The Man Upstairs and Other Stories
departed, leaving Maud to her thoughts.
She was disappointed. She had expected better results. Mr Shute had
lowered with ease the record for gay badinage, hitherto held by the
red-faced customer; yet to all appearances there had been no change in
Arthur's manner. But perhaps he had scowled (or bitten his lip), and
she had not noticed it. Apparently he had struck Mr Shute, an unbiased
spectator, as gloomy. Perhaps at some moment when her eyes had been on
her work--She hoped for the best.
Whatever his feelings may have been during the afternoon, Arthur was
undeniably cheerful that evening. He was in excellent spirits. His
light-hearted abandon on the Wiggle-Woggle had been noted and commented
upon by several lookers-on. Confronted with the Hairy Ainus, he had
touched a high level of facetiousness. And now, as he sat with her
listening to the band, he was crooning joyously to himself in
accompaniment to the music, without, it would appear, a care in the
world.
Maud was hurt and anxious. In a mere acquaintance this blithe attitude
would have been welcome. It would have helped her to enjoy her evening.
But from Arthur at that particular moment she looked for something
else. Why was he cheerful? Only a few hours ago she had been--yes,
flirting with another man before his very eyes. What right had he to be
cheerful? He ought to be heated, full of passionate demands for an
explanation--a flushed, throaty thing to be coaxed back into a good
temper and then forgiven--all this at great length--for having been in
a bad one. Yes, she told herself, she had wanted certainty one way or
the other, and here it was. Now she knew. He no longer cared for her.
She trembled.
'Cold?' said Arthur. 'Let's walk. Evenings beginning to draw in now.
Lum-da-diddley-ah. That's what I call a good tune. Give me something
lively and bright. Dumty-umpty-iddley-ah. Dum tum--'
'Funny thing--' said Maud, deliberately.
'What's a funny thing?'
'The gentleman in the brown suit whose hands I did this afternoon--'
'He was,' agreed Arthur, brightly. 'A very funny thing.'
Maud frowned. Wit at the expense of Hairy Ainus was one thing--at her
own another.
'I was about to say,' she went on precisely, 'that it was a funny
thing, a coincidence, seeing that I was already engaged, that the
gentleman in the brown suit whose hands I did this afternoon should
have asked me to come here, to the White City, with him tonight.'
For a moment they walked on in silence. To Maud it seemed a hopeful
silence. Surely it must be the prelude to an outburst.
'Oh!' he said, and stopped.
Maud's heart gave a leap. Surely that was the old tone?
A couple of paces, and he spoke again.
'I didn't hear him ask you.'
His voice was disappointingly level.
'He asked me after you had gone out to lunch.'
'It's a nuisance,' said Arthur, cheerily, 'when things clash like that.
But perhaps he'll ask you again. Nothing to prevent you coming here
twice. Well repays a second visit, I always say. I think--'
'You shouldn't,' said a voice behind him. 'It hurts the head. Well,
kid, being shown a good time?'
The possibility of meeting Mr Shute had not occurred to Maud. She had
assumed that, being aware that she would be there with another, he
would have stayed away. It may, however, be remarked that she did not
know Mr Shute. He was not one of your sensitive plants. He smiled
pleasantly upon her, looking very dapper in evening dress and a silk
hat that, though a size too small for him, shone like a mirror.
Maud hardly knew whether she was glad or sorry to see him. It did not
seem to matter much now either way. Nothing seemed to matter much, in
fact. Arthur's cheery acceptance of the news that she received
invitations from others had been like a blow, leaving her numb and
listless.
She made the introductions. The two men eyed each other.
'Pleased to meet you,' said Mr Shute.
'Weather keeps up,' said Arthur.
And from that point onward Mr Shute took command.
It is to be assumed that this was not the first time that Mr Shute had
made one of a trio in these circumstances, for the swift dexterity with
which he lost Arthur was certainly not that of a novice. So smoothly
was it done that it was not until she emerged from the Witching Waves,
guided by the pugilist's slim but formidable right arm, that Maud
realized that Arthur had gone.
She gave a little cry of dismay. Secretly she was beginning to be
somewhat afraid of Mr Shute. He was showing signs of being about to
step out of the role she had assigned to him and attempt something on a
larger scale. His manner had that extra touch of warmth which makes all
the difference.
'Oh! He's gone!' she cried.
'Sure,' said Mr Shute. 'He's got a hurry-call from the Uji Village.
The chief's cousin wants a hair-cut.'
'We must find him. We must.'
'Surest thing you know,' said Mr Shute. 'Plenty of time.'
'We must find him.'
Mr Shute regarded her with some displeasure.
'Seems to be ace-high with you, that dub,' he said.
'I don't understand you.'
'My observation was,' explained Mr Shute, coldly, 'that, judging from
appearances, that dough-faced lemon was Willie-boy, the first and only
love.'
Maud turned on him with flaming cheeks.
'Mr Welsh is nothing to me! Nothing! Nothing!' she cried.
She walked quickly on.
'Then, if there's a vacancy, star-eyes,' said the pugilist at her side,
holding on a hat which showed a tendency to wobble, 'count me in.
Directly I saw you--see here, what's the idea of this road-work? We
aren't racing--'
Maud slowed down.
'That's better. As I was saying, directly I saw you, I said to myself,
"That's the one you need. The original candy kid. The--"'
His hat lurched drunkenly as he answered the girl's increase of speed.
He cursed it in a brief aside.
