CHAPTER XIV--_"Tommy Morgan"_
There was a mild hum of excitement in the offices of Messrs.Fairbrother. The honeymoon was over, and Mr. George Early had returned.He was already sitting in the big upstairs office, discussing businessproblems with a calmness and intelligent interest that surprisedeverybody. Those who had imagined him lolling in the armchairs, smokingexpensive cigars, and telling his employes not to bother him but tolook after the orders themselves, were more than astonished, and atonce came to the conclusion that George Early had reformed.
The three legatees were among those who watched this business activitywith satisfaction. If George Early had decided to throw all hisenergies into the business it was certain that he would give no thoughtto trivial questions of blackmail, nor waste his time in botheringabout the reform of men in whom he was not interested.
Nevertheless he had not forgotten it, as Gray found out on the occasionof one of his visits upstairs.
"How's your wife, Gray?" asked the new master.
Gray replied that she was in the best of health.
"I hope she'll remain so," said George; "she's a good little woman, andshe deserves a good husband. Now that you've given up the drink sheought to be very happy."
"She's happy enough," said Gray.
George said that he was glad to hear it.
"I suppose you've given up the secretaryship of the Old Friends' Club?"he said severely.
"Perhaps I have, perhaps I haven't," said Gray, who resented thiscatechism. "I shall give it up when it suits me; and this job, too,when I feel inclined."
"Don't do anything rash, now," said George; "I don't want to interferewith your affairs. You know that's not my way."
"Of course I do," said Gray; "you wouldn't think of such a thing."
"All I want, Gray," said George, "is to see you on the right path.You've got a good wife, a good home, and a good income. Stick fast toyour business, and you'll be a successful man. Punctuality,perseverance, and temperance are the three rules for success, as you'veheard me say many times. You have seen me climb the ladder step bystep, until I have reached my present position. How has it been done? Ineed not tell you, Gray."
"No," said Gray; "I'd rather you didn't."
"Don't be afraid that I shall interfere with you," said George; "I knowthat I can trust you to go along the straight path. As I said to mywife the other day, 'If there's one man in the firm I can trust, it'sJames Gray.'"
"Thanks," said Gray. "If you've quite finished, I'll go down and sendup somebody else."
Left alone, George Early smiled to himself, ruminated for a fewmoments, and then proceeded to examine the papers before him.
He had no intention of ruling with an iron hand, nor of exacting homagefrom the employes. He wanted to be in command, and at present he heldthat position, would be contented with it, too, while the interestlasted. By-and-by, perhaps, he would aspire to positions in the publicservice, become a sheriff, and eventually Lord Mayor. These things werevery vague as yet, for at present the distraction of a big position, awife, and a West End mansion he found sufficient.
He did not forget to put the head clerk and the cashier quite at theirease with respect to the legacies they were enjoying, nor to acquaintthem, as he had done Gray, with the high opinion he had of theirabilities. Parrott received his sermon with the stolidity one expectsof a man whose sense of humour is under the average; and Busby, whoknew exactly in what spirit he was being received, affected to bepleased, and wished George success in his new position.
Taking into consideration his humble start not many months previous, itmust be conceded that George Early made a very good impression on hisfirst day as proprietor of the old-established firm of Fairbrother.
It was a curious coincidence that on this very day another youngbridegroom took over the affairs of an old-established firm in the Cityof London; and as these two firms have already had business relationssufficient to put them on a nodding acquaintance, and are likely tohave further relations of an exciting nature, it will not be amiss tosee how matters are proceeding with bridegroom number two, especiallyas his first efforts in his new post indirectly concern bridegroomnumber one.
Dibbs and Dubbs is a name familiar to all City youths whose business orpleasure it is to pass through St. Paul's Passage in Queen VictoriaStreet. The names stare at everybody from a brass plate, polished to ahigh degree of brilliancy, whereon it is further announced that thesegentlemen follow the honourable profession of the law, and are to befound on the first floor within.
Dibbs, it may be mentioned, has long passed into the Unknown, andDubbs, having wrestled for a considerable time with failing health, hasrecently followed him, leaving his son-in-law, but newly married, toattend to such clients as remain faithful, and to see that the brassplate keeps its position and its lustre.
The young lawyer, no less indefatigable than George Early, proceeded todo both these things as soon as he arrived in St. Paul's Passage.Having set the office-boy to work on the brass plate, he made asearching investigation of the contents of the office, and discoveredthat the firm itself was on the verge of following the lamentedpartners, unless some one with grit, energy, and ability was able toset to work and instil new life into it. This, without a moment'shesitation, he decided to do himself.
He sat down in the only easy-chair, and opened a long envelope labelled"Fairbrother," one of the few envelopes he had found in the safe. Thecontents of it were evidently of a highly interesting nature, for theydrew from the reader exclamations of astonishment as from time to timehe turned over the folios and re-read portions of them. Havingfinished, he rang a bell on the table.
"Mole," he said to the clerk who entered, "do you know anything of theaffairs of Fairbrothers'?"
"No, sir," said the clerk, promptly.
