CHAPTER XIII.

MORTOMLEY'S FRIENDS.

That was not a pleasant summer at Homewood. True, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed, and the fruit ripened, but the Mortomleys could take no enjoyment out of sunshine or perfume or beauty, by reason of an ever-increasing shortness of money and pressure of anxiety.

To Dolly, the time when she had known nothing about business, when she took no interest in the City, or the Works, or the state of trade, seemed like an almost forgotten dream.

She knew to a sixpence what payments were coming due. Mortomley did not try to keep from her knowledge of the writs which were served upon him, of the proceedings that were threatened. Had he done so it would have been useless. There was not a servant in the house, a workman in the factory, who did not comprehend the ship was doomed. Some of them, taking time by the forelock, made inquiry concerning suitable situations likely to become vacant, and left before matters came to a crisis.

At first Mortomley and his wife felt this desertion keenly, but as time went on the misery of their own position became too real for any sentimental grievance to prove annoying.

"That summer weaned me from Homewood," Dolly said subsequently to Mrs. Werner. "Once upon a time it would have broken my heart to leave the place; but what we suffered in that dear old house no human being can imagine."

And all the time Mr. Forde was leading Mr. Mortomley that life Rupert had prophesied.

In a dull, stupid sort of way, Mortomley went up doggedly day after day to take his punishment, and it was given.

He wanted to keep Homewood, and he was willing to bear much in order to compass that end. Mr. Forde wanted to keep the Colour Works going, and believed the best way to effect his purpose was never to cease goading and harassing Mr. Mortomley.

At last it all came to an end. One day towards the latter part of August, Mr. Mortomley returned home earlier than usual; complaining of headache, he went to bed before dinner. Ere morning Dolly tapped at Rupert's door, and begged him despatch some one for a doctor.

"It has come," thought Rupert dressing in all haste, "I knew it could not last for ever."

That day, Mr. Forde waited in vain for his victim.

It had become a necessity of his existence to vent the irritation caused by the anxiety of his position on some one, and Mortomley proved the best whipping boy who ever accepted vicarious chastisement.

When, therefore, afternoon arrived and no Mr. Mortomley, he was obliged to expend his wrath on some persons who did not accept the gift with much patience.

Amongst others Henry Werner, who, after listening to one of Mr. Forde's diatribes with apparently unmoved composure, walked up to the manager and thrusting his clenched fist in that irate individual's face, inquired,

"Do you see that?"

"Yes, I see it, sir," sputtered out Mr. Forde; "I see it sir, and what if I do, sir?"

"You had better not try to come any of that sort of infernal nonsense with me," remarked Mr. Werner. "When two men are sailing in the same boat, if one can't keep a civil tongue in his head he must go overboard. Do you understand; if you try this game on again, you shall go by----."

Mr. Forde looked round the office with a scared expression.

"I--I--meant nothing," he said.

"I know that," replied Mr. Werner; "and see you never mean the same thing again in the future, for I won't bear it; remember, I won't bear it. If ever a day comes when I cannot see my way, I shall know how to face the evil, but I will never endure being bullied by you!" and with that explicit utterance Mr. Werner walked out of the spic-and-span new office and into Vedast Lane, stumbling by the way over Mr. Kleinwort.

"How is he to-day," demanded the latter gentleman, speaking his native language.

"In one of his tantrums," was the reply. "If you want anything you had better not ask for it at present."

Kleinwort laughed.

"When he show the cloven foot," he remarked in English, "I know who get the worst of the kicking."

"And so do I," thought Werner. "Would to Heaven I were clear of the whole connection."

Which was all the more ungrateful of Mr. Werner, since he had once regarded the General Chemical Company in the light of a stepping-stone to fortune.

But that was in the days when he had made a little mistake about Forde, and considered him a clever man. Now there can he no greater mistake for an adventurer to fall into than this, and Mr. Werner cursed his fate accordingly.

All this time Mortomley was lying in a state of blessed unconsciousness.

He was oblivious of Mr. Forde's existence. If forgetfulness be Heaven, as on earth I think it sometimes is, Mortomley had entered Paradise. To-day and to-morrow business and money were all forgotten words. He lay like one already dead, and as his wife looked at him, she vowed the influence of no human being should ever reduce him to the same state again.

For though no one save God and himself might ever know the red-hot ploughshares over which Mr. Forde had made him pass, Dolly possessed sufficient intelligence to understand he must have suffered horribly. Had not she suffered? Was not everything about the place suffering? The game had gone on too long, she felt. It should end now; it should before life or reason ended also.

Meanwhile Mr. Forde would certainly have become dangerous had business not required his absence from London.

Before he left he called in Thames Street to ascertain the cause of Mr. Mortomley's extraordinary defection.

"Mr. Mortomley is very ill, sir," said the clerk of whom he made inquiry.

"Ill--nonsense!" retorted Mr. Forde; "I am not ill."

"I never said you were, sir," was the reply uttered apologetically. "I was speaking of our governor; though," (this was added while Mr. Forde blustered towards the door), "if you were ill and dead and buried I am not aware that any one connected with this establishment would go into debt for mourning."

Which was quite true. From the smallest errand boy up to Mr. Rupert Halling the whole of the Thames Street establishment hated Mr. Forde with a fervour that would have mortified that gentleman not a little had he been aware of its existence.

One of the traits of character on which he plumed himself was the urbanity of his manners to those he considered beneath him. But unhappily as this urbanity was only exhibited when he happened to be in a good temper and affairs were going prosperously, clerks and porters and other individuals whom he roughly classed as servants had frequent experience of that side of Mr. Forde's nature which was not pleasant.

