A second wilful deception of his mother! As managing director of theFive Towns Universal Thrift Club, as proprietor of the majority of itsshares, as its absolute autocrat, he was making very nearly fourthousand a year. Why could he not easily have said four as two to hismother? The simple answer is that he was afraid to say four. It was asif he ought to blush before his mother for being so plutocratic, hismother who had passed most of her life in hard toil to gain a fewshillings a week. Four thousand seemed so fantastic! And in fact theThrift Club, which he had invented in a moment, had arrived at aprodigious success, with its central offices in Hanbridge and its branchoffices in the other four towns, and its scores of clerks and collectorspresided over by Mr. Penkethman. It had met with opposition. Themighty said that Denry was making an unholy fortune under the guise ofphilanthropy. And to be on the safe side the Countess of Chell hadresigned her official patronage of the Club and given her shares to thePirehill Infirmary, which had accepted the high dividends on themwithout the least protest. As for Denry, he said that he had never setout to be a philanthropist nor posed as one, and that his uniqueintention was to grow rich by supplying a want, like the rest of them,and that anyhow there was no compulsion to belong to his Thrift Club.Then letters in his defence from representatives of the thousands andthousands of members of the Club rained into the columns of the_Signal_, and Denry was the most discussed personage in the county. Itwas stated that such thrift clubs, under various names, existed inseveral large towns in Yorkshire and Lancashire. This disclosurerehabilitated Denry completely in general esteem, for whatever obtainsin Yorkshire and Lancashire must be right for Staffordshire; but itrather dashed Denry, who was obliged to admit to himself that after allhe had not invented the Thrift Club. Finally the hundreds of tradesmenwho had bound themselves to allow a discount of twopence in the shillingto the Club (sole source of the Club's dividends) had endeavoured torevolt. Denry effectually cowed them by threatening to establishco-operative stores--there was not a single co-operative store in theFive Towns. They knew he would have the wild audacity to do it.
Thenceforward the progress of the Thrift Club had been unruffled. Denrywaxed amazingly in importance. His mule died. He dared not buy aproper horse and dog-cart because he dared not bring such an equipage tothe front door of his mother's four-and-sixpenny cottage. So he hadtaken to cabs. In all exterior magnificence and lavishness he equalledeven the great Harold Etches, of whom he had once been afraid; and likeEtches he became a famous habitue of Llandudno pier. But whereas Etcheslived with his wife in a superb house at Bleakridge, Denry lived withhis mother in a ridiculous cottage in ridiculous Brougham Street. Hehad a regiment of acquaintances, and he accepted a lot of hospitality,but he could not return it at Brougham Street. His greatness fizzledinto nothing in Brougham Street. It stopped short and sharp at thecorner of St. Luke's Square, where he left his cabs. He could donothing with his mother. If she was not still going out as a sempstressthe reason was, not that she was not ready to go out, but that her oldclients had ceased to send for her. And could they be blamed for notemploying at three shillings a day the mother of a young man whowallowed in thousands sterling? Denry had essayed over and over againto instil reason into his mother, and he had invariably failed. She wastoo independent, too profoundly rooted in her habits; and her characterhad more force than his. Of course, he might have left her and set up asuitably gorgeous house of his own.
But he would not.
In fact, they were a remarkable pair.
On this eve of her birthday he had meant to cajole her into some step,to win her by an appeal, basing his argument on her indisposition. Buthe was being beaten off once more. The truth was that a cajoling,caressing tone could not be long employed towards Mrs. Machin. She wasnot persuasive herself, nor favourable to persuasiveness in others.
"Well," said she, "if you 're making two thousand a year, ye can spendit or save it as ye like, though ye 'd better save it. Ye never knowwhat may happen in these days. There was a man dropped half-a-crowndown a grid opposite only the day before yesterday."
Denry laughed.
"Ay!" she said; "ye can laugh."
"There 's no doubt about one thing," he said, "you ought to be in bed.You ought to stay in bed for two or three days at least."
"Yes," she said. "And who 's going to look after the house while I 'mmoping between blankets?"
"You can have Rose Chudd in," he said.
