Geoffrey Hampstead: A Novel

"Got a partnership?" inquired Geoffrey, with interest.

"I suppose you mean a partnership with Mr. Bean, and I answer emphatically 'No.' I refer to my own business, sir, and I have no intention of taking Mr. Bean into partnership. Bean is dying for a partnership with me. Sha'n't take Bean in. A client of mine came in to-day – "

"Great Scott! you haven't got a client, have you?" cried Geoffrey, starting from his chair.

"Don't interrupt me," said Mr. Rankin. "As I was saying," he added with composure, "a client of mine – "

"No, no, Morry! This is too much. If you want us to believe you, give us some particulars about this client – just as an evidence of good faith, you know."

"The client you are so inquisitive about," said Rankin, with dignity, "is a lady who has been, in a sense, prematurely widowed – "

"It's Mrs. Priest," said Jack, turning to Geoffrey. "He has been defending her for stealing coal, sure as you're born!"

"The lady came to me," said Maurice, taking no notice of the interruption, "about a month ago, apparently with a view to taking proceedings for alimony – at least her statement suggested this – "

"By Jove, this is getting interesting!" said Jack.

"But on questioning the unfortunate woman as to her means, I found that her funds were in a painfully low condition – in fact, at a disgustingly low ebb, viewed from a professional standpoint. And I also found that her husband had offered her four dollars a week, to be paid weekly, on condition that he should never see her and that somebody else should collect the money. The husband was evidently a bold, bad man to have given rise to the outbursts of jealously which it pained me to listen to, and the poor lady, forgetful of my presence, and with all the ability of an ancient prophet, denounced two or three women both jointly and severally. She then roused herself, and asked what I would charge to collect her four dollars per week. This seemed to decide the alimony suit in the negative, and from the fact that she was, not to put too fine a point upon it, three parts drunk at the time, I thought it better to say what I would do. So now I collect four dollars a week from her husband and pay it over to her every Saturday, for which I deduct, each time, the sum of twenty-five cents. There is a good deal of money to be made in the practice of the law."

"What about the husband?" asked Jack, laughing.

"I believe that I was invited to-day to dine – at least I came with that intention. Instead of talking any more, I would be better satisfied if somebody produced so much as the photograph of a chicken – and after that I will further to you unfold my tale."

Mr. Rankin slapped a waistcoat that appeared to be unduly slack about the lower buttons.

They then repaired to the club, where, having but a small appetite himself, and the representatives of bank distinguishing themselves more than he could as trenchermen, Rankin kept the ball rolling by relating his experiences as a barrister, which seemed to amuse his two friends. These experiences, leading to police-court items and police-court savages, brought up the question of "What is a savage?" – which introduced the Fuegians, the wild natives of Queensland, the Mayalans, and others, with whom Hampstead compared the lowest-class Irish. He had profited by much travel and reading, and anthropology was a subject on which he could be rather brilliant. To show how our civilization is a mere veneer, he drew a comparison between savage and civilized fashions, and brought out facts culled from many different peoples – not omitting Schweinfurth's Monbuttoo women – as to the primitive nature of the dress-improver. Then, somehow, the conversation got back to the police court, and the question, "What is a criminal?" and they agreed that if the harm done to others was one criterion of guilt, it seemed a pity that some things – woman's gossip, for instance – went so frequently unpunished.

"And I think," broke in Cresswell, after the subject had been well thrashed, "that you two fellows are talking a good deal of what you know very little about. After all your chatter, I think the point is right here (and I put it in the old-fashioned way). If one does wrong he violates his own appreciation of right, and his guilt can only be measured by the way he tramples on his conscience, and as conscience varies in almost every person, I think we had better give up wading into abstractions and come down to the concrete – to the solid enjoyment of a pipe." And Jack pushed back his chair.

"Then, according to you, Jack, a fellow with no conscience would in human judgment have no guilt," laughed Hampstead.

"I don't believe there exists a sane man in the world without a conscience," replied Jack, with his own optimism.

"I don't think I agree with you," said Rankin. "I feel sure there are men who, if they ever had a conscience, have trained it into such elasticity that they may be said to have none. Do you not think so, Hampstead?"

"Really, I hardly know. I haven't thought much upon the subject, but I think we ought, if we do possess any conscience ourselves, to give Jack a chance to light his pipe."

They soon sauntered back to the Tremaine Buildings, where Jack sat down at the piano and played to them. While Jack played on, Geoffrey seemed interested in police-court items, but Rankin preferred listening to Beethoven and Mozart to "talking shop." After they had sung some sea-songs together and chatted over a glass of "something short," Rankin said good-night and mounted to No. 173 on the invisible stairs with as much activity as if daylight were assisting him.

Having lit his lamp, he soliloquized, as he attended to some faults in his complexion before a small looking-glass, "So I have got another client, I perceive. That dinner to-day was a fee – nothing else in the world. I don't know now that I altogether like my new client. He evidently didn't get what he wanted. Perhaps Jack was in the way. Now, I wonder what the beggar does want. Chances are I'll have another dinner soon. Happy thought! make him keep on dining me ad infinitum! Ornamental dinner! Pleasant change!"

