CHAPTER III.
"MY LIBRARY WAS DUKEDOM LARGE ENOUGH."
Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood rarely allowed any expression of annoyance to escape him, but one morning at breakfast, on opening his favourite daily paper, an item that caught his eye caused him so far to forget himself that he gave utterance to the phrase:
"Dash it all!"
It says much for the training of Ponderby, who was waiting upon him, that this excellent servant never moved a muscle on hearing the unaccustomed exclamation. Whatever astonishment Ponderby felt was very effectually concealed. Stranleigh said to him, more peremptorily than usual:
"I wish, Ponderby, you would be so obliging as to telegraph my agent Wilson, asking him to take the first London train, and call on me here before luncheon."
"Very good, my lord," replied Ponderby, departing on his mission.
After his master had finished breakfast, Ponderby turned to the newspaper page that had aroused this unwonted exhibition of feeling, and had little difficulty in finding the item which he knew had displeased his lordship. The paragraph ran as follows:
"Mr. Peter Barnacle has promised to build a library in Stranleigh village, if the inhabitants will provide a site for the building. As all property in the vicinity belongs to Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, there is little doubt that a beautiful plot of land will be offered by his lordship, so that advantage may be taken of this munificence."
Ponderby read the paragraph twice with slightly puckered brows, as if failing to understand why the extract should have caused annoyance. It seemed very good indeed of Mr. Barnacle to provide for the mental enjoyment of that delightful old English village, but instead of being thankful, Lord Stranleigh had gone to the extreme of saying "Dash it all!" As Ponderby carefully folded up the newspaper, and put it away, he murmured to himself:
"I wish I 'ad his money," but whether this referred to Mr. Barnacle or Lord Stranleigh we shall never know, for Ponderby rarely confided in any one.
The young nobleman returned home at eleven o'clock, and half an hour later Wilson, the agent, put in an appearance. Wilson was a very brisk, business-like man, with a hard face, a lowering brow, and lips which had a touch of tyranny about them. Although obsequious enough to Stranleigh, he was very domineering to those over whom he exerted power, and was generally disliked by villagers and tenants. It was his boast that he stood no nonsense from that class of people, and his attitude was one of protection so far as Stranleigh was concerned, not concealing the fact that but for him his lordship would be robbed right and left. If any of the tenants ventured to appeal to Stranleigh direct, under a sense of oppression, that tenant was almost certain to meet misfortune in his future career, although it was rarely possible to trace calamity to Wilson himself.
Lord Stranleigh was perhaps unduly lenient on these occasions, for whoever came to him with a hard-luck story found his complaint promptly and favourably attended to, but as Wilson became better known, these appeals to Cæsar were less and less frequent. Although Stranleigh himself felt an instinctive distaste for Wilson's society, and more than once had reproved him for his lack of sympathy with the tenants, and occasionally had even determined to dismiss him, he recognised his good business qualities. Besides that, he shrank from displacing any man in the Stranleigh service, except on irrefragable proofs of dishonesty or unfairness, so Wilson stayed on year by year.
"Good morning, Wilson. I telegraphed to you because of an item in to-day's paper. Is it true that Mr. Barnacle has offered a library to Stranleigh village?"
"Yes, my lord; I believe it is."
"You believe! Aren't you sure?"
"Yes, my lord, I am sure."
"Then why did you not write to me about it?"
"I didn't know that it would interest your lordship."
"Anything pertaining to the estate interests me, and I dislike reading in the newspapers information that should already be in my possession about my own affairs. Is it not a fact that there is a very well-selected library now housed in the Village Hall, the books of which are at the free disposal of all inhabitants?"
Yes, my lord."
"Did the villagers apply to Mr. Barnacle themselves?"
"I believe they did, my lord. A public meeting was held some months ago, at which it was stated that the books at the Village Hall had all been read over and over again, and it was unanimously voted that application should be made to Mr. Barnacle. After some investigation that gentleman agreed to build and equip a library."