"No," said she. "I 'm not going to have any woman rummaging about myhouse, and me in bed!"
"You know perfectly well she's been practically starving since herhusband died, and as she 's going out charing, why can't you have herand put a bit of bread into her mouth?"
"Because I won't have her! Neither her nor any one. There 's naught toprevent you giving her some o' your two thousand a year, if you 've amind. But I see no reason for my house being turned upside down by her,even if I have got a bit of a cold."
"You 're an unreasonable old woman," said Denry.
"Happen I am!" said she. "There can't be two wise ones in a family.But I 'm not going to give up this cottage, and as long as I am standingon my feet I 'm not going to pay any one for doing what I can do bettermyself." A pause. "And so you need n't think it! You can't come roundme with a fur mantle."
She retired to rest. On the following morning he was very glum.
"Ye need n't be so glum," she said.
But she was rather pleased at his glumness. For in his glumness was asign that he recognised defeat.
II
The next episode between them was curiously brief. Denry had influenza.He said that naturally he had caught hers.
He went to bed and stayed there. She nursed him all day, and grew angryin a vain attempt to force him to eat. Towards night he tossedfuriously on the little bed in the little bedroom, complaining offearful headaches. She remained by his side most of the night. In themorning he was easier. Neither of them mentioned the word "doctor."She spent the day largely on the stairs. Once more towards night hegrew worse, and she remained most of the second night by his side.
In the sinister winter dawn Denry murmured in a feeble tone:
"Mother, you 'd better send for him."
"Doctor?" she said. And secretly she thought that she _had_ better sendfor the doctor, and that there must be after all some difference betweeninfluenza and a cold.
"No," said Denry; "send for young Lawton."
"Young Lawton!" she exclaimed. "What do you want young Lawton to come_here_ for?"
"I have n't made my will," Denry answered.
"Pooh!" she retorted.
Nevertheless she was the least bit in the world frightened. And shesent for Dr. Stirling, the aged Harrop's Scotch partner.
Dr. Stirling, who was full-bodied and left little space for anybody elsein the tiny, shabby bedroom of the man with four thousand a year, gazedat Mrs. Machin, and he gazed also at Denry.
"Ye must go to bed this minute," said he.
"But he 's _in_ bed," cried Mrs. Machin.
"I mean yerself," said Dr. Stirling.
She was very nearly at the end of her resources. And the proof was thatshe had no strength left to fight Dr. Stirling. She did go to bed. Andshortly afterwards Denry got up. And a little later, Rose Chudd, thatprim and efficient young widow from lower down the street, came into thehouse and controlled it as if it had been her own. Mrs. Machin, whoseconstitution was hardy, arose in about a week, cured, and duly dismissedRose with wages and without thanks. But Rose had been. Like the_Signal's_ burglars, she had "effected an entrance." And the house hadnot been turned upside down. Mrs. Machin, though she tried, could notfind fault with the result of Rose's uncontrolled activities.
III
One morning--and not very long afterwards; in such wise did fate seem tofavour the young at the expense of the old--Mrs. Machin received twoletters which alarmed and disgusted her. One was
from her landlordannouncing that he had sold the house in which she lived to a Mr.Wilbraham of London, and that in future she must pay the rent to thesaid Mr. Wilbraham or his legal representatives. The other was from afirm of London solicitors announcing that their client Mr. Wilbraham hadbought the house and that the rent must be paid to their agent whom theywould name later.
Mrs. Machin gave vent to her emotion in her customary manner:
"Bless us!"
And she showed the impudent letters to Denry.
"Oh!" said Denry. "So he has bought them, has he? I heard he was goingto."
"Them?" exclaimed Mrs. Machin. "What else has he bought?"
"I expect he 's bought all the five--this and the four below, as far asDownes's. I expect you 'll find that the other four have had noticesjust like these. You know all this row used to belong to theWilbrahams. You surely must remember that, mother?"
"Is he one of the Wilbrahams of Hillport, then?"
"Yes, of course he is."
"I thought the last of 'em was Cecil, and when he 'd beggared himselfhere he went to Australia and died of drink. That's what I alwaysheard. We always used to say as there was n't a Wilbraham left."