Maurice undressed and walked up and down the room. "Perhaps I am all wrong, though," said he. "I can't help liking him in many ways, and he's chock-full of interesting information. How odd that he didn't know anything about a fellow having no conscience. Hadn't thought over that idea. Very likely! Gad! I could imagine him just such a one, now that I have got suspicious. He has a bad eye when he doesn't look after it. It doesn't always smile along with his mouth. I may be wrong, but I believe there's something there that's not the clean wheat," and Maurice ascended to the woolsack and disappeared for the night.

CHAPTER IV

How can I tell the feelings in a young lady's mind; the thoughts in a young gentleman's bosom? As Professor Owen takes a fragment of bone and builds a forgotten monster out of it, so the novelist puts this and that together: from the foot-prints finds the foot; from the foot, the brute who trod on it; … traces this slimy reptile through the mud; … prods down this butterfly with a pin. – Thackeray (The Newcomes).

Hampstead did not get to sleep, after Rankin had retired, as early as he expected. Jack Cresswell followed him into his bedroom and sat down, lit another pipe, and then walked about, and seemed preoccupied, as he had all the evening. Geoffrey did not speak to him at first, as this was an unusual proceeding between the two, but, having got into bed and made himself comfortable by bullying the pillows into the proper shape and position, addressed his friend:

"Now, old man, unburden your mind. I know you want to tell me something, but do not be surprised if you find me asleep before you get your second wind. If you care for me, cut it short."

"Got a letter to-day," said Jack, "from her."

"Well, Jack, as you seem, with some eccentricity, to have only one "her," of course I am interested. Your feelings in that quarter never fail in their attraction. Pour into my devoted ear for the next five minutes (not longer) a synopsis of your woes or joys. What is it you want to-night? Congratulation or balm for wounds?"

"Oh, I don't wish to keep you awake," said Jack testily, rising, as if to depart.

"Go on, sir. Go on, sir. Your story interests me."

Geoffrey assumed an attitude of attention. Jack smiled and sat down again. He had no intention of going away. He had thought over his letter all day, till at last a confidential friend seemed almost necessary.

"My letter comes from London. They've' returned from the Continent, and, as they are now most likely on the sea, she'll be at home in about a week." And Jack seemed in a high state of satisfaction.

"Well, well! I never saw a real goddess in my life," said Geoffrey. "And there is no doubt about Miss Lindon being one, because I have listened to you for two years, and now I know that she is what I have long wished to see."

"It will give me the greatest pleasure to have you know her. I have looked forward tremendously to that. Next to meeting her myself comes the idea of we three being jolly good friends, and going around together on little jamborees to concerts and that sort of thing. I haven't a doubt but what we three will 'get on' amazingly."

"Playing gooseberry with success requires a clever person," said Geoffrey. "I don't think I'm quite equal to the call for the tact and loss of individuality which the position demands. However, dear boy, I am quite aware that to introduce me to the lady of your heart as your particular friend is the greatest compliment one fellow can pay another – all things considered. Don't you think so? Oh, yes, I dare say we will be a trio quite out of the common. But, if she is as pretty as you say she is, I'll have to look at her, you know. Can't help looking at a handsome woman, even if she were hedged in with as many prohibitions as the royal family. You'll have to get accustomed to that, of course."

"But that's the very reason why I want you to know her," said Jack, in his whole-souled way. "I really often feel as if her beauty and brightness and her power of pleasing many should not be altogether monopolized by any one man. It would redouble my satisfaction if I thought you admired her also." Jack stopped for a moment as he considered that her power of "pleasing many" had been rather larger at times than he had cared about. "It seems to me that she has enough of these attractions for me, and some to spare for others."

Geoffrey smiled as he wondered if the girl herself thought she had enough to spare for others besides Jack.

"Young man, your sentiments do you credit! It must make things much more satisfactory to an engaged girl to understand that she is expected not to neglect the outside world whenever she is able 'to tear herself away,' as it were."

"I see you grinning to yourself under the bed-clothes," said Jack, who rather winced at this. "I don't know that I ever asked her to distribute herself more than she did. On the contrary, if you must have the unvarnished truth, quite the reverse." Jack reddened as he ventilated some of the truths which are generally suppressed. "The fact is, it was rather the other way. I frequently have acted like a donkey when I didn't get her undivided attention. You know girls often get accused of flirting, and when one hears their own explanation, nothing seems clearer, you know, than that there was no occasion for the row at all."

Geoffrey thought he did know, but said nothing.

"Two years, though, make changes, and having seen nothing of her for such a long time, I feel as if one glimpse of her would repay me for all the waiting. I should never have thought of our differences again if you had not raked them up."

