Part 7

In May, 1906, having got away from Cambridge for a few days, I was enjoying myself in town. I was doing it in a very small way and under a sense of injustice, for I had nothing like the means at my disposal that I considered my due. In six months' time, on reaching my majority, I was to come into possession of thirty thousand pounds under my mother's will, and yet I had still to get along as best I might on a poor undergraduate's allowance from my father. He and I did not hit it off at all well. I was rather stage-struck, and had made up my mind that an actor's life was the life for me. He did not see it in that light, and was dead set on getting me into the Foreign Office, where, he argued, I could use my money and 'Varsity education to some purpose. If I had not been rather "green," and, I may as well admit, headstrong, I might have seen that he was right. Anyhow, we quarrelled, and he decided that, though he could not prevent me from committing what he called social suicide when I became my own master, he would at any rate put the financial screw on as long as he could. The result was that I found myself tied down to the smallest possible allowance, continued only on condition that I remained at Cambridge. I was plainly told, moreover, that if I were fool enough to throw up everything and go on the stage, I should have to exist as best I could. This gave me "furiously to think," as they say in France. I had sense enough to realize that budding actors do not fall on their feet at once, and that I should very likely be most unpleasantly hard up long before the blessed day came when I could open a bank account of my own. At the same time I was irritated at being kept in leading-strings, and my greatest desire was to find some way of circumventing my cautious parent.

In this frame of mind I set off to London one Friday to spend a week-end and a few pounds I happened to have in hand. Archie Hunter, one of my college chums, who was to have gone with me, managed to sprain his ankle the day before and had to stay indoors. I was half inclined to give up the expedition, but, chafing as I was under a sense of restraint, it seemed feeble to let my plans fall through on account of an absurd accident, and it was with a secret feeling of satisfaction at my own determination that I got out of the train at King's Cross, though I was beginning to feel that I might not enjoy myself so very much, after all, without a comrade.

I spent most of the afternoon hunting up fellows of my acquaintance in the West-end, and not finding them. Not knowing how to fill up the interval before dinner, I dropped into a well-known restaurant and sought solace in a whisky and soda and a cigarette. There were very few people in the bar--only a knot of two or three men discussing racing--and I sat, feeling a trifle lonely and not anticipating much fun for the evening. While I was cogitating the door opened and a well-dressed man came in. At the first glance I took him to be a retired Army officer. His hair and moustache were iron-grey, and, though he might have been well on the wrong side of forty, he looked every bit as active and supple as myself. His features were remarkably handsome, and he had an unmistakable air of good breeding, combined with the easy bearing of an experienced man of the world; in fact, he was just such a type as youngsters like myself secretly envy and take as their model. He glanced carelessly at me as he came in, ordered a whisky and soda, and, standing near me at the bar, took a long pull at his drink, after which he reached over the bar to take a match. As he did so his arm touched my glass and overturned it.

He was profuse in his apologies.

"How awfully careless of me!" he exclaimed. "I am so sorry. Hope I haven't spilt any of the stuff over your clothes?"

I answered that it was not of the slightest consequence, but he continued to excuse himself, and insisted on having my glass refilled, in spite of my protests. In another two minutes we were chatting away as if we had known each other for years. My new friend proved a delightful companion. He seemed to have been everywhere worth mentioning and to know all sorts of celebrities. He had a way of keeping the talk on the subjects which most interested me, and I felt a secret satisfaction at talking on equal terms with a man so much older and cleverer than myself. Although I did not realize it at the time, he was one of those accomplished conversationalists who do not appear to be saying much, but manage to make the other fellows think they can talk rather well. He soon found out that I was a Cambridge man, and as he turned out to be an old Cantab himself, that was another bond of union between us. We exchanged cards, and I found that his bore the name of "Captain Wyngate."

We got on so uncommonly well together that I was quite annoyed to find it was half-past seven, and that I should soon have to think about my solitary dinner.

As if divining my thoughts, my new acquaintance said:--

"What are you going to do this evening?"

I had to admit, rather against my will, that I had no particular plans and did not know what to do with myself.

"You had better come and dine with me," he said. "I haven't anything on to-night, and we might just as well have a bit of dinner together and go somewhere afterwards, if you feel inclined."

The invitation was given so frankly and cordially that I accepted it without any fuss, being only too glad of the prospect of a cheerful evening instead of mooning about by myself. It never occurred to me that I knew nothing whatever about Captain Wyngate, and that he might not prove so reputable an acquaintance as he looked.

