The Outcry

“Oh,” Hugh returned lightly, “the market will have nothing to do with it, I hope; but I think you’ll feel when he has spoken that you really know where you are.”

Mr. Bender couldn’t doubt of that. “Oh, if he gives us a bigger thing we won’t complain. Only, how long will it take him to get there? I want him to start right away.”

“Well, as I’m sure he’ll be deeply interested–”

“We may”—Mr. Bender took it straight up—“get news next week?”

Hugh addressed his reply to Lord Theign; it was already a little too much as if he and the American between them were snatching the case from that possessor’s hands. “The day I hear from Pappendick you shall have a full report. And,” he conscientiously added, “if I’m proved to have been unfortunately wrong–!”

His lordship easily pointed the moral. “You’ll have caused me some inconvenience.”

“Of course I shall,” the young man unreservedly agreed—“like a wanton meddling ass!” His candour, his freedom had decidedly a note of their own. “But my conviction, after those moments with your picture, was too strong for me not to speak—and, since you allow it, I face the danger and risk the test.”

“I allow it of course in the form of business.” This produced in Hugh a certain blankness. “‘Business’?” “If I consent to the inquiry I pay for the inquiry.” Hugh demurred. “Even if I turn out mistaken?” “You make me in any event your proper charge.” The young man thought again, and then as for vague accommodation: “Oh, my charge won’t be high!”

“Ah,” Mr. Bender protested, “it ought to be handsome if the thing’s marked up!” After which he looked at his watch. “But I guess I’ve got to go, Lord Theign, though your lovely old Duchess—for it’s to her I’ve lost my heart—does cry out for me again.”

“You’ll find her then still there,” Lord John observed with emphasis, but with his eyes for the time on Lord Theign; “and if you want another look at her I’ll presently come and take one too.”

“I’ll order your car to the garden-front,” Lord Theign added to this; “you’ll reach it from the saloon, but I’ll see you again first.”

Mr. Bender glared as with the round full force of his pair of motor lamps. “Well, if you’re ready to talk about anything, I am. Good-bye, Mr. Crimble.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Bender.” But Hugh, addressing their host while his fellow-guest returned to the saloon, broke into the familiarity of confidence. “As if you could be ready to ‘talk’!”

This produced on the part of the others present a mute exchange that could only have denoted surprise at all the irrepressible young outsider thus projected upon them took for granted. “I’ve an idea,” said Lord John to his friend, “that you’re quite ready to talk with me.”

Hugh then, with his appetite so richly quickened, could but rejoice. “Lady Grace spoke to me of things in the library.”

“You’ll find it that way”—Lord Theign gave the indication.

“Thanks,” said Hugh elatedly, and hastened away.

Lord John, when he had gone, found relief in a quick comment. “Very sharp, no doubt—but he wants taking down.”

The master of Dedborough wouldn’t have put it so crudely, but the young expert did bring certain things home. “The people my daughters, in the exercise of a wild freedom, do pick up–!”

“Well, don’t you see that all you’ve got to do—on the question we’re dealing with—is to claim your very own wild freedom? Surely I’m right in feeling you,” Lord John further remarked, “to have jumped at once to my idea that Bender is heaven-sent—and at what they call the psychologic moment, don’t they?—to point that moral. Why look anywhere else for a sum of money that—smaller or greater—you can find with perfect ease in that extraordinarily bulging pocket?”

Lord Theign, slowly pacing the hall again, threw up his hands. “Ah, with ‘perfect ease’ can scarcely be said!”

“Why not?—when he absolutely thrusts his dirty dollars down your throat.”

“Oh, I’m not talking of ease to him,” Lord Theign returned—“I’m talking of ease to myself. I shall have to make a sacrifice.”

“Why not then—for so great a convenience—gallantly make it?”

“Ah, my dear chap, if you want me to sell my Sir Joshua–!”

But the horror in the words said enough, and Lord John felt its chill. “I don’t make a point of that—God forbid! But there are other things to which the objection wouldn’t apply.”

“You see how it applies—in the case of the Moret-to—for him. A mere Moretto,” said Lord Theign, “is too cheap—for a Yankee ‘on the spend.’”

“Then the Mantovano wouldn’t be.”

“It remains to be proved that it is a Mantovano.”

“Well,” said Lord John, “go into it.”

“Hanged if I won’t!” his friend broke out after a moment. “It would suit me. I mean”—the explanation came after a brief intensity of thought—“the possible size of his cheque would.”

“Oh,” said Lord John gaily, “I guess there’s no limit to the possible size of his cheque!”

“Yes, it would suit me, it would suit me!” the elder man, standing there, audibly mused. But his air changed and a lighter question came up to him as he saw his daughter reappear at the door from the terrace. “Well, the infant horde?” he immediately put to her.

Lady Grace came in, dutifully accounting for them. “They’ve marched off—in a huge procession.”

“Thank goodness! And our friends?”

“All playing tennis,” she said—“save those who are sitting it out.” To which she added, as to explain her return: “Mr. Crimble has gone?”

Lord John took upon him to say. “He’s in the library, to which you addressed him—making discoveries.”

“Not then, I hope,” she smiled, “to our disadvantage!”

“To your very great honour and glory.” Lord John clearly valued the effect he might produce.

“Your Moretto of Brescia—do you know what it really and spendidly is?” And then as the girl, in her surprise, but wondered: “A Mantovano, neither more nor less. Ever so much more swagger.”

“A Mantovano?” Lady Grace echoed. “Why, how tremendously jolly!”

Her father was struck. “Do you know the artist—of whom I had never heard?”

“Yes, something of the little that is known.” And she rejoiced as her knowledge came to her. “He’s a tremendous swell, because, great as he was, there are but seven proved examples–”

“With this of yours,” Lord John broke in, “there are eight.”

“Then why haven’t I known about him?” Lord Theign put it as if so many other people were guilty for this.

His daughter was the first to plead for the vague body. “Why, I suppose in order that you should have exactly this pleasure, father.”

“Oh, pleasures not desired are like acquaintances not sought—they rather bore one!” Lord Theign sighed. With which he moved away from her.

Her eyes followed him an instant—then she smiled at their guest. “Is he bored at having the higher prize—if you’re sure it is the higher?”

“Mr. Crimble is sure—because if he isn’t,” Lord John added, “he’s a wretch.”

“Well,” she returned, “as he’s certainly not a wretch it must be true. And fancy,” she exclaimed further, though as more particularly for herself, “our having suddenly incurred this immense debt to him!”