quinneys 20

quinneys 20

Susan, artless soul! had news of her own to impart. She had found a

house just outside Melchester—a house with a bathroom, with hot and cold

water laid on, a labour-saving house quite up to date—a bargain!

 

The __EXPRESSION__ of his shrewd face, as he listened, warned Susan that he

was keeping something from her. Human paste she understood better than

he did. The animation died out of her voice as she faltered:

 

"You look so queer, Joe."

 

Then he told her.

 

To his surprise and satisfaction she acquiesced meekly. She was

thinking that her prayers had been answered; but she could not bring

herself to say so. Also she was cruelly hurt at his lack of confidence,

afraid to speak lest she should say too much, too proud to break down,

pathetically silent. Quinney went on floundering amongst the broken ice.

 

"I’m out for a big thing. I know that I can pull it off single-handed.

Results will justify this move, Susie. It’s no use my hidin’ from you

that I’m in for a fight. They’ll down me if they can, but in the end I

shall come out on top, my girl. On top!"

 

"On top of what, Joe?"

 

He caught hold of her cold hands, gripping them tightly. He never

noticed how faintly the pressure was returned.

 

"Atop o’ the heap. A big dealer. It’s in me. Always knew it. Not a

dog’s chance here. Why, even Primmer of Bath had to go to London. I

was in his Piccadilly place yesterday. And I can remember what his old

shop at Bath used to be."

 

"What does Mr. Tomlin say?"

 

"He’s nasty, is Tom Tomlin. I wanted him to be nasty. By Gum! I egged

him on to call me a fool and an idiot."

 

"How I dislike that man!"

 

"He fairly wallowed in prophecies. It will be the same here. I can

hear Pinker goin’ it."

 

"Have you asked Lord Mel’s advice?"

 

Quinney glanced at her sharply.

 

"His lordship was very kind, but he’s my landlord, and I’m a good

tenant. He may be offended. I must risk that."

 

Susan sighed as she said with finality:

 

"It’s done?"

 

"Thank the Lord—yes!"

 

He suffered at the hands of Mrs. Biddlecombe, who, since the fire, had

become livelier in mind and body. She believed that a miracle had been

wrought upon her aged and infirm body, and regarded it as sanctified by

a Divine touch. Laburnum Row repeated with awe the old lady’s solemn

words:

 

"When I woke to hear the roaring of the flames, I heard a Voice. It

seemed to say: ’Martha Biddlecombe, arise and walk.’"

 

A select party of friends was listening, but—weed your acquaintance how

you may—nettles will spring up unexpectedly. A thin, acidulous spinster

remarked drily:

 

"We heard you—ran."

 

"It is perfectly true," replied Mrs. Biddlecombe, with austere dignity.

"The hand of the Lord was upon me, and I ran."

 

According to her lights, she dealt faithfully with Joseph Quinney. As

his guest, helpless beneath his roof, she had curbed too sharp a tongue.

In her own lodgings, and mentally as well as physically "on her legs

again," she deemed it a duty to let that tongue wag freely. She

received her son-in-law seated upon a sofa, the hard, old-fashioned sofa

covered with black horse-hair. Above the mantelpiece was a framed print

in crude colour, a portrait of the Great White Queen, in all her

Imperial splendour handing a cheap edition of the Bible to a naked

savage. Underneath this work of art was inscribed: "This is the secret

of England’s greatness." Upon a small marble-topped table near the sofa

was another Bible.

 

"Be seated, Joseph."

 

She had allowed him to kiss her cheek; and he guessed, as he saluted

her, that she was in happy ignorance of his monstrous offence. At her

request Susan was not present.

 

"You are going to London?"

 

"That’s right."

 

"It is not right, Joseph. It is very far indeed from being right. It

would seem that right and wrong, as I interpret such plain words, have

no definite meaning to you."

 

"Pop away!"

 

"What?"

 

"I said ’Pop away.’ I meant, go on firing."

 

"I beg to be allowed to finish without flippant interruption on your

part. Personally, the affairs of this world do not concern me any

longer. I am interested in them so far as they concern others, my own

flesh and blood. Susan was born in Melchester, and so were you."

 

"We couldn’t help it. You might have chosen a livelier spot. Me and

Susan wasn’t consulted. Children in a better managed world would be

consulted, but there you are."

 

"Do you think, Joseph, in your arrogance, that you could manage this

world better than it is managed?"

 

"Lord bless you, yes!"

 

"I trust that the Lord will bless me, young man. but He will assuredly

not bless you, unless you mend your ways and your manners."

 

"Keep it up!"

 

It enraged her to perceive that he was enjoying himself. She wondered

vaguely how the Bishop would deal with such a hardened offender.

 

"I, for one, refuse to accompany you to London."

 

"Sorry."

 

"Are you sorry? I doubt it. Susan will miss me"—she wiped away two

tears invisible to Quinney, and her voice trembled querulously as she

continued—"and Posy will be deprived of a grandmother at a time when her

mind and character are being made or marred. I understand, also, that

you are risking a fortune which is more than ample for a man in your

station of life. It would appear also that you have taken this step in

defiance of advice from the Marquess of Mel."

 

"I took it"—he drew in his breath sharply, speaking almost as solemnly

as his very upright judge—"because I had to take it. Melchester is too

small for me, too sleepy, too stoopid, too hide-bound. The most

wonderful thing in the whole town is just like me."

 

"To what do you allude?"

 

"To the spire of the Cathedral. It soars, don’t it? Can you see it

laying flat on the ground? Can you fancy it asleep? It taught me to

soar. When I was a boy, crawlin’ at the old man’s heel, I used to say

to it: ’Gosh, you’re well out of it!’ And now"—he smiled

triumphantly—"I’m well out of it, for ever and ever, Amen!"

 

Mrs. Biddlecombe rallied her failing energies for a last charge.

Somehow she was impressed by this queer son-in-law. He confounded her.

She remarked slowly:

 

"It seems a strange thing to say, but I have heard of spires struck by

God’s lightning."

 

"Maybe," said Quinney, rising; "but you can take it from me that this

spire won’t be struck because it’s fitted with a lightnin’ conductor."

 

He retired, chuckling. Mrs. Biddlecombe shook her head. She was

utterly at a loss to determine whether Quinney was alluding to the

Cathedral spire or to himself. If to himself, who or what was his

lightning conductor?

 

 

 

 

*BOOK II*

 

*CHAPTER X*

 

*BLUDGEONINGS*

 

*I*

 

 

London exercised the influence that might be expected upon such a

character as Quinney’s. The soot, so to speak, brought out the

chlorophyl. As he put it to Susan, with grim humour:

 

"Makes us feel a bit green, hey?"

 

He had supposed that the big dealers would ignore him; he had not

expected what he found—active hostility. His first fight, for example,

opened his eyes by closing one of them. A brief account of it must be

chronicled. He had kept out of the auction rooms, like Christopher’s,

but he frequented small sales, and became a menace to a ring of Hebrew

dealers, who, hitherto, had managed such affairs with great executive

ability entirely in their own interests. Quinney was well aware of their

methods. At the sale proper prices were kept at the lowest possible

level. The re