"He did go to Australia, but he did n't die of drink. He disappeared,and when he 'd made a fortune he turned up again in Sydney, so it seems.I heard he 's thinking of coming back here to settle. Anyhow, he 'sbuying up a lot of the Wilbraham property. I should have thought you 'dhave heard of it. Why, lots of people have been talking about it."
"Well," said Mrs. Machin, "I don't like it."
She objected to a law which permitted a landlord to sell a house overthe head of a tenant who had occupied it for more than thirty years. Inthe course of the morning she discovered that Denry was right--the othertenants had received notices exactly similar to hers.
Two days later Denry arrived home for tea with a most surprising articleof news. Mr. Cecil Wilbraham had been down to Bursley from London, andhad visited him, Denry. Mr. Cecil Wilbraham's local information wasevidently quite out of date, for he had imagined Denry to be arent-collector and estate agent, whereas the fact was that Denry hadabandoned this minor vocation years ago. His desire had been that Denryshould collect his rents and watch over his growing interests in thedistrict.
"So what did you tell him?" asked Mrs. Machin.
"I told him I 'd do it," said Denry.
"Why?"
"I thought it might be safer for you" said Denry with a certainemphasis. "And, besides, it looked as if it might be a bit of a lark.He's a very peculiar chap."
"Peculiar?"
"For one thing, he's got the largest moustaches of any man I ever saw.And there 's something up with his left eye. And then I think he's abit mad."
"Mad?"
"Well, touched. He's got a notion about building a funny sort of ahouse for himself on a plot of land at Bleakridge. It appears he isfond of living alone, and he's collected all kind of dodges for doingwithout servants and still being comfortable."
"Ay! But he 's right there!" breathed Mrs. Machin in deep sympathy. Asshe said about once a week, "she never could abide the idea ofservants." "He's not married, then?" she added.
"He told me he 'd been a widower three times, but he 'd never had anychildren," said Denry.
"Bless us!" murmured Mrs. Machin.
Denry was the one person in the town who enjoyed the acquaintance andthe confidence of the thrice-widowed stranger with long moustaches. Hehad descended without notice on Bursley, seen Denry (at the branchoffice of the Thrift Club), and then departed. It was understood thatlater he would permanently settle in the district. Then the wonderfulhouse began to rise on the plot of land at Bleakridge. Denry had generalcharge of it, but always subject to erratic and autocratic instructionsfrom London. Thanks to Denry, who since the historic episode atLlandudno had remained very friendly with the Cotterill family, Mr.Cotterill had the job of building the house; the plans came from London.And though Mr. Cecil Wilbraham proved to be exceedingly watchful againstany form of imposition, the job was a remunerative one for Mr.Cotterill, who talked a great deal about the originality of theresidence. The town judged of the wealth and importance of Mr. CecilWilbraham by the fact that a person so wealthy and important as Denryshould be content to act as his agent. But then the Wilbrahams had beenmagnates in the Bursley region for generations, up till the finalWilbraham smash in the late seventies. The town hungered to see thosehuge moustaches and that peculiar eye. In addition to Denry, only oneperson had seen the madman, and that person was Nellie Cotterill, whohad been viewing the half-built house with Denry one Sunday morning whenthe madman had most astonishingly arrived upon the scene, and after afew minutes vanished. The building of the house strengthened greatlythe friendship between Denry and the Cotterills. Yet Denry neitherliked Mr. Cotterill nor trusted him.
The next incident in these happenings was that Mrs. Machin receivednotice from the London firm to quit her four-and-sixpence a weekcottage. It seemed to her that not merely Brougham Street, but theworld, was coming to an end. She was very angry with Denry for notprotecting her more successfully. He was Mr. Wilbraham's agent, hecollected the rent, and it was his duty to guard his mother fromunpleasantness. She observed, however, that he was remarkably disturbedby the notice, and he assured her that Mr. Wilbraham had not consultedhim in the matter at all. He wrote a letter to London, which shesigned, demanding the reason of this absurd notice flung at an ancientand perfect tenant. The reply was that Mr. Wilbraham intended to pullthe houses down, beginning with Mrs. Machin's, and rebuild.
