one but Polly could help to
that end. With Mrs. Clover he would communicate when the facts of
the strange story were made plain; not yet a while. And as for
Greenacre, why, it was splendid to have got beforehand with that
keen-scented fellow. The promise to keep silence held good only
whilst their search might be hindered by someone's indiscretion. Now
that the search was over he felt himself free to act as he chose.

But what an astounding discovery! Again and again, by jorrocks!

He was near the theatre long before his time. He had never waited so
long or so impatiently for anyone since the days of his first
sweethearting, twenty and odd years ago. When Polly at length came
out she met him with a shyness and awkwardness which he fancied he
perfectly understood.

"I want you to come with me where we can have a quiet talk," he said
at once in a tone of eager cordiality. "It's too wet for walking;
we'll have a cab."

Polly gazed at him in unfeigned surprise, and asked where they were
to go. Not far, he replied; here was a cab; in with her. And before
she could decide upon resistance Polly was seated by him. Gammon
then explained that he had the use of a sitting-room at a coffee
tavern; they would be there in a minute or two, There was good news
for her--news that couldn't be told in the street or in a crowded
restaurant.

"Did you get my letter?" she asked, shrinking as far from him as
space allowed.

"Letter? When?"

"I posted it this morning," Polly answered in a timidly sullen
voice.

He had not been home since breakfast-time. She had written to him?
Now, wasn't that a queer thing! All yesterday he, too, had thought
of writing, and to-day would have done so in any case. Never mind,
the letter would be waiting for him. Was it nice? Was it sweet and
amiable, like herself? Ha ha! Ho ho!

As he laughed the cab drew up with a jerk. Polly saw that she was in
a familiar thoroughfare and in front of a respectable establishment,
but it was not without a little distrust that she entered by the
private door and went upstairs. A large room, so ugly and
uncomfortable that it helped to reassure her, was quickly lighted.
Gammon requested the woman in attendance to bring pen, ink, and
paper, whereat Polly again stared her surprise.

"Come and sit over here," said Gammon, "away from the door. Now make
yourself comfortable, old girl. Sure you won't have anything?"

The writing materials were brought; the door was closed.

"Now we're all right. A long time since we saw each other, Polly.
Have you heard anything? Any more about Mr. C.?"

She shook her head.

"Well, look here now, I want you to write to him. You didn't believe
me when I said I knew. Well, you'll believe me now. I want you to
write to him, and to ask him to meet you _here_. If he won't come I
know what to do next. But you just write a few lines; you know how.
You want to see him at this coffee tavern at five o'clock tomorrow;
he's to come to the private door and ask for Miss--let's say Miss
Ellis--that'll do. I shall be here, but not in the room at first;
I'll come in when you've had a little talk. I don't think he'll
refuse to come when he sees you've got his address."

"What is the address?"

"Patience, my dear; wait till you've written the letter. I'll walk
up and down the room whilst you do it."

He began pacing, but Polly made no movement towards the table. She
was strangely sullen, or, perhaps, depressed; not at all like
herself, even when in anger. She cast glances at her companion, and
seemed desirous of saying something--of making some protest--but her
tongue failed her.

"No hurry," Gammon remarked, after humming through a tune. "Think it
out. Only a line or two."

"Are you telling me the truth about my letter?" she suddenly asked.
"You haven't read it?"

"I assure you I haven't. That's a treat for when I get home."

Still she delayed, but before Gammon had taken many more steps she
was seated at the table, and biting the end of the penholder.

"You'll have to tell me what to say."

"All right. Take the words down."

He dictated with all possible brevity. The letter was folded and
enclosed. Only in the last few minutes had Gammon quite decided to
share his knowledge with Polly. As she bent her head and wrote,
something in the attitude--perhaps a suggestion of domesticity--
appealed to his emotions, which were ready for such a juncture as
this. After all there were not many girls prettier than Polly, or
with more of the attractiveness of their sex. He looked, looked till
he could not turn away.

"Now then for the address. I'll write it on this piece of paper, and
you shall copy it."