Himself only recollected those interviews when he bade Robinson, Tom, or boy a kindly good morning. But Robinson, Tom, and boy's recollection held many bitter memories of occasions on which Mr. Forde had been very much the reverse of civil, and regarded him accordingly.

In Thames Street Mr. Forde had made himself specially obnoxious. Taking upon him all the airs of a master, he had gone in and out of the place grumbling to the clerks--lecturing them about their duties,--wondering what Mr. Mortomley could be thinking of to keep such a set of incompetent fools about him; addressing customers, who sometimes stared, sometimes turned their backs, sometimes laughed, and always marvelled; looking at the books till the cashier shut them up in his face; reading any letters or memorandum that happened to be about.

The man who ventures on trying such experiments must bargain for a considerable amount of dislike,--and Mr. Forde had it.

"I wish the governor would give me leave to kick him out," remarked Carless, a stalwart youth from the country, who boxed much better than he could write.

"If the governor wanted him kicked out he could do that without your help," answered the book-keeper grimly. "I remember once," continued the speaker, "seeing him pitch a fellow down the staircase. Lord! what a thump he came to the bottom. Ay! those were times; but the governor ain't what he was. In the old days I'd like to have seen Mr. Forde or Mr. Anybody-else walking in and out of here as if the place belonged to him, and we were his South Carolina slaves."

Ay! times were changed; indeed they were, when a Mortomley could stoop, even for the sake of wife, child, or fortune, to endure the burden of such a yoke as Mr. Forde thrust upon him.

But it was over. Mortomley himself out of the battle, his wife took up the sword in his behalf. For good or for evil, temporizing had come to an end. No more for ever did Mortomley cross the threshold either of his own offices or those of the General Chemical Company, Limited.

At Homewood he lay for a time like one dead. When he was able to speak at all, his wife asked him whether he did not think some decisive step ought to be taken in his affairs.

To which he answered, "Yes."

When she inquired further as to what ought to be done, he said, "Whatever you please," and turned his face from the light,--beaten.

Commerce is about the only game in which a man may engage, that may in no case bring honour to the loser. In everything else there may be sympathy, gratulation, pity,--sweet to the non-successful. There are plaudits for the blue or light blue who have pulled their best and lost by a boat's length; the second at the Derby may prove a favourite elsewhere; the man who loses at Wimbledon may nevertheless in his friends' estimation be a good shot;--but the man who fails in business is a man socially drowned, unless he is dishonest.

Mortomley being honest, felt the waters were going over his head, and so turned his face discreetly to the wall.

Then Dolly did the one thing women always do. She gathered together advisers. She had that vague faith in the judgment and the capability of men, women always have till they discover men are made up of clay and caprices like themselves; and so she cast about and asked four persons to dinner, who might, she vaguely hoped, help Archie out of his difficulties.

Of course, she might just as well have invited four children in arms.

These were the individuals:--

First, Mr. Deane, engaged to Antonia Halling; second, the doctor in attendance on Mr. Mortomley; third, a creditor of the estate, who professed to know nothing of business or business matters, and who in lieu of his solicitor begged permission to bring with him a certain Mr. Cressy who knew much about the City and City people, who had been connected with many rotten Companies, and who, having already let his friend in for a thousand pounds, was extremely anxious to see another thousand pounds liberated from Mortomley's estate which he might employ for his personal benefit once more.

When Mrs. Mortomley beheld the materials she had hoped might collectively compass temporal salvation seated round the dinner-table at Homewood, her heart sank within her.

"Better I had invited my dear Bohemians," she thought. "They at least would have given me their sympathy."

And she was right. Excepting the creditor, who, knowing nothing about the City, expected that bankruptcy meant money repaid in full, no man had comfort to give or kindly word to speak.

Much against his will, Mr. Deane promised to break the news to Mr. Forde. Then some one suggested more wine--the last bottle which on a festive occasion was ever broached at Homewood; and Dolly left the gentlemen, disgusted with them and the world at large. She went out into the garden and put her head into the foliage of a great evergreen-tree. It was raining softly, but she did not heed the rain. Upstairs her husband lay semi-conscious;--downstairs his friends were talking of any subject but his affairs. Rupert was in London; Antonia awaiting her _fiancé_ in the drawing-room.

By-and-by, Dolly knew her guests would become clamorous for tea. Well, her _rôle_ was ended. She had not asked much from man, and the little she did entreat was denied. She took her head out of the evergreen, and walked back to the house, and upstairs to her dressing-room.

Then she rang her bell.

"Esther,"--this to her maid--"I shall not go down again to-night. My compliments to Mr. Deane and the other gentlemen. I have a bad headache; and let them have tea."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And get rid of them as soon as you can."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And, Esther, if you can make them understand, civilly, I mean, that I never wish to see one of them again, I shall feel infinitely obliged."

"Yes, ma'am." And the girl turned towards the door; then with a rush she swept back to Dolly, and said, with tears pouring down her cheeks,

"I cannot bear to see you like this, ma'am. Don't be angry with me for asking, but is there any new trouble?"

Without a moment's hesitation Mrs. Mortomley answered,

"Don't be a simpleton, Esther. There is trouble enough and to spare, but do as I tell you, and you shall know all about it when they are gone."

Dolly had one royal quality--she could trust implicitly. It stood her in good stead in the weary, weary times to come.