A Modern Tragedy (10 page)

“Of course, Mr. Tasker,” agreed Walter deferentially.

Tasker gave him his rare caressing smile, and went in alone.

Walter occupied the interval by having his hair cut in the establishment attached to the hotel, feeling immensely adventurous and able for having had this idea, and carried it out so neatly. His improved appearance, as visible in the numerous mirrors which lined the hotel walls, pleased him a good deal, and he entered the dining-room smiling and bright-eyed.

Tasker, who was still sitting at Mr. Crosland's table, talking earnestly, saw him at once, smiled in reply, and rose and crossed the room to him, greeting a good many acquaintances as he came. Soon they were enjoying, amid sparkling glass and spotless napery, the kind of meal Walter had often seen at the cinema, but never hitherto eaten. He managed to steer his way pretty well amid the various difficulties of the unfamiliar service, being too excited by the animated scene about him to notice much what he was doing, and in this he was helped by the attitude of Tasker, who seemed in very good spirits; his gruff tones were confidential, his manner friendly.

“Look here, Haigh,” he said, leaning across the table to the young man: “We've got to get this Heights Mill business going as soon as ever we can. We must put our backs into it.”

Walter fervidly agreed.

“Now I'll meet you at Heights to-morrow morning,” went on Tasker, and proceeded to outline a complete and brilliantly effective scheme for the rapid reconditioning of the entire mill.

“I suppose I shall have to give notice,” began Walter, his thoughts straying for a moment in the direction of Arnold Lumb.

But Tasker rapidly recalled them.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Offer to repay a week's salary in lieu. We've simply got to start this thing right away. There'll be men to get, too. But I'll see about that myself.” He plunged into a description of methods of boiling rusty machine parts in oil, but interrupted himself to look at his watch, exclaiming then abruptly: “I must be off! I've a man to see in An-notsfield, and then there's a meeting of the Manufacturers' Association; and I must have a look in at my own place some time. I'll drop you in Hudley.”

He looked round; the waiter came immediately; in a mere minute, as it seemed to Walter, he had paid the bill and they were speeding along the Hudley Road.

“What a man he is!” thought Walter, lost in admiration; this was the way to do business, without a doubt.

All the way back to Hudley Tasker talked, in the gruff tones which Walter now found so fascinating, of what was to be done in Heights Mill. Walter was quite dazed and exhausted with the effort to take it all in. Indeed presently he timidly drew out a scrap of paper and began to take notes, and Tasker's glance approved the action.

They parted on the best of terms in the centre of Hudley having settled the sum (twice what he had earned with Messrs. Lumb) which Walter was to draw from the bank for himself weekly; and Walter at once rushed off in the direction of his home.

THE THUNDERSTORM was now a thing of the past; the sky was blue and the air fresh, the sun shone brilliantly, the whole earth seemed to sparkle.

Walter was so much excited that his feet flew over the ground. He longed to reach his home, to tell his father and mother and Rosamond of his good fortune—indeed he could scarcely refrain from bursting out with it to passers-by. It seemed years since he had left home that morning, a disgruntled and unimportant youth; he had now changed how entirely in social status, learned how much, been through how many exciting scenes! He was now a man familiar with the interior of bank managers' sanctums and expensive hotels; he was the owner (or would be as soon as those certificates were deposited) of a prospectively flourishing business; he was Walter Haigh, Dyer and Finisher, of Heights Mill; lorries would run up and down the West Riding bearing his name. His thoughts took a rather anxious turn here, as he remembered all the work which would have to be put in before Heights Mill could really dye or finish cloth; there was the deuce of a lot to be done! Would he be able to sustain it, young and inexperienced as he was? Had he, in Rosamond's words, the guts to carry the thing through? Yes, he rather thought he had, decided Walter in honest confidence, especially with his father to advise him. That was so fortunate. He, Walter, could provide the energy; his father, whose textile knowledge was universally respected, who had had nearly forty years' experience with—here Walter stood still so abruptly that he almost lost his balance, and
exclaimed aloud. He had just realised for the first time (so skilful were the blandishments of Tasker) that in his new position he would be in competition with Messrs. Lumb; would, indeed, necessarily rob them of their largest customer. An icy dismay ran through his veins; his heart seemed almost to stop beating. How could he have been so blind as not to see it before? How could he possibly reconcile becoming the Lumbs' competitor with mere common decency, not to mention gratitude?

