The Weird Sisters: A Romance. Volume 1 of 3. Dowling Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ streets, or standing at a public-house corner?"

      Again Mr. Grey smiled at the droll dulness and droller simplicity of his servant.

      A gleam of light came into James's dim eyes upon finding the description narrowed down to the selection of one of two characteristics, and he said, in a voice of solemn sagacity:

      "The back of his coat is dirty, sir, as if he'd been leaning against a public-house wall."

      "Or as if he had been carrying a sack of corn on his back?" demanded the master, laughing softly, and brushing imaginary cigar-ashes off the polished oak-table with his white curved little finger.

      For a moment James stood on his heels in stupefied doubt and dismay at this close questioning. He was a man of action, not of thought. Had his master shouted, "Right wheel – quick march!" he would have gone out of the window, through the glass, without a murmur and without a thought of reproach; but to be thus interrogated on subtleties of appearance made him feel like a blindfold man, who is certain he is about to be attacked, but does not know where, by whom, or with what weapon. He resolved to risk all and escape.

      "I think, sir, it was a public-house, for I smelt liquor."

      "That is conclusive," said the master, laughing out at last. "That is all right, James. I am too lazy to go down to see him. Show him up here. Stop a moment, James. Let him come up in five minutes."

      The servant left the room, and as he did so the master laughed still more loudly, and then chuckled softly to himself, muttering:

      "He thought the man had been leaning against a public-house because he smelt of liquor! Ha, ha, ha! My quaint James, you will be the death of your master. You will, indeed."

      When he had finished his laugh he dismissed the idea of James finally with a roguish shrug of his shoulders and wag of his head.

      Then he drew down the gasalier, pushed an enormous easy-chair in front of the empty fire-place, pulled a small table between the dining-table and the easy-chair, and placed an ordinary oak and green dining-room chair at the corner of the dining-table near the window; then he sat down on the ordinary chair.

      When this was done he ascertained that the drawer of the small table opened easily, closed in the drawer softly, threw himself back in his own chair and began smoking slowly, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling without taking the cigar from his lips, and keeping his legs thrust out before him, and his hands deep in his trousers-pockets.

      Presently the door opened; James said, "The man, sir!" the door closed again, and all was still.

      "Come over and sit down, my man," said the banker, in a good-natured tone of voice, without, however, removing his eyes from the ceiling.

      To this there was no reply by either sound or gesture.

      Mr. Grey must have been pursuing some humorous thought over the ceiling; for when he at last dropped his eyes and looked towards the door, he said, with a quiet sigh, as though the ridiculous in the world was killing him slowly: "It's too droll, too droll." Then to the man, who still stood just inside the door: "Come over here and sit down, my man. I have been expecting a call from you. Come over and sit down. Or would you prefer I should send the brougham for you?"

      As he turned his eyes round, they fell on the figure of a man of forty, who, with head depressed and shoulders thrust up high, and a battered, worn sealskin-cap held in both hands close together, thumbs uppermost, was standing on one leg, a model of abject, obsequious servility.

      The man made no reply; but as Mr. Grey's eyes fell upon him he substituted the leg drawn up for the one on which he had been standing, thrust up his shoulders, and pressed down his head in token of unspeakable humility under the honour of Mr. Grey's glance, and of profound gratitude for the honour of Mr. Grey's speech.

      "Come, my man; do come over and sit down. The conversation is becoming monotonous already. Do come over, and sit down here. I can't keep on saying 'come' all the evening. I assure you I have expected this call from you. Do come and sit down."

      Mr. Grey motioned the man to the large easy-chair in front of him.

      At last the man moved, stealthily, furtively, across the carpet, skirting the furniture cautiously, as though it consisted of infernal-machines which might go off at any moment. His dress was ragged and torn; his face, a long narrow one, of mahogany colour; his eyes were bright full blue, the one good feature in his shy unhandsome countenance.

      "Sit in that chair," said Mr. Grey blandly, at the same time waving his hand towards the capacious and luxurious easy-chair.

      "Please, sir, I'd rather stand," said the man, in a low sneaking tone.

      The contrast between the two was remarkably striking: the one, large and liberal of aspect, gracious and humorous of manner, broad-faced, generous-looking, perfectly dressed, scrupulously neat; the other, drawn together, mean in form, narrow of features, with avaricious mouth and unsteady eye, with ragged and soiled clothes.

      "Sit down, my good man; sit down. I assure you the conversation will continue to be very monotonous until you take my advice, and sit down in that chair. You need not be afraid of spoiling it. Sit down, and then you may at your leisure tell me what I can do for you."

      Mr. Grey may have smiled at the whim of Nature in forging such a counterfeit of human nature as the man before him, or he may have smiled at the obvious dislike with which his visitor surveyed the chair. The smile, however, was a pleasant, cordial, happy one. He drew in his legs, sat upright, and, leaning his left elbow on the small table before him, pointed to the chair with his right hand, and kept his right hand fixed in the attitude of pointing until the man, with a scowl at the chair and a violent upheaval of his shoulders and depression of his head, sank among the soft cushions.

      "Now we shall get on much more comfortably," said Mr. Grey, placing what remained unsmoked of his cigar on the ash-tray beside him, clasping his hands over his waistcoat, and bending slightly forward to indicate that his best attention was at the disposal of his visitor. "What is your name?"

      "Joe Farleg."

      "Joe Farleg, Joe Farleg," mused, half aloud, Mr. Grey. "An odd name. Why am I fated always to meet people with odd ways or odd names? Well, never mind answering that question, Joe," he said, more loudly, in an indulgent tone, as though he felt he would be violating kindliness by insisting on a reply which had little or nothing to do with Farleg. He continued, "I don't think I have ever seen you or heard your name before; and although I did not think it improbable you, or someone like you, would call, I could not know exactly whom I was to see. Before we go any farther, I ask you: Haven't I been good to you without even knowing who you were?"

      "Good to me, sir!" cried the man, in surprise.

      "Yes; I have been very good to you in not setting the police after you."

      The man tried to struggle up out of the chair, but, unused to a seat of the kind, struggled for a moment in vain. At last he gained his feet, and with an oath demanded: "How did you know I did it? Are you going to set them after me now?" His blue eyes swiftly explored the room to find if the officers had sprung out of concealment, and to ascertain the chances of his escape.

      With a kindly wave of his hand, Mr. Grey indicated the chair. "I have not even spoken to the police about the matter, and I do not intend speaking to them. Sit down in your chair, Joe, and let us talk the matter over quietly."

      "I'm d – d if I sit in that chair again. It smothers me."

      He regarded the banker with uneasiness and the СКАЧАТЬ