"Nothing whatever?"
"Never heard the name before, sir," said the young man, decisively.
"Good," replied the lawyer; "be ready in half an hour to go out for meon an important mission."
"Yes, sir," said the clerk, with alacrity. An important mission wasevidently of very rare occurrence at Dibbs and Dubbs, for the clerkpromptly retired to his obscure office and executed a war-dance.
In half an hour the bell rang, and he returned to the outer office.
"Read that carefully," said his master, handing him a brief note.
Mole proceeded to do so with knitted brows.
"You understand thoroughly what you have to do?"
"I've got it pat," said the clerk, putting the note in his pocket.
"Good," said the lawyer again. "Here's half a sovereign. Now go, andreport to me as soon as you return."
The importance of this mysterious mission can only be seen by followingin the footsteps of the departing clerk. That he is to act the part ofa sleuth-hound is evident at once from his movements.
On reaching the dark landing of the narrow staircase, his first act wasto look carefully about him. Being assured that he was alone, he strucka match, and by its flickering light read carefully the note given himin the office. This seemed a superfluous performance, with the sunshining outside; but the detective knows his own business best. Thenext act of Mr. Mole was to pull off his trilby hat and tuck it behindthe gas-meter, its place being supplied by a cloth cap drawn from aback trouser pocket. With the peak of this cap pulled well down overhis eyes, and his coat collar turned up, Mole descended the staircaseon tiptoe and reached the door. He looked up and down the court withoutturning his head, a feat only possible by turning the eyes tillscarcely any part was visible but the whites. Apparently satisfied thatall was well, he started off in the direction of St. Paul's, keeping tothe sides with the same pertinacity that a mariner hugs the shore.
He avoided St. Paul's Churchyard, but kept to the narrow thoroughfareuntil he reached Paternoster Row, where he threaded his way throughnumerous courts and emerged on Ludgate Hill, near the Old Bailey.Giving a familiar nod to the old building, he darted across the road,and made his way along Water
Lane to Upper Thames Street. Here a quickchange was effected, which consisted in pulling the cap-peak rakishlyover one eye, undoing the bottom buttons of his waistcoat, and coveringhis collar with a shabby muffler. Then, producing a clay pipe, heslouched along for some distance, taking note of the buildings withapparent carelessness.
He halted before a gateway labelled "Iron Wharf," beneath which was thewell-known name of Fairbrother. This was evidently Mr. Mole'sdestination, for he entered the gateway and walked towards thewarehouse, where a number of vans were loading.
Inside the roomy ground floor stacks of iron gutters and rows of stoveslined the walls. Pulley wheels and new sinks lay in heaps, marked withmysterious chalk hieroglyphics. Trollies trundled over the floor, andcries of "Below!" and "Take a turn!" resounded from the upper regions,where goods were being lowered to the vans.
"What are you after, mister?"
A bearded man in a disreputable-looking coat and a sack apron accostedMole.
"Bit of old iron," said Mole. "That the way up?" nodding to a woodenstaircase.
"That's the way until we get wings. What floor do you want?"
"Don't want a floor," said Mole; "got two at home. Guess again."
"P'raps you want something else?" said the man, looking hard at Mole'snose. "If so, you can have it."
"Thanks," said Mole. "I'll see you when I come down."
He ascended the staircase to the first floor. It appeared to bedeserted, except for stacks of gas-stoves and iron mantelpieces. Molewalked round and examined the mechanism of the cooking apparatus untila footstep sounded.
"Hallo, there," said a voice. "Want a stove?"
Another bearded and ragged ruffian appeared.
"How much?" asked Mole.
"What size do you want?"--pulling out a rule.
"Never mind about the size," said Mole. "I'm looking for somebody."
"You won't find any one in there," said the man, as Mole opened a smalloven door.
"Looking for a man name o' Bray," continued Mole.
"Jay? There's plenty of them about here. They're in every day, pullingthe stuff about--tons of 'em."
"Almost as plentiful as whiskers, I suppose," said Mole. "Got a manhere name o' Bray?"
The ragged salesman had turned to a small desk, and was poring deeplyover a long order sheet marked "To-day certain" in bold writing.
"What d'yer think of that?" said Mole, producing a long cigar, andputting it on the desk. "Try it after dinner."
The man examined it closely and at a distance.
"Name o' Bray you said, didn't you?"
"Bray," said Mole.
"Don' know 'im," said the man. "No Bray here. It wouldn't be Wilkinson,I s'pose?"
Mole intimated with some heat that it was as likely to be Sasselovitchas Wilkinson.
"Bray, Bray, Bray. Don't mean Gray, do you?" said the man.
"Gray? Now, that's near it," said Mole. "I wonder if it could be Gray!Never seen the man myself, but a friend of mine in South Africa askedme to find him if I could when I got home. Is there a man here namedGray?"
"Down in the office," said the man.
"Ah! What sort of a' chap is he, now? I didn't want to see himespecially, I just want----"
"Tommy!"
A yell came from the yard below.
"Hallo!" said the whiskered man, shuffling to the goods door thatoverlooked the yard. "Hallo there!"