“Of course I can't do it. And father would never help me against the Lumbs,” thought Walter in bitter disappointment. “But I'm committed!” he argued stubbornly. “I simply
must
deposit those certificates.”

The alternative, of looking the most helpless kind of fool in the eyes of the whole West Riding, of abandoning all his ambitions, resigning the Heights Mill key, sinking back to the postion of a mere underling in the pay of a small and unimportant firm, and never having the chance of meeting people like Henry Clay Crosland's grand-daughter, aroused a hot resentment in Walter's heart. He couldn't do that—he simply couldn't, Lumbs or no Lumbs. There came a point where a man had to look after himself. Besides, if he didn't undertake the Heights Mill job, Tasker would get somebody else to do it. So Walter's withdrawal would make no difference to the Lumbs, though all the difference in the world to Walter. He simply couldn't give it all up. On the other hand, he simply dared not ask Dyson's aid for such a scheme, a scheme which would operate adversely against the Lumbs—the very suggestion would be enough to kill the faithful old man.

Walter exclaimed again and walked on, frowning heavily.

He must lose the chance of his life, then, for a couple of ridiculous scruples?

His father's investments would be perfectly safe.

The investments had been made as some provision for Mrs. Haigh; but if Walter succeeded at Heights Mill—and in the given conditions, why shouldn't he?—Mrs. Haigh would still have the investments, and a rich son into the bargain.

Why condemn oneself always to a negative, timid, subordinate policy? What was life for, if not to be daring, determined, bold? To take a chance, to back yourself (as Tasker so inspiringly put it) in the struggle, and win? To … “Look here,” said Walter angrily to himself, “It all boils down to this: am I going to stay a silly, unimportant, third-rate fool all my life; or am I going to fetch those certificates?”

He glanced at his watch. It wanted but twenty minutes to four o'clock. He had barely time to reach Dyson's bank before it closed for the day. Somehow this decided him; he turned and ran towards Hudley; and half an hour later was despatching the certificates by registered post to the Leeds bank. He then went soberly home, and for that night kept his own counsel about his new enterprise.

Next morning, however, action could no longer be deferred, for Walter was due at Heights Mill at eleven to meet Tasker. Fortunately, thought Walter—but then he caught himself up, and bit his lip on the word; still, perhaps it was fortunate, after all—Dyson had passed a poor night, and was not well enough to rise; so Walter was not under the necessity of explaining his movements to his father. But Arnold Lumb would have to be faced promptly. It was Thursday, when either Arnold or himself, in the absence of Dyson, must visit the Lumbs' customers in Bradford; so Walter's announcement must be made at once.

Accordingly Walter snatched his opportunity when old Mr. Lumb was absent from the inner office, and walked in upon Arnold, rather white about the mouth and conscious of the thudding of his heart. His employer was, as usual, standing at the wall desk with a serious expression, busy
with figures and papers. Walter, allowing his courage no time to evaporate, blurted out at once that Mr. Tasker had offered him an appointment; then stood with averted eyes, waiting for the heavens to fall.

To his amazement nothing of that kind occurred. Arnold gave him a look of mingled regret and resignation, and nodded his head understandingly.

“I thought after you'd gone, yesterday, that it might be that,” he said in a sober tone. “Well, I'm sorry, of course, Walter, but on the other hand I'm rather glad.”

Walter, unable to believe his ears, stood gaping at him.

“Trade's so bad, you know,” continued Arnold, “and really I don't see any sign of improvement. And what with one thing and another, Walter, upon my word, I shall be quite glad to save your salary.” (To himself he thought grimly: “The bank'll be glad, too.”) “I can take on all the travelling myself, I dare say,” he went on, and added slyly, with a smile: “I hope you won't be too severe on our finishing, Walter, that's all.”