Polly watched him, puzzled by the nervous grin on his face. She took
the paper, on which he had written as legibly as he could--

"Lord Polperro,
16, Lowndes Mansions,
Sloane Street,
S.W."

And having read it she stared at him.

"What d'you mean?"

"That's the address."

"Are you making a fool of me?" Polly exclaimed, angry suspicion
flashing in her eyes.

"I tell you that's your uncle's address. Now be careful, Polly! I
won't stand it a second time."

He was only half joking. Excitement tingled in him--the kind of
excitement which might lead either to rage or caresses. He swayed
now on one foot, now on the other, as if preparing for a dance, and
his fists were clenched upon his hips.

"You mean to say that's his _reel_ name?" cried Polly, she, too,
quivering and reddening.

"I do. Now mind, Polly; mind what you say, my girl! I won't stand it
a second time."

"Don't go on like a ijiot!" exclaimed the girl, starting up from her
chair. "Of course I'll believe it if you tell me you're not kidding.
And you mean to say he's a lord?"

"See for yourself."

"And his name ain't Clover at all? Then what's my, awnt's name?"

Why, Lady Polperro, of course! And Minnie is--well, I don't exactly
know--Lady Minnie Polperro, I suppose. And you--no, I don't think it
gives you a title; but, you see, you are the niece of Lord Polperro.
Think of that, Polly; you've got a lord for your uncle--a peer of
the realm!

He came nearer and nearer as he spoke, his eyes distended with wild
merriment, his arms swinging.

"And it's me that found it out, Polly! What have you got to say for
it? Eh, old girl? What have you got to say?"

Polly uttered a scream of laughter and threw herself forward.
Gammon's arms were ready; they clasped her and hugged her, she not
dreaming of resistance--anything but that. Only when her face was
very red, and her hat all but off, and her hair beginning to come
loose, did she gently put him away.

"That'll do; that's enough."

"You mean it, don't you?" asked Gammon, tenderly enfolding her
waist.

"I s'pose so; it looks like it. That'll do; let me git my breath.
What a silly you are!"

"And were you fond of me all the time, Polly?" he whispered at her
ear as she sat down.

"I dessay; how do I know? It's quite certain you wasn't fond of me,
or you'd never have gone off like you did that Sunday."

"Why, I've been fond of you for no end of a time! Haven't I showed
it in lots of ways? You must have known, and you did know."

"When you smashed my door in and fought me?" asked Polly with a
shamefaced laugh.

"You don't think I'd have taken all that trouble if it hadn't been
for the pleasure of carrying you downstairs?"

"Go along!"

"But there wasn't much love about you, Polly. You hit jolly hard,
old girl, and you kicked and you scratched. Why, I've bruises yet!"

"Serve you right! Do let me put my 'air and my 'at straight."

"I say, Polly--" and he whispered something.

"I s'pose so--some day," was her answer, with head bent over the hat
she was smoothing into shape.

"But won't you think yourself too good for me? Remember, you've got
a lord for your uncle."

It returned upon both with the freshness of surprise; even Polly had
quite lost sight of the startling fact during the last few minutes.
They looked at the unaddressed letter; they gazed into each other's
faces.

"You haven't gone and made a mistake?" asked Polly in an awed
undertone.

"There now! You didn't think; you're beginning to be sorry."

"No, I'm not."

"You are; I can see it."

"Oh, all right; have it your own way! I thought you wouldn't be so
sweet-tempered very long. You're all alike, you men."

"Why, it's you that can't keep your temper!" shouted Gammon. "I only
wanted to hear you say it wouldn't make any difference, happen what
might."

"And didn't I say it wouldn't?" shrilled Polly. "What more can I
say?"

Strangely enough a real tear had started in her eye. Gammon saw it
and was at once remorseful. He humbled himself before her; he
declared himself a beast and a brute. Polly was a darling: far too
good for him, too sweet and gentle and lovely. He ought to think
himself the happiest man living, by jorrocks if he oughtn't! Just
one more! Why, he liked a girl to have spirit! He wouldn't give
tuppence farthing for fifty girls that couldn't speak up for
themselves. And if she was the niece of a lord, why, she deserved it
and a good deal more. She ought to be Lady Polly straight away; and
hanged if he wouldn't call her so.