We took a cab and drove to a queer little French restaurant, quite unlike anything I had ever seen, in a back street in Soho. In a general way I regarded the typical London restaurant as a big, showy establishment, with a profusion of electric lights, flowers on the tables, and everyone in evening dress. The place chosen by Captain Wyngate was entirely different. It was up two pairs of very narrow stairs covered with a red carpet, and seemed to be made up of quite poky little rooms. We were shown into one containing only a small table set for two, a sideboard, and a sofa.

"They seem to be expecting us," I remarked, with a laugh.

"Oh, they know my ways here," Wyngate replied, as he proceeded to question the waiter in French, which was a good deal too fluent for me to follow.

There was a surprisingly elaborate menu for such a little hole of a place, and it was with feelings of considerable satisfaction that I plunged into the dinner. It was admirably cooked and beautifully served--in fact, it was about the best dinner I had ever tasted; and by the time I had absorbed my second glass of Burgundy I was feeling particularly well-disposed towards humanity in general and my host in particular. Without seeming to question me at all, he showed such a friendly interest in me that the champagne found us on quite an intimate footing. Before the coffee and cigars came, and the waiter had left us alone, Captain Wyngate knew all about me, and I had a strong impression that he was preordained to be my guide, philosopher, and friend.

When I bemoaned my fate at being kept on short commons until I came of age, he smiled.

"You needn't unless you like," he said.

"I've heard of fellows borrowing on their expectations," I replied; "but it costs a lot, doesn't it? And I don't know anything about that sort of thing."

"Oh, it's simple enough," he remarked, casually, flicking the ash off his cigar.

"I might get into some old Jew's clutches," I remarked.

"My dear fellow," he replied, "all those stories about modern Shylocks are rubbish. You must have been reading about the man in Balzac who was fool enough to take a bit in cash and the rest in stuffed crocodiles. All that sort of thing is over now, and if you have anything solid in the way of expectations you can always raise money on them from reliable people."

Then, as if the subject did not interest him, he began to talk about something else; but he had set me thinking. Half-a-dozen times at least I was on the point of asking him to help me, but I did not want him to think me hopelessly inexperienced in business matters. At length I said:--

"Do you know, I have been thinking of raising a little money, and now that I am in town I might as well see about it."

"If you have made up your mind," he said, "there is no use in losing time. To whom do you intend to go?"

This was a poser. I had the vaguest possible ideas about money-lenders, and did not know the name of a single member of the fraternity.

Before I could find an answer he observed:--

"There's Jackson, in X---- Street. Why not try him? I haven't had to visit him myself, but I know about him, and I will go and see him with you if you like."

"That would be awfully kind of you," I said, gratefully.

"Of course," he added, "it's of no use unless you can tell him something definite about the property. He doesn't care about wasting time on little bits of business, and I suppose you would like to have a good pocketful of money."

I replied by giving him all the information I had about my expectations. He listened attentively, asked two or three questions, said he did not think there would be any difficulty, and made an appointment for us to meet the following morning. This done, he called for the waiter, paid the bill, and we spent the rest of the evening at a music-hall. I returned to my hotel charmed with my new acquaintance, and feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at the thought that in a few days I should have as much as I wanted to spend instead of having to reckon with every shilling.

Next morning, Saturday, I woke in my little sixth-floor bedroom to see the sun shining brilliantly, and it was in excellent spirits that I dressed and went down to breakfast. As usual in the season, the hotel was full, and few seats were vacant in the lofty and lavishly-decorated hall, still called, by virtue of old custom, the coffee-room. The cheerful hum of conversation, the noiseless dexterity of the waiters darting to and fro, the comfort and luxury of the surroundings, increased my sense of enjoyment, and while waiting for my coffee and kidneys I began to think what an uncommonly good time I might have in London. What a fool I had been not to think of raising money before! It must be simple enough, judging by what Captain Wyngate had said, and he seemed to know pretty well what he was talking about.

I had barely finished breakfast when the captain himself came into the coffee-room, much to my surprise. He explained that he had some business near my hotel, and that he had dropped in on the chance of finding me, so that we could go to X---- Street together, instead of meeting as we had originally planned. I was afraid he had put himself out of his way for my convenience, but this he would not admit, and I had to put down his visit as another proof of his obliging disposition. Off we went in a hansom to X---- Street, and were lucky enough to find Jackson disengaged.