"Pooh!" said Denry. "Don't you worry your head, mother; I shall arrangeit. He'll be down here soon to see his new house--it's practicallyfinished, and the furniture is coming in--and I 'll just talk to him."
But Mr. Wilbraham did not come, the explanation doubtless being that hewas mad. On the other hand, fresh notices came with amazing frequency.Mrs. Machin just handed them over to Denry. And then Denry received atelegram to say that Mr. Wilbraham would be at his new house that nightand wished to see Denry there. Unfortunately, on the same day, by theafternoon post, while Denry was at his offices, there arrived a sort ofsupreme and ultimate notice from London to Mrs. Machin, and it was onblue paper. It stated, baldly, that as Mrs. Machin had failed to complywith all the previous notices, had indeed ignored them, she and hergoods would now be ejected into the street according to the law. Itgave her twenty-four hours to flit. Never had a respectable dame beenso insulted as Mrs. Machin was insulted by that notice. The prospect ofcamping out in Brougham Street confronted her. When Denry reached homethat evening Mrs. Machin, as the phrase is, "gave it him."
Denry admitted frankly that he was nonplussed, staggered, and outraged.But the thing was simply another proof of Mr. Wilbraham's madness.After tea he decided that his mother must put on her best clothes and goup with him to see Mr. Wilbraham and firmly expostulate--in fact, theywould arrange the situation between them; and if Mr. Wilbraham wasobstinate they would defy Mr. Wilbraham. Denry explained to his motherthat an Englishwoman's cottage was her castle, that a landlord's minionshad no right to force an entrance, and that the one thing that Mr.Wilbraham could do was to begin unbuilding the cottage from the top,outside. And he would like to see Mr. Wilbraham try it on!
So the sealskin mantle (for it was spring again) went up with Denry toBleakridge.
IV
The moon shone in the chill night. The house stood back from TrafalgarRoad in the moonlight--a squarish block of a building.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Machin. "It isn't so large."
"No! He did n't want it large. He only wanted it large enough," saidDenry, and pushed a button to the right of the front door. There was noreply, though they heard the ringing of the bell inside. They waited.Mrs. Machin was very nervous, but thanks to her sealskin mantle she wasnot cold.
"This is a funny doorstep," she remarked, to kill time.
"It's of marble," said
Denry.
"What's that for?" asked his mother.
"So much easier to keep clean," said Denry. "No stoning to do."
"Well," said Mrs. Machin. "It's pretty dirty now, anyway."
It was.
"Quite simple to clean," said Denry, bending down. "You just turn thistap at the side. You see, it's so arranged that it sends a flat jetalong the step. Stand off a second."
He turned the tap, and the step was washed pure in a moment.
"How is it that that water steams?" Mrs. Machin demanded.
"Because it's hot," said Denry. "Did you ever know water steam for anyother reason?"
"Hot water outside?"
"Just as easy to have hot water outside as inside, is n't it?" saidDenry.
"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Machin. She was impressed.
"That's how everything's dodged up in this house," said Denry. He shutoff the water.
And he rang once again. No answer! No illumination within the abode!
"I tell you what I shall do," said Denry at length. "I shall let myselfin. I 've got a key of the back door."
"Are you sure it's all right?"
"I don't care if it is n't all right," said Denry defiantly. "He askedme to be up here, and he ought to be here to meet me. I 'm not going tostand any nonsense from anybody."
In they went, having skirted round the walls of the house.
Denry closed the door, pushed a switch, and the electric light shone.Electric light was then quite a novelty in Bursley. Mrs. Machin hadnever seen it in action. She had to admit that it was less complicatedthan oil-lamps. In the kitchen the electric light blazed upon wallstiled in grey and a floor tiled in black and white. There was a gasrange and a marble slopstone with two taps. The woodwork was dark.Earthenware saucepans stood on a shelf. The cupboards were full of gearchiefly in earthenware. Denry began to exhibit to his mother a tankprovided with ledges and shelves and grooves, in which he said thateverything except knives could be washed and dried automatically.