"Hadn't we better get this letter addressed?" Polly asked, very
amiable again.

"Yes; it's getting late, I'm afraid."

Polly drew up to the table, but her hand was so unsteady that it
cost her much trouble to manage the pen.

"I've wrote it awful bad. Does it matter?"

"Bad? Why it's beautifully written, Polly--Lady Polly, I mean. I've
got a stamp."

She stuck it on to the envelope with an angle upwards; and Gammon
declared that it was beautifully done; he never knew anyone stamp a
letter so nicely. As she gazed at the completed missive Polly had a
sudden thought which made a change in her countenance. She looked
round.

"What is it?"

"He hasn't got another wife, has he?"

"Not likely," answered Gammon. "If so he's committed bigamy, and so
much the worse for him. Your aunt must have been his first--it was
so long ago."

"Couldn't you find out? Isn't there a book as gives all about lords
and their families? I've heard so."

"I believe there is," replied the other thoughtfully. "I'll get a
look at it somewhere. He's scamp enough for anything, I've no doubt.
He comes of a bad lot, Polly. There's all sorts of queer stories
about his father--at least, I suppose it was his father."

"Tell me some," said Polly with eagerness.

"Oh, I will some day. But now I come to think of it, I don't know
when he became Lord Polperro. He couldn't, of course, till the death
of his father. Most likely the old man was alive when he married
your aunt. It's easy to understand now why he's led such a queer
life, isn't it? I shouldn't a bit wonder if he went away the second
time because his father had died. I'll find out about it. Would you
believe, when I met him in the street and spoke to him, he pretended
he'd never heard such a name as Clover!"

"You met him, did you? When?"

"Oh--I'll tell you all about that afterwards. It's getting late. We
shall have lots of talk. You'll let me take you home? We'll have a
cab, shall we? Lady Pollys don't walk about the streets on a wet
night."

She stood in thought.

"I want you to do something for me."

"Right you are! Tell me and I'll do it like a shot, see if I don't."

His arm again encircled her, and this time Polly did not talk of her
'at or her 'air. Indeed, she bent her head, half hiding her face
against him.

"You know that letter I sent you?"

"What's in it? Something nicey-picey?"

"I want you to let me go to the 'ouse with you--just to the
door--and I want you to give me that letter back--just as it
is--without opening it. You will, won't you, deary?"

"Of course I will, if you really mean it."

"I do, it was a _narsty_ letter. I couldn't bear to have you read it
now."

Gammon had no difficulty in imagining the kind of epistle which
Polly would desire suppressed; yet, for some obscure reason, he
would rather have read it. But his promise was given. Polly, in
turn, promised to write another letter for him as soon as possible.

So they drove in a hansom, through a night which washed the fog
away, to Kennington Road, and whilst Polly kept her place in the
vehicle Gammon ran upstairs. There lay the letter on his
dressing-table. He hastened down with it, and before handing it to
its writer kissed the envelope.

"Go along!" exclaimed Polly, in high good humour, as she reached out
with eager fingers.

Late as it was he accompanied her to Shaftesbury Avenue, and they
parted tenderly after having come to an agreement about the next
evening.





CHAPTER XVIII

LORD POLPERRO'S REPRESENTATIVE




By discreet inquiry Mr. Gammon procured an introduction to
"Debrett," who supplied him with a great deal of information. In the
first place he learned that the present Lord Polperro, fourth of that
title, was not the son, but the brother of the Lord Polperro
preceding him, both being offspring, it was plain, of the peer whose
will occasioned a lawsuit some forty years ago. Granted the truth of
scandalous rumour, which had such remarkable supports in facial
characteristics, the present bearer of the title would be, in fact,
half-brother to Francis Quodling. Again, it was discoverable that
the Lord Polperro of to-day succeeded to the barony in the very year
of Mrs. Clover's husband's second disappearance.

"Just what I said," was Gammon's mental comment as he thumped the
aristocratic pages.