He was not at all the type of man I had expected to see. I had imagined a rather grimy and snuffy-looking individual, sitting in a little, dark room, surrounded by safes and deed-boxes. Mr. Jackson, on the other hand, was quite a gentleman: tall, well-groomed, clean-shaven, and wearing an immaculate frock-coat. Captain Wyngate was kind enough to explain why I had come. After this he got up and was about to leave the room, and I had some difficulty in getting him to stay and help me out. This was lucky, as Jackson proved a hard nut to crack. He was very polite, but raised so many objections that I began to despair of doing anything with him. It was very risky, he said, to lend money to minors, as he knew to his cost; and then, how was he to be sure I was to get as much as thirty thousand pounds? Trusts did not always produce what was expected of them. Finally, after asking a lot of questions about my family and the date of the will, he promised to make inquiries and give me an answer at three o'clock in the afternoon.

Had I known more about business it would probably have struck me as peculiar that a few hours should be considered enough to investigate a transaction of which the lender was supposed to know next to nothing. In the light of subsequent knowledge I am convinced that the urbane Mr. Jackson knew all about the matter long before he set eyes on me, and that the postponement until the afternoon was a mere blind. In happy unconsciousness of this I accepted an invitation to luncheon from Captain Wyngate, who kindly expressed his intention of seeing me through the business. And a very excellent lunch it was, too--just the kind of thing to make a man feel at peace with himself and all the world. Three o'clock saw us back at Jackson's office.

"Well, Mr. Addington," he said, "I have looked into the matter, and I think I shall be able to accommodate you."

"I'm very glad to hear it," I returned, joyously.

"Of course, I need not tell anyone of your intelligence and education," he continued, "that this is a rather irregular sort of transaction, and very risky for me. If you were to take advantage of being a minor and should go back on your word, where should I be?"

I assured him there was no danger of anything of the kind happening.

"I could not do business of this kind," he continued, "with anyone who was not a gentleman, and in whom I did not feel the fullest confidence."

He said this so impressively that I was quite touched--the champagne at luncheon was certainly very good--and inwardly decided that a money-lender was just as likely as anyone else to be a good fellow.

"But," he continued, "you must remember the risk, as I said before, and that I have heavy expenses (he didn't mention what they were), but I will advance you five thousand pounds on the spot, if you will undertake to repay me eight thousand pounds when you come of age. The only other condition that I make is that you insure your life in my favour, so that in case anything happened to you I should not lose my money."

This proposal rather took my breath away, and I stared at him blankly.

"I can assure you," he said, with a bland smile, "that these are really very favourable terms. Plenty of other gentlemen in my line would refuse to take the risk at any price. Perhaps you would like to talk it over with this gentleman?" indicating Captain Wyngate.

Without waiting for an answer, he rose and left the room. I cast an appealing glance at the captain.

"My dear fellow," he said, "you mustn't think that I want to advise you against your own interests, but you might do worse than take this offer."

"Three thousand pounds is a lot of interest," I urged.

"It's only a small slice out of your thirty thousand," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Jackson treats you like a gentleman, and will hand the money over at once. If you go to someone else you may be kept hanging on for weeks and charged all sorts of fees and expenses."

"All the same----" I began.

"What's the use of haggling about a hundred or two?" Wyngate interrupted. "You won't save anything in the long run."

His tone and look implied that he considered I was trying to drive a hard bargain. To be thought mean by this superior being, who had shown himself so friendly and hospitable, was more than I could endure, and I hastily replied that he was quite right, and that we might as well settle the affair at once.

Jackson opportunely returning at this juncture, I signified my acceptance of his terms. A bond and an insurance proposal which had been made out beforehand were produced, and I signed them.

"Shall I cross the cheque for payment through your own bank, Mr. Addington?" Jackson asked, bringing out his cheque-book. "But perhaps," he added, before I had to confess that I had no banking account, "you would prefer to have part of the money in cash. A thousand pounds in notes and the rest in a cheque? Certainly. If you will kindly count the notes in this bundle, I think you will find them all right. Thank you, Mr. Addington. My clerk will call upon you with any other papers there may be for you to sign."

I walked out with the money in my pocket and my troubles before me.

* * * * *

My doings during the next few weeks were not exactly what might be called judicious, but what can be expected from a youth suddenly let loose in London with heaps of money and nobody to restrain him? I am quite willing to admit that I was a fool, but I dare say a great many other people would not have proved much wiser if they had found themselves in similar circumstances. Without suspecting it, I was a sort of Faust in the clutches of a modern Mephistopheles. As Captain Wyngate had given me the Open Sesame, he naturally stepped into the position of familiar friend and adviser. Of course, Cambridge saw me no more. I took up my abode in furnished rooms close to Piccadilly, and was delighted when Captain Wyngate accepted an invitation to leave his hotel and share my quarters. Under his guidance I began to enjoy myself exceedingly. The gaps in my knowledge of the Metropolis filled up very quickly, and I think I could pass a pretty stiff examination about the places of amusement, recognised and unrecognised, in London. Wyngate and I were constantly together, and he introduced me to a good many men who seemed, like himself, to have no particular occupation except killing time as agreeably as possible. He generally picked up these acquaintances on race-courses, in hotel bars, music-halls, and other public places. We did not go to any private houses. Captain Wyngate voted dances slow, and I was enjoying myself so much under his guidance that I was not inclined to differ from him.

