The Girl on the Boat
“Fine day!” he muttered. He had a sort of subconscious feeling that it
was imperative to keep engaging Webster in light conversation.
“Yes, sir. Weather still keeps up,” agreed the valet suavely.
Sam frowned over the note. He felt injured. Sending a fellow notes
didn’t give him a chance. If she had come in person and denounced him
it would not have been an agreeable experience, but at least it would
have been possible then to have pleaded and cajoled and—and all that
sort of thing. But what could he do now? It seemed to him that his only
possible course was to write a note in reply, begging her to see him.
He explored his pockets and found a pencil and a scrap of paper. For
some moments he scribbled desperately. Then he folded the note.
“Will you take this to Miss Bennett?” he said, holding it out.
Webster took the missive, because he wanted to read it later at his
leisure; but he shook his head.
“Useless, I fear, sir,” he said gravely.
“What do you mean?”
“I am afraid it would effect little or nothing, sir, sending our Miss
B. notes. She is not in the proper frame of mind to appreciate them. I
saw her face when she handed me the letter you have just read, and I
assure you, sir, she is not in a malleable mood.”
“You seem to know a lot about it!”
“I have studied the sex, sir,” said Webster modestly.
“I mean, about my business, confound it! You seem to know all about
it!”
“Why, yes, sir, I think I may say that I have grasped the position of
affairs. And, if you will permit me to say so, sir, you have my
respectful sympathy.”
Dignity is a sensitive plant which nourishes only under the fairest
conditions. Sam’s had perished in the bleak east wind of Billie’s note.
In other circumstances he might have resented this intrusion of a
stranger into his most intimate concerns. His only emotion now, was one
of dull but distinct gratitude. The four winds of Heaven blew chilly
upon his raw and unprotected soul, and he wanted to wrap it up in a
mantle of sympathy, careless of the source from which he borrowed that
mantle. If Webster felt disposed, as he seemed to indicate, to comfort
him, let the thing go on. At that moment Sam would have accepted
condolences from a coal-heaver.
“I was reading a story—one of the Nosegay Novelettes; I do not know if
you are familiar with the series, sir?—in which much the same situation
occurred. It was entitled ‘Cupid or Mammon.’ The heroine, Lady Blanche
Trefusis, forced by her parents to wed a wealthy suitor, despatches a
note to her humble lover, informing him it cannot be. I believe it
often happens like that, sir.”
“You’re all wrong,” said Sam. “It’s not that at all.”
“Indeed, sir? I supposed it was.”
“Nothing like it! I—I——.”
Sam’s dignity, on its death-bed, made a last effort to assert itself.
“I don’t know what it’s got to do with you!”
“Precisely, sir!” said Webster, with dignity. “Just as you say! Good
afternoon, sir!”
He swayed gracefully, conveying a suggestion of departure without
moving his feet. The action was enough for Sam. Dignity gave an
expiring gurgle, and passed away, regretted by all.
“Don’t go!” he cried.
The idea of being left alone in this infernal lane, without human
support, overpowered him. Moreover, Webster had personality. He exuded
it. Already Sam had begun to cling to him in spirit, and rely on his
support.
“Don’t go!”
“Certainly not, if you do not wish it, sir.”
Webster coughed gently, to show his appreciation of the delicate nature
of the conversation. He was consumed with curiosity, and his threatened
departure had been but a pretence. A team of horses could not have
moved Webster at that moment.
“Might I ask, then, what...?”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” said Sam. “At least, there was, but
now there isn’t, if you see what I mean.”
“I fear I have not quite grasped your meaning, sir.”
“Well, I—I—played a sort of—you might almost call it a sort of trick on
Miss Bennett. With the best motives, of course!”
“Of course, sir!”
“And she’s found out! I don’t know how she’s found out, but she has! So
there you are!”
“Of what nature would the trick be, sir? A species of ruse, sir,—some
kind of innocent deception?”
“Well, it was like this.”
It was a complicated story to tell, and Sam, a prey to conflicting
emotions, told it badly; but such was the almost superhuman
intelligence of Webster, that he succeeded in grasping the salient
points. Indeed, he said that it reminded him of something of much the
same kind in the Nosegay Novelette, “All for Her,” where the hero,
anxious to win the esteem of the lady of his heart, had bribed a tramp
to simulate an attack upon her in a lonely road.
“The principle’s the same,” said Webster.
“Well, what did he do when she found out?”
“She did not find out, sir. All ended happily, and never had the
wedding-bells in the old village church rung out a blither peal than
they did at the subsequent union.”
Sam was thoughtful.
“Bribed a tramp to attack her, did he?”
“Yes, sir. She had never thought much of him till that moment, sir.
Very cold and haughty she had been, his social status being
considerably inferior to her own. But, when she cried for help, and he
dashed out from behind a hedge, well, it made all the difference.”
“I wonder where I could get a good tramp,” said Sam, meditatively.
Webster shook his head.
“I really would hardly recommend such a procedure, sir.”
“No, it would be difficult to make a tramp understand what you wanted.”
Sam brightened.
“I’ve got it! _You_ pretend to attack her, and I’ll....”
“I couldn’t, sir! I couldn’t, really! I should jeopardise my
situation.”
“Oh, come. Be a man!”
“No, sir, I fear not. There’s a difference between handing in your
resignation—I was compelled to do that only recently, owing to a few
words I had with the guv’nor, though subsequently prevailed upon to
withdraw it—I say there’s a difference between handing in your
resignation and being given the sack, and that’s what would
happen—without a character, what’s more, and lucky if it didn’t mean a
prison cell! No, sir, I could not contemplate such a thing.”