Now for the women. To begin with, Lord Polperro was set down a
bachelor--ha! ha! Then he had one sister, Miss Adela Trefoyle, older
than himself, and that might very well be the lady who was seen
beside him at the theatre. Then again, though his elder brother's
male children had died, there was living a daughter, by name
Adeline, recently wedded to--by jorrocks!--Lucian Gildersleeve,
Esquire. Why, here was "the whole boiling of 'em!"

Mr. Gammon eagerly jotted down the particulars in his notebook, and
swallowed the whisky at his side with gusto. Not once, however, had
he asked himself why this man of guiles and freaks chose to mask
under the name of Clover, an omission to be accounted for not by any
lack of wit, but by mere educational defect. He could not have been
further from suspecting that his utterance of the name Clover had
given his genealogical friend a most important clue, and a long
start in the search for the missing man.

Impatiently he awaited the early nightfall of the morrow. Business
had to be attended to as usual; but he went about with a bearing of
extraordinary animation, now laughing to himself, now snapping his
fingers, now (when he chanced to be out of people's sight) twirling
round on one leg. Either of yesterday's events would have sufficed
to exhilarate him; together they whipped his blood and frothed his
fancy. He had found Clover, who was a lord! He had won the love of
Polly Sparkes, who was the finest girl living! Did ever the bagman
of an oil and colour firm speed about his duties with such springs
of excitement bubbling within him?

And Mrs. Clover? Ought she not to be told at once? Had he any right
to keep to himself such a discovery as this? He knew, by police
court precedent, that a false name in marriage did not invalidate
the contract. Beyond shadow of doubt Mrs. Clover was Lady Polperro.
And Minnie--why, suppose Minnie had favoured his suit, he would have
been son-in-law of a peer! As it was, whom might not the girl marry!
She would pass from the neighbourhood of Battersea Park Road to a
house in Mayfair or Belgravia; from Doulton's and the china shop to
unimaginable heights of social dignity. And who more fit for the new
sphere? Mr. Gammon sighed, but in a moment remembered Polly and
snapped his fingers.

A little before five o'clock he was hovering within sight of the
coffee tavern, which already threw radiance into the murky and muddy
street. In a minute or two he saw Polly and exchanged a quick word
with her.

"Up you go! You'll find all ready. If he comes I shall see him, and
I'll look in when you've had a little talk."

Polly disappeared, and Mr. Gammon again hovered. But who was this
approaching? Of all unwelcome people at this moment, hanged if it
wasn't Greenacre! What did the fellow want here? He was staring
about him as if to make sure of an address. Worse than that, he
stepped up to the private door of the coffee-tavern and rang the
bell.

Shrinking aside into darkness, Gammon felt a shiver of unaccountable
apprehension, which was quickly followed by a thrill of angry
annoyance. What did this mean? The door had opened, Greenacre was
admitted. What the devil did this mean? If it wasn't enough to make
a fellow want to wring another fellow's neck!

He waited thirty seconds, thinking it was five minutes, then went to
the door, rang, and entered.

"Who came in just now, miss?"

"The gentleman for the young lydy, sir."

" By jorrocks!"

Gammon mounted the stairs at break-neck speed and burst into the
private sitting-room. There stood Polly, with her head up, looking
pert indignation and surprise, and before her stood Greenacre,
discoursing in his politest tone.

"What are you doing here?" asked Gammon breathlessly. "What are you
up to, eh?"

"Ah, Gammon, how do you do? I'm glad you've dropped in. Let us sit
down and have a quiet talk."

The man of mystery was very well dressed, very cool, more than equal
to the situation. He took for granted the perfect friendliness of
both Polly and Gammon, smiled from one to the other, and as he
seated himself, drew out a cigarette case.

"I'm sure Miss Sparkes won't mind. I have already apologized,
Gammon, for the necessity of introducing myself. You, I am sure,
will forgive me when you learn the position of affairs. I'm so glad
you happened to drop in."

Declining a cigarette, Gammon stared about him in angry confusion.
He had no words ready. Greenacre's sang-froid, though it irritated
him excessively, shamed him into quiet behaviour.

"When you entered, Gammon, I was just explaining to Miss Sparkes
that I am here on behalf of her uncle, Lord Polperro."