"I see. Did any one propose application to me?"
"I think not, my lord."
"Do you know why?"
"Well; I suppose they did not wish to trouble your lordship, as you had already done a great deal for the village."
"That's all very well, Wilson, but I think you should have looked after my affairs a little more closely than has been the case, and I ought to have been communicated with, as lord of the manor, before an appeal was made to a stranger."
"It never occurred to me that Mr. Barnacle would consent, because Stranleigh village is rather an unimportant hamlet. Still, your lordship has now an opportunity of assisting. It is proposed that a delegation wait upon you for the purpose of obtaining a site, which is one of Mr. Barnacle's provisos. It is suggested that you donate that plot of grass land at the head of High Street, under the hill where the road turns to the left."
"I see; which means that there will be built a blatant, red-brick, red-tiled piece of architectural modernity dominating the High Street, and completely out of keeping with the rest of the village. Suppose, then, I refuse the request of the delegation?"
Wilson shrugged his shoulders.
"In that case, my lord, you will effectually put an end to the project."
"Quite so, Wilson. I hope you see now into what a predicament you have placed me. If I give the ground, I shall spoil the village, and if I refuse, all the newspapers in the country will hold me up to scorn as the tyrannical landlord, quite callous regarding the culture of the people. I shall be charged with keeping them in the dark, so that they may vote in consonance with my own ignorance."
"Adverse comment may be very easily prevented, my lord."
"It could have been prevented easily if you had taken action in time, but I am not going to interfere with the liberty of the British Press. I believe we have some rather strenuous Socialists in Stranleigh village."
"Yes, my lord, we have. There are at least half a dozen who should have been packed off the place months ago. I can do it yet if you give me permission."
"Oh, bless you, no! I am rather by way of being a Socialist myself; indeed, I have allowed free use of the Village Hall, and I supply the reading-room with all the Socialistic journals I can find. Were the Socialists, as I suspect, leaders in this new plan?"
"They have taken a very active part in it, my lord."
"Very well, Wilson. You will return to Stranleigh village, and convene the inhabitants thereof in the Public Hall. Apologise to them for my neglect in allowing the present library to become out of date, and tell them I am in full sympathy with their desire for improvement. By the way, do you know how much Mr. Barnacle intended to spend on this building?"
"I am not sure, my lord, but I think something like three thousand pounds."
"Well, that is very good of him, so I beg you to have drafted a most cordial letter of thanks, declining the donation. This should be signed by yourself, and by all the villagers. You may then announce that I will allot five thousand pounds for the building, because I wish to approve of the plans, and be assured that the library is in keeping with the rest of the village, as nearly as modern construction can compare with the excellent architecture of two or three centuries ago. I will donate the piece of land you suggest, and provide an ample supply of books, both ancient and modern.
"The ancient books will be largely of my own selection, but I request you to write to every publisher in London for his catalogue, and these catalogues I wish placed on a table in the reading-room of the Village Hall. As it is the villagers themselves who complain of lack of modernity in our present selection ask them to be good enough to examine these lists, and let each place his initials before whatever book he wishes. All these volumes I will buy and send down to you. I shall also set aside and invest a capital sum of money, the interest of which will keep this library going for ever; the income being sufficient to pay for all clerical work, repairs, and additional volumes as they are issued."
Wilson hesitated.
"I think, my lord, we run some risk of offending Mr. Barnacle, who has been very generous in the matter. If you allow him to go on with this scheme. I would see to it that the next proposal made by the villagers is submitted directly to you."
"I am quite sure Mr. Barnacle will take no offence if you write him a courteous and tactful letter. Everything depends on that, Wilson. Tell him that he has spurred me to action, and thank him on my behalf for doing so. It is the outsider who sees most of the game, and I am very grateful to him for pointing out a way, which apparently I should have taken long ago.