'That's what I said. "The original candy kid." So--'
He shot out a restraining hand. 'Arthur!' cried Maud. 'Arthur!'
'It's not my name' breathed Mr Shute, tenderly. 'Call me Clarence.'
Considered as an embrace, it was imperfect. At these moments a silk
hat a size too small handicaps a man. The necessity of having to be
careful about the nap prevented Mr Shute from doing himself complete
justice. But he did enough to induce Arthur Welsh, who, having sighted
the missing ones from afar, had been approaching them at a walking
pace, to substitute a run for the walk, and arrive just as Maud
wrenched herself free.
Mr Shute took off his hat, smoothed it, replaced it with extreme care,
and turned his attention to the new-comer.
'Arthur!' said Maud.
Her heart gave a great leap. There was no mistaking the meaning in the
eye that met hers. He cared! He cared!
'Arthur!'
He took no notice. His face was pale and working. He strode up to Mr
Shute.
'Well?' he said between his teeth.
An eight-stone-four champion of the world has many unusual experiences
in his life, but he rarely encounters men who say 'Well?' to him
between their teeth. Mr Shute eyed this freak with profound wonder.
'I'll teach you to--to kiss young ladies!'
Mr Shute removed his hat again and gave it another brush. This gave him
the necessary time for reflection.
'I don't need it,' he said. 'I've graduated.'
'Put them up!' hissed Arthur.
Almost a shocked look spread itself over the pugilist's face. So might
Raphael have looked if requested to draw a pavement-picture.
'You aren't speaking to ME?' he said, incredulously.
'Put them up!'
Maud, trembling from head to foot, was conscious of one overwhelming
emotion. She was terrified--yes. But stronger than the terror was the
great wave of elation which swept over her. All her doubts had
vanished. At last, after weary weeks of uncertainty, Arthur was about
to give the supreme proof. He was going to joust for her.
A couple of passers-by had paused, interested, to watch developments.
You could never tell, of course. Many an apparently promising row never
got any farther than words. But, glancing at Arthur's face, they
certainly felt justified in pausing. Mr Shute spoke.
'If it wasn't,' he said, carefully, 'that I don't want trouble with the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I'd--'
He broke off, for, to the accompaniment of a shout of approval from the
two spectators, Arthur had swung his right fist, and it had taken him
smartly on the side of the head.
Compared with the blows Mr Shute was wont to receive in the exercise of
his profession, Arthur's was a gentle tap. But there was one
circumstance which gave it a deadliness all its own. Achilles had his
heel. Mr Shute's vulnerable point was at the other extremity. Instead
of countering, he uttered a cry of agony, and clutched wildly with both
hands at his hat.
He was too late. It fell to the ground and bounded away, with its
proprietor in passionate chase. Arthur snorted and gently chafed his
knuckles.
There was a calm about Mr Shute's demeanour as, having given his
treasure a final polish and laid it carefully down, he began to advance
on his adversary, which was more than ominous. His lips were a thin
line of steel. The muscles stood out over his jaw-bones. Crouching in
his professional manner, he moved forward softly, like a cat.
And it was at this precise moment, just as the two spectators,
reinforced now by eleven other men of sporting tastes, were
congratulating themselves on their acumen in having stopped to watch,
that Police-Constable Robert Bryce, intruding fourteen stones of bone
and muscle between the combatants, addressed to Mr Shute these
memorable words: ''Ullo, 'ullo! 'Ullo, 'ullo, 'ul-_lo_!'
Mr Shute appealed to his sense of justice.
'The mutt knocked me hat off.'
'And I'd do it again,' said Arthur, truculently.
'Not while I'm here you wouldn't, young fellow,' said Mr Bryce, with
decision. 'I'm surprised at you,' he went on, pained. 'And you look a
respectable young chap, too. You pop off.'
A shrill voice from the crowd at this point offered the constable all
cinematograph rights if he would allow the contest to proceed.
'And you pop off, too, all of you,' continued Mr Bryce. 'Blest if I
know what kids are coming to nowadays. And as for you,' he said,
addressing Mr Shute, 'all you've got to do is to keep that face of
yours closed. That's what you've got to do. I've got my eye on you,
mind, and if I catch you a-follerin' of him'--he jerked his thumb over
his shoulder at Arthur's departing figure--'I'll pinch you. Sure as
you're alive.' He paused. 'I'd have done it already,' he added,
pensively, 'if it wasn't me birthday.'
* * * * *
Arthur Welsh turned sharply. For some time he had been dimly aware that
somebody was calling his name.
'Oh, Arthur!'
She was breathing quickly. He could see the tears in her eyes.
'I've been running. You walked so fast.'
He stared down at her gloomily.
'Go away,' he said. 'I've done with you.'
She clutched at his coat.
'Arthur, listen--listen! It's all a mistake. I thought you--you didn't
care for me any more, and I was miserable, and I wrote to the paper and
asked what should I do, and they said I ought to test you and try and
make you jealous, and that that would relieve my apprehensions. And I
hated it, but I did it, and you didn't seem to care till now. And you
know that there's nobody but you.'
'You--The paper? What?' he stammered.
'Yes, yes, yes. I wrote to _Fireside Chat_, and Dr Cupid said that
when jealousy flew out of the window indifference came in at the door,
and that I must exhibit pleasure in the society of other gentlemen and
mark your demeanour. So I--Oh!'
Arthur, luckier than Mr Shute, was not hampered by a too small silk
hat.
It was a few moments later, as they moved slowly towards the