"Oh, you are. And how do you come to know him?"

"Singular accident. The kind of thing that is constantly happening
in London. Lord Polperro is living next door to an old friend of
mine, a man I haven't seen for some seven or eight years till the
other day. I happened to hear of my friend's address, called upon
him, and there met his lordship. Now wasn't it a strange thing,
Gammon? Just when you and I were so interested in a certain puzzle,
a delightful bit of genealogy. Lord Polperro and I quite took to
each other. He seemed to like my chat, and, in fact, we have been
seeing a good deal of each other for a week or two."

"You kept this to yourself, Gammon."

"For a sufficient reason--anything but a selfish one. You, I may
remark, also made a discovery and kept it to yourself."

"It was my own business."

"Certainly. Don't dream that I find fault with you, my dear fellow.
It was the most natural thing in the world. Now let me explain. I
grieve to tell you that Lord Polperro is in very poor health. To be
explicit, he is suffering from a complication of serious disorders,
among them disease of the heart." He paused to let his announcement
have its full effect. "You will understand why I am here to
represent him. Lord Polperro dare not, simply dare not, expose
himself to an agitating interview; it might--it probably would--cost
him his life. Miss Sparkes, I am sure you would not like to see your
noble relative fall lifeless at your feet?"

Polly looked at Gammon, who, in spite of wrath, could not help
smiling.

"He didn't do it in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Greenacre."

"He did not; but I very greatly fear that those meetings--of course
I have heard of them--helped to bring about the crisis under which
he is now suffering, as also did a certain other meeting which you
will recollect, Gammon. Pray tell me, did Lord Polperro seem to you
in robust health?"

"Can't say he did. Looked jolly seedy."

"Precisely. Acting on my advice he has left town for a few days. I
shall join him to-morrow, and do my best to keep up his spirits. You
will now see the necessity for using great caution, great
consideration, in this strange affair. We can be quite frank with
each other, Gammon, and of course we have no secrets from my new and
valued friend--if she will let me call her so--Miss Polly Sparkes.
One has but to look at Miss Sparkes to see the sweetness and
thoughtfulness of her disposition. Come now, we are going to make a
little plot together, to act for the best. I am sure we do not wish
Lord Polperro's death. I am sure _you_ do not, Miss Sparkes."

Polly again looked at Gammon, and muttered that of course she
didn't. Gammon grinned. Feeling sure of his power to act
independently, if need were, he began to see the jocose side of
things.

"One question I should like to ask," continued Greenacre, lighting a
second cigarette. "Has Mrs. Clover--as we will continue to call her,
with an implied apology--been informed yet?"

"I haven't told her," said Gammon frankly.

"And I'm sure I haven't," added Polly, who had begun to observe Mr.
Greenacre with a less hostile eye, and was recovering her native
vivacity.

Greenacre looked satisfied.

"Then I think you have acted very wisely indeed--as one might have
expected from Miss Sparkes. I don't mean I shouldn't have expected
it from you too, Gammon; but you and I are not on ceremony, old man.
Now let me have your attention. We begin by admitting that Lord
Polperro has put himself in a very painful position. Painful, let me
tell you, in every sense. Lord Polperro desires nothing so
much--nothing so much--as to be reunited to his family. He longs for
the society of his wife and daughter. What more natural in a man who
feels that his days are numbered! Lord Polperro bitterly laments the
follies of his life which are explained, Gammon, as you and I know,
by the character he inherited. We know the peculiarities of the
Trefoyle family. Some of them I must not refer to in the presence of
a young lady such as Miss Sparkes." Polly looked at her toes and
smirked. "But Lord Polperro's chief fault seems to have been an
insuperable restlessness, which early took the form of a revolt
against the habits and prejudices of aristocratic life. Knowing so
much of that life myself, I must say that I understand him; that, to
a certain extent, I sympathize with him. When a youth he desired the
liberty of a plebeian station, and sought it under disguises. You
must remember that at that time he had very little prospect of ever
succeeding to the title. Let me give you a little genealogy."

"Needn't trouble," put in Gammon. "I know it all. Got it out of a
book. I'll tell you afterwards, Polly."

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.