There was no response.
"Here you are," he said suddenly to Mole. "That's Gray, going up theyard. Tail coat--see! Going out to lunch."
"Good," said Mole. "I think I'll go after him."
He scuttled down the stairs, and reached the street just as Gray turnedup a court on the opposite side of the thoroughfare. Like a bloodhound,Mole followed him. Along Queen Victoria Street went the pair, theguileless Gray in front, his relentless pursuer twenty paces behind.Gray stopped at the windows of a typewriting establishment; Mole becameabsorbed in a new system of drainage displayed at an estate agent's.Gray went on a bit further, and stopped again; Mole did the same.Presently Gray, having dived into a passage, came out in Cannon Streetand entered a restaurant; Mole waited long enough to stow away his pipeand muffler, turn down his collar and set the cloth cap at a properelevation, and then followed.
Gray had seated himself at an unoccupied table in a cosy corner, andwas reading the bill of fare. Mole proceeded with caution. Havinghesitated between a seat near the front window and one by thefireplace, he finally settled himself opposite Gray at the same table.
Gray ordered a steak, and Mole decided on a chop. As the waiter wasdeparting, Mole called him back and gave minute directions about thecooking, intimating at the same time that he would like something todrink.
A precocious youth with hair elaborately oiled and brushed rushedforward.
"Get me some whisky," said Mole; "and, look here!"--eyeing himsternly--"I don't want any of your cheap wash. Ask for 'Tommy Morgan.'"
"You won't get that about here," said the boy, decisively. "Can get you'Killarney' or 'McNab' or 'Jimmy Jenkins.'"
"Look here," said Mole, gripping his arm; "you can get 'Tommy Morgan'if you try. But it's no good you going to common public-houses. Try ahigh-class place, and remember that there's twopence for yourself. Cutoff!"
"Isn't it a funny thing, now," said Mole, addressing his remarks to thecruet and Gray, "that I have all this trouble to get a drop of goodwhisky? Mind you"--boldly addressing Gray--"I don't wonder at it, forthe price is high, and it isn't everybody that can appreciate theflavour of 'Tommy Morgan!' It knocks 'em over. It's all strength andflavour."
"Must be pretty good," said Gray.
"It is," said Mole, "to those who understand whisky. To others it'snothing out of the ordinary."
"They say 'McNab' is good stuff," ventured Gray.
"Ordinary men may drink 'McNab!'" said Mole, picking up the _Times_ andlooking at it severely. "The whisky-drinker who has once tried 'TommyMorgan' will never touch anything else. I've taken whisky since I wasseven years old--was brought up on it; father drank it--grandfathertoo, and great-grandfather. We've been in the trade for generations. Idon't suppose there's another man of my age who's a better judge ofwhisky than I am."
The precocious youth returned with the whisky in a tumbler.
"I got it, sir. Had to go to the Blue Crown. They charged a pennyextra."
"Good," said Mole. "Now I can enjoy my dinner. If they'd charged ashilling for it," he said to Gray, speaking as a connoisseur, "it wouldhave been worth the money."
He took a mouthful of the whisky-and-water, and closed his eyes withdreamy satisfaction. Gray called out to the retreating boy.
"How far do you have to go for whisky?" he asked.
"Not far, sir," said the boy. "Shan't be five minutes."
"Well, get me some whisky--the same," pointing to Mole's glass.
"I beg your pardon," said Mole, suddenly. "Allow me to say a word.Don't," lowering his voice, "don't take this unless you are used towhisky. Don't take it merely as a spirit, either. But----" he put onefinger on Gray's sleeve and paused significantly, "if you wantflavour--_flavour_, then try it."
Gray did try it, and was obliged to confess that he didn't noticeanything special about it. Mole was not surprised; in fact, he saidthat he should have been surprised if Gray had noticed the flavour.Whiskies like "Tommy Morgan" were an acquired taste, you had to getused to them. When once you were used to them--when once you were usedto "Tommy Morgan," then--
"It's like nectar," said Mole, draining his glass.
Gray agreed that good whisky was hard to get, and confessed that he hadtried many sorts in his time. He didn't drink it regularly, but likedit good when he did have it.
"I drink nothing else but 'Tommy,'" said Mole, in confidence; "and Icarry it with me always. I've just been round the country, and have runout of it till I get home. Got heaps at home, my brother-in-law is apartner in the firm."
"I must try a bottle," said Gray; "where's the London office?"<
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"No," said Mole, lifting his hand; "I introduced it. You must allow meto send you a bottle free. Try that, and if you like it, order as manybottles as you please."
Gray and Mole parted with enthusiasm, Mole promising to send a bottleof "Tommy Morgan" to the address given him. Mole could not be certainwhen they would next meet, as he was off to Liverpool and Ireland thenext day, and might be travelling for months.
"Lucky meeting that," said Gray, as he went back to the office.
"What sort of man was he?" said Mrs. Gray, when she heard of theaffable stranger. "Not very nice really I should think. Seems to merather unlucky to meet a man named Mole on a Friday."