"Meanwhile, set about obtaining plans from some of our best architects, not neglecting to give the younger men a chance. I think I would rather not have a competition. I will suggest some names, and you can add others. Photographs of Stranleigh village might be taken, and sent out with your request for plans. Secure at first a series of sketches, for all of which you will pay. I shall make a selection from these sketches, and then you may ask the architects to visit Stranleigh village, at my expense, examine the site, and estimate its capabilities, afterwards supplying detailed plans and elevations, and naming their own fees for this work."
Wilson protested that such terms were unduly generous; quite unnecessarily so, he maintained, but Stranleigh replied drily that all he asked of Wilson was that he should carry out the scheme as outlined, seeing that every one working in connection with it was duly recompensed. Wilson, over-ruled, begged his lordship's pardon if he displayed too much zeal, giving as an excuse the plea that he thought continually of his lordship's interests, there being, it seemed, so many outsiders who wished to take advantage.
"That's all right," said his lordship airily. "The advantage-takers are in reality the rich man's best friends, for they continually strive to make possible his entrance to the kingdom of heaven. What is a rich man for, if not to be taken advantage of? Although the wealthy may not be appreciated in Paradise, they get more than their share of attention in this world, and thus we strike a balance. However, Wilson, let us, as practical men, adhere to this mundane sphere and leave Paradise alone for the present.
"Frankly, I dislike having my hand forced, as is the case with this library, and I consider you have neglected your duty in allowing an unnecessary agitation to reach a point of finality without acquainting me. Stranleigh village, with its small population, needs a new library just as much as our farm carts need three wheels each. Still, there's no use in growling over spilt milk. Make out a deed of gift transferring the plot of land to whatever authority takes charge of the new institution, but insert a proviso that should the plot of land be used for any other purpose than that which we have in view, it reverts once more to the estate. You may draw on me to the extent of five thousand pounds, but if the cost of the building exceeds that sum, let me know, and I will supply the deficit."
With this Wilson took his departure, and Stranleigh speedily forgot all about the matter.
It would be ridiculous to assert that a young athlete like Stranleigh lacked the physique to pursue the London season to its bitter end. Although there was certainly an air of great indifference in his manner, he was quite free from that intellectual languor which causes a man to look down upon what is termed "the frivolity of Society." He always regretted his own lack of cleverness, and admitted shamefacedly that many features of the London season he thoroughly enjoyed, such as polo at Ranelagh, cricket at Lord's, and most of the races. Besides, he knew that London expects every man to do his duty in a country where the women out-number the men, so Stranleigh, in addition to being an occasional host, was an indefatigable guest.
The beginning of May saw him enter London's season with the very best intentions, determined not to weary in well-doing till July was ended. He plunged manfully into the social mäelstrom, no one more eager to please, or, what is especially valued in London society, no one so easily pleased. Nevertheless, just as the London season was at its height, Stranleigh began to see visions.
Sometimes these dreams would picture to him a rock-environed, sea-coast bay, with a little fishing village on its margin; but more often the mirage represented a secluded spot in the forest of Stranleigh Park, where, in a green glade, crystal waters came tumbling over rocks, and, running rapidly and merrily through woods and meadows, formed one of the choicest trout streams that a fisherman could wish to cast a line upon.
Young Blake, the secretary, always made allowance for these visions, and prepared for them. Towards the middle of each June Blake's communications with the world of fashion changed purport, from "Lord Stranleigh is delighted to accept" to "The Earl of Stranleigh regrets he is unable," and thus he was prepared for the inevitable annual question—
"I say, Blake, how many invitations have I accepted for next week?"
"None, my lord."
"Good. Nothing to prevent me from running down to Stranleigh Park?"
"Nothing, my lord."
"All right; I'll spend the week-end there, at least."
Blake always smiled at this.