In the enclosure at Kempton Park he introduced me to a strikingly handsome and stylish young lady, Miss Violet Alexander, and took the earliest opportunity of telling me in a confidential whisper that she was an actress and immensely clever. Both these statements I afterwards found to be true in a sense; I did not understand at the time. She was extremely gracious, and I was much flattered when she invited me to take a cup of tea with her at her flat in Bedford Park. She soon fascinated me completely, and after my second visit I was madly in love, or thought I was. Captain Wyngate, to whose experience I resorted as a matter of course, suggested that a handsome present would advance matters very materially. He kindly undertook to find out from the lady what would be most acceptable to her, and the result was the transfer of a lace dress and a diamond star to Miss Violet's abode, and a hole of seven hundred pounds in my bank account. Both these presents were purchased (very much above their real value, as I afterwards found out) at shops recommended by Captain Wyngate, on the ground that they were "the" place for such things, and that gifts were always more appreciated when the lady knew they came from the very best places. My gifts certainly did not disgrace even the wardrobe of Miss Violet Alexander. They made her even more gracious than before, and but for the rude awakening that came soon afterwards there is no knowing what further follies she would have made me commit.

One night, when we were to have gone to a new play at the Gaiety, the captain felt out of sorts and decided to stay indoors with a book and a pipe. I returned home rather late, and, as I passed his room, I heard choking, inarticulate sounds. Thinking he must be ill, I opened the door quietly and looked in. He was lying in bed, tossing uneasily and muttering in his sleep. While I waited--wondering if I ought to wake him--his muttering went on, broken here and there by an intelligible word.

"The Rigi--Came for your health--Hate looking over precipices, do you?--Oh, don't be a baby!--Two thousand feet down--Ah, I've done it!"

Beads of perspiration started out on his forehead, and he groaned as if suffering agonies.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Hands off!" he almost shouted, and started up in bed, a horrible expression of fear on his face.

"Why, Wyngate, old chap, you seem to be having a first-class nightmare," I remarked.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he replied, not very graciously. "What are you doing here?"

"You were talking in your sleep," I told him, "and tossing about all over the place."

"That's very strange indeed," he said, anxiously. "I'm seldom troubled with nightmares."

"Yes," I continued, "you thought you were at the top of a precipice in Switzerland with another fellow, and threw him over."

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, roughly.

"Weren't you dreaming about precipices?" I asked.

"Nothing of the kind!" he snapped. "I have slept badly, that was all, and you needn't have roused me."

"Sorry, old chap," I rejoined, and left the room, rather offended by his unusual surliness.

Next morning Wyngate said nothing about his nightmare, but the effects did not seem to have left him. He found fault with the breakfast, made irritable remarks, and, though he was not actually rude, revealed a side of his character which was new to me. This was, in fact, the commencement of altered relations between us. I began to notice in his conversation covert sneers at my youth and inexperience, though this did not in the least prevent him from borrowing a few pounds from time to time when a bill came in. The money would not have mattered at all had he remained the good fellow he had seemed at first, but it was a different matter now, and I began to chafe.

Things went on like this for a couple of weeks. Then one day Hicks, my servant, came to me with three of Captain Wyngate's tradesmen's bills.

"The captain," said Hicks, "won't be back till to-night, sir, and he told me to ask you if you would kindly pay these for him."

This was the last straw. To be sneered at by a man who was living under my roof, and then to be expected to pay his tailor and bootmaker, was more than I could stand. With as much composure as I could command, I told Hicks that Captain Wyngate would settle the accounts when he returned. I then sat down and wrote my guest a note, in which I told him what I thought of him, and added that, as he would probably prefer other quarters, Hicks would pack up his things as soon as he pleased. After this I went out, spent the afternoon watching a cricket match at Lord's, and did not return home until late, when, to my great relief, Captain Wyngate's room was vacant.

"What did the captain say when he read my note?" I asked Hicks.

"He only laughed, sir," was the reply, "and said he was going away for a change of air."