The Man Upstairs and Other Stories
continue in it permanently. He had the very strongest objection to his
uncle marrying a chorus-girl; and, as the years went on and the
disaster did not happen, his hopes of playing the role of heir till the
fall of the curtain grew stronger and stronger. He was one of those
young men who must be heirs or nothing. This is the age of the
specialist, and years ago Rollo had settled on his career. Even as a
boy, hardly capable of connected thought, he had been convinced that
his speciality, the one thing he could do really well, was to inherit
money. All he wanted was a chance. It would be bitter if Fate should
withhold it from him.
He did not object on principle to men marrying chorus-girls. On the
contrary, he wanted to marry one himself.
It was this fact which had given that turn to his thoughts which had
finally resulted in the schedule.
* * * * *
The first intimation that Wilson had that the schedule was actually to
be put into practical operation was when his employer, one Monday
evening, requested him to buy a medium-sized bunch of the best red
roses and deliver them personally, with a note, to Miss Marguerite
Parker at the stage-door of the Duke of Cornwall's Theatre.
Wilson received the order in his customary gravely deferential manner,
and was turning to go; but Rollo had more to add.
'Flowers, Wilson,' he said, significantly.
'So I understood you to say, sir. I will see to it at once.'
'See what I mean? Third week, Wilson.'
'Indeed, sir?'
Rollo remained for a moment in what he would have called thought.
'Charming girl, Wilson.'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Seen the show?'
'Not yet, sir.'
'You should,' said Rollo, earnestly. 'Take my advice, old scout, and
see it first chance you get. It's topping. I've had the same seat in
the middle of the front row of the stalls for two weeks.'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Looks, Wilson! The good old schedule.'
'Have you noticed any satisfactory results, sir?'
'It's working. On Saturday night she looked at me five times. She's a
delightful girl, Wilson. Nice, quiet girl--not the usual sort. I met
her first at a lunch at Oddy's. She's the last girl on the O.P. side.
I'm sure you'd like her, Wilson.'
'I have every confidence in your taste, sir.'
'You'll see her for yourself this evening. Don't let the fellow at the
stage-door put you off. Slip him half a crown or a couple of quid or
something, and say you must see her personally. Are you a close
observer, Wilson?'
'I think so, sir.'
'Because I want you to notice particularly how she takes it. See that
she reads the note in your presence. I've taken a good deal of trouble
over that note, Wilson. It's a good note. Well expressed. Watch her
face while she's reading it.'
'Very good, sir. Excuse me, sir.'
'Eh?'
'I had almost forgotten to mention it. Mr Galloway rang up on the
telephone shortly before you came in.'
'What! Is he in England?'
Mr Galloway was in the habit of taking occasional trips to Great
Britain to confer with the general manager of his London branch. Rollo
had grown accustomed to receiving no notice of these visits.
'He arrived two days ago on the _Baltic_, sir. He left a message
that he was in London for a week, and would be glad if you would dine
with him tomorrow at his club.'
Rollo nodded. On these occasions it was his practice to hold himself
unreservedly at Mr Galloway's disposal. The latter's invitations were
royal commands. Rollo was glad that the visit had happened now. In
another two weeks it might have been disastrous to the schedule.
The club to which the Braces King belonged was a richly but gloomily
furnished building in Pall Mall, a place of soft carpets, shaded
lights, and whispers. Grave, elderly men moved noiselessly to and fro,
or sat in meditative silence in deep arm-chairs. Sometimes the visitor
felt that he was in a cathedral, sometimes in a Turkish bath; while now
and then there was a suggestion of the waiting-room of a more than
usually prosperous dentist. It was magnificent, but not exhilarating.
Rollo was shown into the smoking-room, where his uncle received him.
There was a good deal of Mr Andrew Galloway. Grief, gnawing at his
heart, had not sagged his ample waistcoat, which preceded him as he
moved in much the same manner as Birnam Woods preceded the army of
Macduff. A well-nourished hand crept round the corner of the edifice
and enveloped Rollo's in a powerful grip.
'Ah, my boy!' bellowed Mr Galloway cheerfully. His voice was always
loud. 'Glad you've come.'
It would be absurd to say that Rollo looked at his uncle keenly. He was
not capable of looking keenly at anyone. But certainly a puzzled
expression came into his face. Whether it was the heartiness of the
other's hand-shake or the unusual cheeriness of his voice, he could not
say; but something gave him the impression that a curious change had
come over the Braces King. When they had met before during the last few
years Mr Galloway had been practically sixteen stone five of blood and
iron--one of those stern, soured men. His attitude had been that of one
for whom Life's music had ceased. Had he then inserted another record?
His manner conveyed that idea.
Sustained thought always gave Rollo a headache. He ceased to speculate.
'Still got the same _chef_ here, uncle?' he said. 'Deuced brainy
fellow. I always like dining here.'
'Here!' Mr Galloway surveyed the somnolent occupants of the room with
spirited scorn. 'We aren't going to dine in this forsaken old
mausoleum. I've sent in my resignation today. If I find myself wanting
this sort of thing at any time, I'll go to Paris and hunt up the
Morgue. Bunch of old dead-beats! Bah! I've engaged a table at Romano's.
That's more in my line. Get your coat, and let's be going.'
In the cab Rollo risked the headache. At whatever cost this thing must
be pondered over. His uncle prattled gaily throughout the journey. Once
he whooped--some weird, forgotten college yell, dragged from the misty
depths of the past. It was passing strange. And in this unusual manner
the two rolled into the Strand, and drew up at Romano's door.