"You needn't grin, Mr. Blake. I'm not actuated by sentiment, as you appear to think; a visit to the ancestral home; one's cherished birthplace, and all that sort of thing. No; I can enjoy there what is quite impossible in London: an old and very disreputable suit of knickerbockers, so dilapidated that if worn outside the limits of Stranleigh Park I should run a risk of being arrested as a vagrant. Once at Stranleigh Park I may not return to London at once. Blake, you're grinning again! It's a bad habit. Avoid it. Truth is, I've got some new fishing tackle that I wish to test. I love an old stream, old clothes, and new tackle. Besides, by the lassitude that's coming over Ponderby, I know he wishes to visit his relatives, though he will sacrifice himself as long as I stay in London. It seems ludicrous to think of Ponderby having relatives, but we must take his word for it, so on my behalf strike a sort of social balance-sheet, and close the books. See that no letters are sent on, and then get off yourself. Where are you going this year? Switzerland, the Pyrenees, or does high living prescribe Marienbad?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter about me, my lord."
"Of course not; but where?"
"Well, a friend of mine has a nice little yacht, and we were thinking of the Norwegian fiords."
"The yacht isn't fitted with wireless, is it?"
"No, my lord, quite a modest sailing craft, that we work ourselves."
"Excellent, excellent. Couldn't be better. No possibility of our communicating with one another. Good luck to you!"
The same afternoon the young nobleman arrived by train at Stranleigh station, a good four miles from the village of that name. There was no one to meet him, for he had come unannounced and without impedimenta. Striking across country, and walking through forest and field, mostly over his own property, at last he saw Stranleigh Manor-house, nestling in the upper part of a well-wooded valley, sheltered on three sides from the winds.
Stranleigh had tramped over the hills, and now stood for a few minutes enjoying the view from the highest part of his estate. Half a mile further down the valley, along the banks of the stream, lay the rural village, quaint with its grey stone, ivy-covered walls and thatched roofs, while above it rose the grey, square Norman tower of the old church. From the end of the High Street up through the trees, came an unaccustomed note of colour, which, except for its steadiness, looked like the blurred suggestion of a fire. Stranleigh knitted his brow, wondering what it was, then, walking down the path towards the house, the view became more distinct, and he saw a two-storied building of very red brick, covered with equally red tiles. Then, suddenly, he remembered the new public library, and realised that his own money had placed there this violent contrast to the subdued hue of the ancient village.
"I wish I had built it with stone," he said, with a sigh. "By jove, I'll do it yet, or else cover it with plaster!"
He entered his house, went to his room, and arrayed himself in the disreputable knickerbockers and ancient Norfolk jacket of Harris tweed. Under the collar of his grey flannel shirt he tied a frayed scarlet cravat, then surveyed his full-length reflection in the pier-glass with an expression of satisfaction. The best-dressed man in London was now an excellent representative of a tramp.
"My tailor would have a fit if he could see me, and I should need to explain that this anarchist neck-tie is to place me en rapport with the new library."
Passing down the carriage drive which wound among the trees partially hiding the house from the king's highway, he entered the main street of the village at its lower end, and there received, like a slap in the face, the full effect of the brilliant edifice, apparently built to cross the road at the upper end.
As Stranleigh gazed up the street with stern disapproval on his face, he murmured to himself—
"I am either confoundedly stupid, or Fate has turned against me. I spend five thousand pounds to help on the culture of the neighbourhood, and merely succeed in spoiling the prettiest village in England. That blatant building must be replaced."
At this point he was accosted by the oldest inhabitant, Samuel Nubbins, whose bent, shrunken figure was supported by a thick stick.
"Welcome 'ome, my lord," said Nubbins cordially, and as the ancient used the title in every sentence he spoke, it will be omitted in recording his conversation.
"Good evening, Mr. Nubbins; how are you? You seem to be the only one of us who never grows older."
"I be main old, and I've lived to see great improvements in my time, please God! I never expected to live long enough to see so grand a house as that put up in Stranleigh village."
"Neither did I," replied the young man grimly.
"It be wonderful what rich men do for us in these days," continued Nubbins.
"It is indeed. I understand you asked for the library."
"Yes; but the idea would never have come to me. I be too old and stupid."