Walter perceived with horror that his account of his new position, which he had phrased in that way out of sheer modesty (as he thought), had completely misled Arnold, who imagined that Walter was to be a mere employee at Victory Mills. He opened his mouth to undeceive him, gasped, and closed it again.

“I should advise you, Walter,” Arnold Lumb was saying kindly, “to get a service agreement out of Tasker if you can. He's a tricky customer, you know. What does your father say about it, eh?”

“I haven't told him yet,” said Walter, thankful to be able to speak candidly on any subject. “He's rather bad to-day.”

“Think it might upset him, do you?” said Arnold, “severing your connection with the old firm, and all that? H'm—I dare say.”

Walter perceived in a flash that such a view, on Arnold's part, might allow him a free hand with his explanation to his father, or at any rate give him time to think of a good way of explaining the truth to Dyson. He therefore nodded his head emphatically, and Arnold went on, in his kind homely tones, just as Walter had hoped he would:

“Well, I should take your own time and means of telling him. Father's coming up to see him this afternoon—I'll warn him not to say anything. When do you want to go?”

“Now, please,” stuttered Walter. He added, with scarlet cheeks: “I could repay you a week's salary, as I haven't given proper notice, if you liked.”

“Now don't be silly, Walter,” said Arnold Lumb, colouring in his turn, annoyed. “Repay a week's salary! Good heavens! What a daft idea! Be off with you whenever you like. And good luck to you.” He thought of offering Walter his hand, but couldn't bring himself to do anything so sentimental at that hour of the morning, and turned back to his figures instead.

“I put that money back in the petty cash,” said Walter in a small voice, trying not to remember that in order to do so he had been obliged to borrow from Rosamond the price of his hair-cut yesterday.

Arnold snorted, as if repudiating any necessity for Walter to report on the subject of petty cash. He thought of asking Walter Rosamond's opinion of his new post, but again felt the hour unsuitable, and said nothing.

Walter, left rather in the air by this negative farewell, sidled away into the outer office, collected his few personal belongings, and left Messrs. Lumb's premises on his great adventure. As long as he was in the familiar building he felt ashamed, small, humiliated, and not a little sad; but once he had emerged into the sunshine, he drew a long breath of relief, and his spirits soared.
That
was over, at any rate,
thought Walter, and well over, too. It was like going into the dentist's to have a tooth out and being told it need only be stopped. And Arnold thought he ought to exercise discretion in telling his father, so that other unpleasant duty could be postponed at his pleasure.

“I can go to Heights Mill now with a clear conscience,” thought Walter, joyously boarding a moving tram—and mingled with his elation there was a touch, just a touch, of contempt for a man who could be fooled as easily as Arnold.

When Walter reached home that night, much later than usual, and tired out after a fascinating, but intensely harassed and busy day with Tasker, Rosamond met him in the hall with the news that their father was seriously ill. Mr. Lumb's visit that afternoon had had disastrous results for Dyson. The two old men had talked, naturally enough, of the textile industry in general and Messrs. Lumb's affairs in particular; and old Mr. Lumb painted such a depressing picture of the firm's condition, giving especial prominence to the new overdraft, that poor Dyson in his weakened state was quite overcome by it. Rosamond had been recalled from school by a neighbour's telephone, and the doctor had been sent for; he pronounced Dyson now out of danger, but the old man was not yet very comfortable. Mrs. Haigh was in the kitchen preparing him a light drink. There were tears in Rosamond's eyes as she related this to her brother, and Walter, forgetting all his business affairs on the instant, ran upstairs in great anxiety, and went straight to Dyson's side. His father was lying back on the pillows, panting a little, his light eyes staring, a painful expression of worry and distress on his haggard face. Walter, moved, took his hand, greeted him soothingly, and sat down beside him.

Dyson turned his head, and looked at him pathetically, then said in his thin feeble tones: “I'm afraid Lumb's is in a bad way, Walter.”

“Oh, no, father,” Walter reassured him cheerfully. “You know what a pessimist old Mr. Lumb always is! Mr. Arnold doesn't talk like that at all.”

“Aye—but do you think they'll keep you on?” pressed the old man unhappily. “I'm done for, you know.”