Mr Galloway was a good trencherman. At a very early date he had
realized that a man who wishes to make satisfactory braces must keep
his strength up. He wanted a good deal here below, and he wanted it
warm and well cooked. It was, therefore, not immediately that his
dinner with Rollo became a feast of reason and a flow of soul. Indeed,
the two revellers had lighted their cigars before the elder gave forth
any remark that was not purely gastronomic.
When he did jerk the conversation up on to a higher plane, he jerked it
hard. He sent it shooting into the realms of the soulful with a whiz.
'Rollo,' he said, blowing a smoke-ring, 'do you believe in affinities?'
Rollo, in the act of sipping a liqueur brandy, lowered his glass in
surprise. His head was singing slightly as the result of some rather
spirited Bollinger (extra sec), and he wondered if he had heard aright.
Mr Galloway continued, his voice rising as he spoke.
'My boy,' he said, 'I feel young tonight for the first time in years.
And, hang it, I'm not so old! Men have married at twice my age.'
Strictly speaking, this was incorrect, unless one counted Methuselah;
but perhaps Mr Galloway spoke figuratively.
'Three times my age,' he proceeded, leaning back and blowing smoke,
thereby missing his nephew's agitated start. 'Four times my age. Five
times my age. Six--'
He pulled himself together in some confusion. A generous wine, that
Bollinger. He must be careful.
He coughed.
'Are you--you aren't--are you--' Rollo paused. 'Are you thinking of
getting married, uncle?'
Mr Galloway's gaze was still on the ceiling.
'A great deal of nonsense,' he yelled severely, 'is talked about men
lowering themselves by marrying actresses. I was a guest at a
supper-party last night at which an actress was present. And a more
charming, sensible girl I never wish to meet. Not one of your silly,
brainless chits who don't know the difference between lobster Newburg
and canvas-back duck, and who prefer sweet champagne to dry. No, sir!
Not one of your mincing, affected kind who pretend they never touch
anything except a spoonful of cold _consomme_. No, sir! Good, healthy
appetite. Enjoyed her food, and knew why she was enjoying it. I give
you my word, my boy, until I met her I didn't know a woman existed who
could talk so damned sensibly about a _bavaroise au rhum_.'
He suspended his striking tribute in order to relight his cigar.
'She can use a chafing-dish,' he resumed, his voice vibrating with
emotion. 'She told me so. She said she could fix chicken so that a man
would leave home for it.' He paused, momentarily overcome. '_And_
Welsh rarebits,' he added reverently.
He puffed hard at his cigar.
'Yes,' he said. 'Welsh rarebits, too. And because,' he shouted
wrathfully, 'because, forsooth, she earns an honest living by singing
in the chorus of a comic opera, a whole bunch of snivelling idiots will
say I have made a fool of myself. Let them!' he bellowed, sitting up
and glaring at Rollo. 'I say, let them! I'll show them that Andrew
Galloway is not the man to--to--is not the man--' He stopped. 'Well,
anyway, I'll show them,' he concluded rather lamely.
Rollo eyed him with fallen jaw. His liqueur had turned to wormwood. He
had been fearing this for years. You may drive out Nature with a
pitchfork, but she will return. Blood will tell. Once a Pittsburgh
millionaire, always a Pittsburgh millionaire. For eleven years his
uncle had fought against his natural propensities, with apparent
success; but Nature had won in the end. His words could have no other
meaning. Andrew Galloway was going to marry a chorus-girl.
Mr Galloway rapped on the table, and ordered another kummel.
'Marguerite Parker!' he roared dreamily, rolling the words round his
tongue, like port.
'Marguerite Parker!' exclaimed Rollo, bounding in his chair.
His uncle met his eye sternly.
'That was the name I said. You seem to know it. Perhaps you have
something to say against the lady. Eh? Have you? Have you? I warn you
to be careful. What do you know of Miss Parker? Speak!'
'Er--no, no. Oh, no! I just know the name, that's all. I--I rather
think I met her once at lunch. Or it may have been somebody else. I
know it was someone.'
He plunged at his glass. His uncle's gaze relaxed its austerity.
'I hope you will meet her many more times at lunch, my boy. I hope you
will come to look upon her as a second mother.'
This was where Rollo asked if he might have a little more brandy.
When the restorative came he drank it at a gulp; then looked across at
his uncle. The great man still mused.
'Er--when is it to be?' asked Rollo. 'The wedding, and all that?'
'Hardly before the Fall, I think. No, not before the Fall. I shall be
busy till then. I have taken no steps in the matter yet.'
'No steps? You mean--? Haven't you--haven't you proposed?'
'I have had no time. Be reasonable, my boy; be reasonable.'
'Oh!' said Rollo.
He breathed a long breath. A suspicion of silver lining had become
visible through the clouds.
'I doubt,' said Mr Galloway, meditatively, 'if I shall be able to find
time till the end of the week. I am very busy. Let me see. Tomorrow?
No. Meeting of the shareholders. Thursday? Friday? No. No, it will have
to stand over till Saturday. After Saturday's matinee. That will do
excellently.'
* * * * *
There is a dramatic spectacle to be observed every day in this land of
ours, which, though deserving of recognition, no artist has yet
pictured on canvas. We allude to the suburban season-ticket holder's
sudden flash of speed. Everyone must have seen at one time or another a