CHAPTER IV

OLD MAN CASPAR

That was how it came about that Mr. Trupp helped young Ernie Caspar into the world. There was no doubt who the lad took after.

"He's his father's child," said the young surgeon.

Whether Mrs. Caspar was angry with her son for his resemblance to her husband, it was hard to say, but she was fierce even in her mothering.

Now she nodded at the photograph of the woman in court-dress upon the mantelpiece.

"It's her he favours," she said shortly, one stern eye on the sucking infant. "He's the spit of her--same as Ned. None of Old Man Caspar about him."

"Have you seen him?" asked Mr. Trupp, washing his hands.

"The Old Man?--Yes. Once. He came to lunch. Met Ned on Beau-nez. I was landlady that day." She nodded grimly at the window where hung the card. "That's why I keep that up--lest he should come down on us sudden. We're done if he finds us out."

Mr. Trupp grunted as he dried his hands.

"I'm not so sure," he said.

"Well, that's what Ned says," the woman retorted.

"He would," replied the surgeon.

She looked at him sharply.

"You mean Ned's afraid of the old man?"

The other didn't answer.

"You're right there," said the young mother. "He is. And I don't wonder. I'm afraid of him--and I've never feared a man before."

"Most people are," replied Mr. Trupp. "He's a bit of a terror; but he's got his points. You needn't worry," he added as he said good-bye. "You're not likely to see much of him. He's too busy with his Grand Northern Railway."

The woman was unconvinced.

"He's that sudden," she said. "There he was in the door--me in me wrapper and all. Of course Ned never give me no warning. Too flabbergasted by half. Learnt me a lesson, though, never to sit in the back-room with my sewing about."

"Did you know him?" asked Mr. Trupp, amused.

"Know him?" cried the other. "Seen his picture in the papers time and again. Astrakhan coat and all!"

Happily for the peace of mind of the young couple Mr. Trupp proved right. All the energies of the great contractor were set on driving the new commercial railway from London to the North, tapping the Black Country, and linking the Yorkshire ports with the Metropolis by the most direct route.

It was in fact two years and more before Mr. Caspar made another of his sudden appearances at the door of 60.

Young Mrs. Caspar, one of those women who is always on her guard, guessed her visitor by that peremptory knock. She dried her hands, shut the kitchen-door on the children--there were two now; peeped into the study, saw that Edward was out, and faced the stranger.

Old Mr. Caspar was not really old: a dark, powerful man, almost magnificent, in the familiar coat with the astrakhan collar of the picture papers, and a black-and-silvered beard.

A close observer would have detected a Semitic strain in him and more than a strain of the South. In fact, Hans Caspar's father came from Frankfurt and his mother from Trieste, though he had lived in England from his earliest years and spoke without a trace of accent.

Now his dark eyes met the woman's blue ones, and seemed to approve of what they saw.

"Mr. Edward Caspar in?" he asked.

"He will be in a moment.--Mr. Hans Caspar, isn't it?"

She showed him into the little back sitting-room.

Then the task before her was to warn her husband before he came blundering in and began to coo and call to her and the children from the passage.

Anne Caspar was always at her best in a crisis.

Her baby was asleep; and Ernie was happy bestriding a new hobby-horse and chanting to himself.

She took off her apron, put on her hat, and paused a moment on the door-step, looking up and down the road.

Which way had her husband gone?

Once a week or so he went down town to consult the Public Library. For the rest he always went towards the Downs to lose himself amid the hollows of the hills. She made for the huge green wall that blocked the end of the road, shimmering and mysterious in the April sunshine. Her choice proved right. She saw him coming off the hill above Beech-hangar, and went to meet him.

He would have blundered past her, oblivious of her presence but that she stopped him.

Briefly she told him the news and gave him his instructions.

They must not be seen entering the house together.

She would return directly to the house: he must go along the new Road, down Church Street at the back, and approach by way of Billing's Corner.

Obedient as a child, he lumbered off at that curious bear-like trot of his, his sandals tapping the pavement.

Ten minutes later, when he entered the back sitting-room, he was perspiring but as prepared as such a flabby soul could ever be.

He had always been in terror of his father; and Hans Caspar saw nothing strange in his son's greeting.

"Hullo, Edward," he said in his deep voice. "Just run down to see you."

"Hullo, father," replied the son with the forced cheeriness he always adopted when addressing his sire. "You'll stop for luncheon?"

"Thank-you. If you can give me a bite."

The young man rang.

His wife came to the door.

"Mr. Caspar'll stay for luncheon," said Edward, lowering his voice appropriately. "Can you let us have something?"

"Very good," replied his wife surlily.

The father looked after her, grimly amused.

"Don't seem very obliging," he remarked.

Edward laughed uneasily.

"What!" he said. "Oh, she's all right. A bit fuf--funny in her manner. That's all."

Mr. Caspar prodded his son.

"You'd better mind your eye, Ned. She's masterful, and a fine figure of a woman too."

Edward tittered foolishly.

"What?--Oh, she--she's married. Children and all that."

"What's her husband do?"

"What--him?--Oh, he does nothing much that I know of."

"Lives on her, I suppose," growled the other. "Scoundrel! I know the sort. The kind your Gladstones encourage."

He descanted at length and with more than even his usual violence on the sins of all governments and especially radical ones. Unlike his usual self, he was clearly talking as a screen to gain time, sheltering something behind a wall of words. Ned was always embarrassed in his father's presence; but for once Mr. Caspar seemed himself uneasy in the presence of this son who had been such a woeful disappointment to him.

After his political outburst, there was a prolonged pause.

Then Mr. Caspar leaned forward and kicked a cinder into its place.

"Pretty comfortable here?" he asked at last.

"Oh, I get along fuf--first-rate," answered the son.

"Three hundred a year's not much for a man in my position to allow his only son, I know," the other said gruffly.

It was a new and unexpected note. The young man, chivalrous to the roots of him, and heir to all the qualities of his mother's family, instantly answered his father's mute appeal.

"My dear fuf--father, it's a fortune," he said. "We--I live like a prince. And anyway, it's three hundred a year more than I deserve."

His father was silent.

"I don't know if you've had any expectations from me," he said at last. "I've been pretty blunt with you in the past."

The young man had risen and was standing before the fire, his face working.

"I've no need for mum--much money," he explained. "You see I've no expensive tastes. I don't hunt or shoot or gug--gamble. If I can have enough for the necessities of life, and to buy an occasional bub--book or two, that's all I need."

"Ned," said the other, coming firmly to the point, "I've made arrangements for the three hundred a year I allow you to be continued throughout your life."

"I think it's mum--most _awfully_ good of you, father," said the young man with obvious sincerity.

The other grunted.

"I don't know," he replied. "Not every son would take it that way."

He was rarely moved. His son saw it and was wretched.

Then the woman came in with luncheon.