“Then I don’t see that there’s anything to be done,” said Sam,
morosely.
“Oh, I shouldn’t say that, sir,” said Webster encouragingly. “It’s
simply a matter of finding the way. The problem confronting us—you, I
should say....”
“Us,” said Sam. “Most decidedly us.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I would not have presumed, but if you say
so.... The problem confronting us, as I envisage it, resolves itself
into this. You have offended our Miss B. and she has expressed a
disinclination ever to see you again. How, then, is it possible, in
spite of her attitude, to recapture her esteem?”
“Exactly,” said Sam.
“There are several methods which occur to one....”
“They don’t occur to _me!_”
“Well, for example, you might rescue her from a burning building, as in
‘True As Steel’....”
“Set fire to the house, eh?” said Sam reflectively. “Yes, there might
be something in that.”
“I would hardly advise such a thing,” said Webster, a little
hastily—flattered at the readiness with which his disciple was taking
his advice, yet acutely alive to the fact that he slept at the top of
the house himself. “A little drastic, if I may say so. It might be
better to save her from drowning, as in ‘The Earl’s Secret.’”
“Ah, but where could she drown?”
“Well, there is a lake in the grounds....”
“Excellent!” said Sam. “Terrific! I knew I could rely on you. Say no
more! The whole thing’s settled. You take her out rowing on the lake,
and upset the boat. I plunge in.... I suppose you can swim?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh? Well, never mind. You’ll manage somehow, I expect. Cling to the
upturned boat or something, I shouldn’t wonder. There’s always a way.
Yes, that’s the plan. When is the earliest you could arrange this?”
“I fear such a course must be considered out of the question, sir. It
really wouldn’t do.”
“I can’t see a flaw in it.”
“Well, in the first place, it would certainly jeopardise my
situation....”
“Oh, hang your situation! You talk as if you were Prime Minister or
something. You can easily get another situation. A valuable man like
you,” said Sam ingratiatingly.
“No, sir,” said Webster firmly. “From boyhood up I’ve always had a
regular horror of the water. I can’t so much as go paddling without an
uneasy feeling.”
The image of Webster paddling was arresting enough to occupy Sam’s
thoughts for a moment. It was an inspiring picture, and for an instant
uplifted his spirits. Then they fell again.
“Well, I don’t see what there _is_ to be done,” he said, gloomily.
“It’s no good my making suggestions, if you have some frivolous
objection to all of them.”
“My idea,” said Webster, “would be something which did not involve my
own personal and active co-operation, sir. If it is all the same to
you, I should prefer to limit my assistance to advice and sympathy. I
am anxious to help, but I am a man of regular habits, which I do not
wish to disturb. Did you ever read ‘Footpaths of Fate,’ in the Nosegay
series, sir? I’ve only just remembered it, and it contains the most
helpful suggestion of the lot. There had been a misunderstanding
between the heroine and the hero—their names have slipped my mind,
though I fancy his was Cyril—and she had told him to hop it....”
“To what?”
“To leave her for ever, sir. And what do you think he did?”
“How the deuce do I know?”
“He kidnapped her little brother, sir, to whom she was devoted, kept
him hidden for a bit, and then returned him, and in her gratitude all
was forgotten and forgiven, and never....”
“I know. Never had the bells of the old village church....”
“Rung out a blither peal. Exactly, sir. Well, there, if you will allow
me to say so, you are, sir! You need seek no further for a plan of
action.”
“Miss Bennett hasn’t got a little brother.”
“No, sir. But she has a dog, and is greatly attached to it.”
Sam stared. From the expression on his face it was evident that Webster
imagined himself to have made a suggestion of exceptional intelligence.
It struck Sam as the silliest he had ever heard.
“You mean I ought to steal her dog?”
“Precisely, sir.”
“But, good heavens! Have you seen that dog?”
“The one to which I allude is a small brown animal with a fluffy tail.”
“Yes, and a bark like a steam-siren, and, in addition to that, about
eighty-five teeth, all sharper than razors. I couldn’t get within ten
feet of that dog without its lifting the roof off, and, if I did, it
would chew me into small pieces.”
“I had anticipated that difficulty, sir. In ‘Footpaths of Fate’ there
was a nurse who assisted the hero by drugging the child.”
“By Jove!” said Sam, impressed.
“He rewarded her,” said Webster, allowing his gaze to stray
nonchalantly over the countryside, “liberally, very liberally.”
“If you mean that you expect me to reward you if you drug the dog,”
said Sam, “don’t worry. Let me bring this thing off, and you can have
all I’ve got, and my cuff-links as well. Come now, this is really
beginning to look like something. Speak to me more of this matter.
Where do we go from here?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I mean, what’s the next step in the scheme? Oh, Lord!” Sam’s face
fell. The light of hope died out of his eyes. “It’s all off! It can’t
be done! How could I possibly get into the house? I take it that the
little brute sleeps in the house?”
“That need constitute no obstacle, sir, no obstacle at all. The animal
sleeps in a basket in the hall.... Perhaps you are familiar with the
interior of the house, sir?”
“I haven’t been inside it since I was at school. I’m Mr. Hignett’s
cousin, you know.”
“Indeed, sir? I wasn’t aware. Mr. Hignett has the mumps, poor
gentleman.”