"You do yourself an injustice, Mr. Nubbins. You are old, and very, very wise, and I rejoice to hear that the scheme originated with some one else. Who was that brilliant person?"
"We had public meetings; two or three on 'em. All was in favour."
"I daresay," concurred Stranleigh. "I've yet to hear of a public meeting that's not in favour of getting something for nothing. But who was the moving spirit?"
"Why, Bill Perkins had more to do with it than anyone else, and people are not so hard on Bill as they used to be, 'cause he stood up for our good."
"What, Bill Perkins the poacher?"
"Well, they do say he poached now and then, but, after all, it's never been proved."
"No; I admire Bill's dexterity in setting traps so successfully, and never getting into one himself; but William as an advocate of literature rather amazes me. He'll be proposing to go to Oxford next."
"I daresay he's been there. He's a great traveller, is Bill, and when things get a bit hot in one neighbourhood" Old Nubbins checked himself, finding he was verging on slander. The character of the estimable Perkins seemed to have improved. Nubbins changed the subject abruptly.
"At the last meeting we passed a unanimous vote of thanks to Mr. Peter Barnacle for his great kindness to us. They do say he have a pot of money."
"Then it is Mr. Barnacle who has been so generous about the library?"
"Oh, yes," replied Samuel, surprised that such important doings in Stranleigh village should be unknown in London. "We've had brisk times with them workmen here, and there wasn't a room to let in the place; all taken up. They opened a branch of a bank at the post-office, and a clerk came down from county town every Friday, to pay off the men, but they're all gone now, worse luck! Rare times we did have!"
"Then the library is finished?"
"Yes. 'Twill be opened next Wednesday."
"Really?"
"Why, haven't you seen the bills? They're posted all over the place. Mr. Peter Barnacle is to make a speech, and your own factor, Mr. Wilson, will introduce him, and there's Bill Perkins's name in big letters."
"You astonish me. Is Bill to be there?"
"Yes; his name is printed out 'Mr. William Perkins,' and he's going to give an address on what books have done for him."
"Ah! And what have books done for him?"
"I suppose Bill means to tell us that on Wednesday. A good speaker is Bill, and fond o' reading, they say, along of being alone by himself"
"On other people's property?" suggested Stranleigh.
"He's on your property now," said the conscientious Nubbins.
"I can well believe it."
"But he's within his rights, for Mr. Wilson, he made a gamekeeper of him."
"The deuce you say! Set a thief to catch a thief, eh? I am learning a good deal since I left London this morning."
"Ah, they must be ignorant folk up in London."
"They are, Mr. Nubbins. Good evening to you. Thank you for your conversation, which I have enjoyed very much."
Nubbins beamed with gratification as he hobbled away, and Stranleigh walked up the street to the new library building. He was astonished to see, carved in a stone over the door—
THE BARNACLE LIBRARY,
Erected 1910.
The windows and doors of the red structure were all open, as if to allow the plaster to dry, but Stranleigh did not enter. He strolled down the road to the post-office, and sent away several telegrams to London. This done, he continued his walk to the gates of the park, but instead of going up hill to the Manor-house, he deflected his course until he came to the residence occupied by Wilson, where he knocked at the door.
A deferential servant showed him into the drawing-room, and presently Mrs. Wilson appeared, an anxious-looking, middle-aged woman; not long recovered from a serious illness, if one might judge from the pallor of her countenance. She was undoubtedly much perturbed at thus unexpectedly meeting Lord Stranleigh, and it was with difficulty she could repress her agitation.
"Good evening, Mrs. Wilson. I came down from London to-day, and just dropped in to see your husband."
"I am sorry he is not at home, my lord."
"Ah, well," said Stranleigh, rising, "it doesn't matter. Do you expect him back to-night?"
"No, my lord; he will not return till Wednesday morning." Then, seeing Stranleigh's look of astonishment, she added, "Mr. Wilson has had much to do with the new library, and I understood it was with your permission."
"Oh, quite with my permission, Mrs. Wilson, and really his absence makes no difference. I suppose you have his address, where I could telegraph him?"