"Which I am sorry to have done," said Geoffrey. "No doubt, two years do sometimes make a difference. I am sure you treat the affaire sublimely, and, if she is equally generous in her thoughts of you, it will be a unique thing to gaze upon both of you at once."

Jack took Geoffrey's remarks in good part, for he had got accustomed to the cynical way the latter treated most things. It was his way, he thought, and Geoffrey was "such an all-round good fellow, and all that sort of thing, you know," that it was to be expected that he should have "ways." Besides this, Jack had seen from time to time that, though very ready to recognize sterling merit, Geoffrey had ability in detecting humbug, and that he considered the optimist had too many chances against him to make him valuable as a prophet. Thus, when he spoke in this way of Nina Lindon, Jack supposed that his friend had his doubts, and, much as he loved her, he stopped, like many another, and asked himself whether she had such a generosity and nobility in her character as he had supposed. This, he felt, was rather beneath him in one way, and rather beyond him in another. When he looked for admirable traits, he remembered several instances of good-natured impulse, and while the graceful manner in which she had done these things rose before him, he grew enthusiastic. Then he sought to call up for inspection the qualities he took exception to. That she had seemed inconsiderate of his feelings at times seemed true. There was, he thought, a frivolity about her. He thought life had for him some few well-defined realities, and that she had never seemed to quite grasp the true inwardness of his best moments. But all was explained by her youth and the adulation paid to her. And then the memory of her soft dark eyes and flute-like voice, the various allurements of her vivacious manner and graceful figure, produced an enthusiasm quite overwhelming. So he laughed at the defeat of his impartiality, looked over at Geoffrey, who was peacefully snoring by this time, and went away to his own room. But deep down in his heart lay the shadow of a doubt which, with his instinctive courtesy, he never approached even in an examination supposed to be a searching one. The inspection of it seemed a sacrilege, and he put it from him. Nevertheless, there had been times when Jack felt doubtful as to whether Nina could be relied upon for absolute truth.

Joseph Lindon, the father of Nina, came from – no person seemed to know where. He, or his family, might have come from the north of Ireland or south of Scotland, or middle of England, or anywhere else, as far as any one could judge by his face; and, as likely as not, his lineage was a mixture of Scotch, Irish, English, or Dutch, which implanted in his physiognomy that conglomeration of nationalities which now defies classification, but seems to be evolving a type to be known as distinctively Canadian. His accent was not Irish, Scotch, English, nor Yankee. It was a collection of all four, which appeared separately at odd times, and it was, in this way, Canadian.

His family records had not been kept, or Joseph would certainly have produced them, if creditable. He had the appearance of a self-made man. If want of a good education somewhat interfered with the completeness of his social success, it certainly had not retarded him in business circles. If he had swept out the store of his first employers, those employers were now in their graves, and of those who knew his beginnings in Toronto there were none with the temerity to remind him of them. Mr. Lindon was not a man to be "sat upon." He had a bold front, a hard, incisive voice, and a temper that, since he began to feel his monetary oats, brooked no opposition. He might have been taken for a farmer, except for the keenness of his eye and the fact that his clothes were city made. These two differences, however, are of a comprehensive kind.

Mr. Lindon, early in life, had opened a small shop, and then enlarged it. Having been successful, he sold out, and took to a kind of broker, money-lending, and land business, and being one who devoted his whole existence to the development of the main chance, with a deal of native ability to assist him, the result was inevitable.

His entertainments gave satisfaction to those who thought they knew what a good glass of wine was. Mr. Lindon himself did not. Few do. When exhausted he took a little whisky. When he entertained, he sipped the wine that an impecunious gentleman was paid to purchase for him, regardless of cost. So, although there were those who turned up their noses at Joseph Lindon while they swallowed him, there did not seem to be any reluctance in going through the same motions with his wine.

The fact that he was able to, and did entertain to a large extent was of itself sufficient in certain quarters to provoke a smile suggesting that the society in that city did not entertain. Some members had been among the exclusives for a comparatively short time, and the early occupation of their parents was still painfully within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. A good many based their right on the fact that they came "straight from England" – without further recommendation; while others pawed the air like the heraldic lion because they had, or used to have, a second cousin with a title in England.

But these good people were partly correct when they hinted that some old families did not entertain much. Either there had been some scalawag in the family who had wasted its substance, or else the respected family had had a faculty for mortgaging and indorsing notes for friends in those good old times which happily are not likely to return.

The consequence was that there was a good deal of satisfaction on both sides. Joseph Lindon could pat his breeches pocket, figuratively, and, not without reason, consider he had the best of it. Many a huge mortgage at ruinous interest made by the first families, who never lived within their means, had found its way to Lindon's office, and many an acre, subsequently worth thousands of dollars, had been acquired by him in satisfaction of the note he held against the family scalawag. During all the times that these people had been "keeping up the name," as they called it, Lindon had been salting down the hard cash, and if some of his transactions were of the "shady" sort, he had, in dealing with some of the patrician families, some pretty shady customers to look after.