"He did not leave an address. All I know is that he went to Manchester, and will return on Wednesday morning with Mr. Peter Barnacle, for he has ordered the carriage to meet them at Stranleigh station. They are to inspect the library privately, then come here for lunch, and in the afternoon the public opening takes place."
"I see. A most excellent arrangement."
"Perhaps, my lord, you would honour us by lunching here, with Mr. Barnacle?"
Stranleigh, still standing, glanced down with a smile at his faded knickerbockers.
"I am no fit guest, Mrs. Wilson, for any well-ordered household. I have fled from London to avoid formal luncheons and dinners, and especially to evade model, respectable people like Mr. Barnacle. My lunch on Wednesday will be a sandwich or two in the woods by the side of the stream."
The young man did not fail to observe that an expression of relief passed over the haggard countenance of Mrs. Wilson. Hesitatingly she asked a question.
"Have you—have you come from London to attend the opening of the library on Wednesday?"
"No; I knew nothing of it. I came, as I intimated, to loaf around the fields and woods."
"Then you will not be at the ceremony?"
"Oh, I intend to be there, certainly, but incog. I am slightly interested in hearing Mr. Barnacle's speech, and feverishly eager to learn what books have done for Bill Perkins. I shall slip into the new building and take a seat at the back, so shabbily clothed that if anyone recognises me, he will not acknowledge the acquaintanceship."
This announcement was evidently not so welcome as his refusal of the invitation to lunch. It was plain that Mrs. Wilson was in an agony of apprehension, and Stranleigh, noticing this, went on in his most nonchalant fashion.
"You will tell Mr. Wilson that I called, but add that it was about nothing in particular. I merely wished to let him know I should be here for a week or two; please make it perfectly clear that his absence is of no consequence whatever. Beg him not to neglect his distinguished guest merely because I am here, and tell him that if there is anything I can do to further the festivities, he must let me know. Good-night, Mrs. Wilson. I fear I am keeping my dinner waiting up at the Manor, and thus causing my good housekeeper unnecessary anxiety. Good-night."
She gave him a limp hand, and the young man left with cheerful jauntiness, betraying no hint of his suspicions.
Up at the Manor-house the table had been laid, by his instructions, not in the large dining-room, but in the much smaller, snug study, of which he was rather fond. Already one telegram had arrived, and was lying beside his plate. He tore open the envelope, and read—
"Amount requisitioned by Wilson for library on Thursday, February 28th, was five thousand pounds. This being approved by you, cheque for that amount posted to Wilson, Tuesday, March 1st, and deposited by him in Cutler's Bank, Manchester, on Thursday, March 3rd."
When he had partaken of dinner two other telegrams arrived, which showed one advantage of being the great man of the place, for the village telegraph office was kept open, and these messages dispatched to the Manor-house after the closing hours ordained by the British Government. The telegrams showed that certain official machinery had been set in motion, in response to requests made by the Earl of Stranleigh.
There was a discreet knock at the study door.
"Can you see Mrs. Wilson, my lord?"
"Certainly; show the lady in."
Mrs. Wilson was evidently deeply distressed, and the endeavour to conceal her agitation was only partially successful.
"I am very much worried, my lord, and that must be my apology for intruding upon you."
"It is no intrusion at all, Mrs. Wilson. I am glad to see you again. I am accustomed to plenty of company, and the old Manor-house is lonelier than I expected. Please take this arm-chair. I can guarantee its comfort. Now, tell me what is troubling you."
"I know nothing very definite," she said, "and perhaps my husband could make everything clear, but he never confides in me now, and I am filled with fear. He has acted rather strangely for the past three months, being excited and irritable; not to be questioned."
"That is only natural. This is a large estate, and its administration involves a great deal of work; then for the last three months additional labour has been placed on his shoulders in overseeing the new library."
The woman gave a gasp, then said:
"May I ask you a question or two, my lord? It is none of my business, of course, and if it is inexpedient for me to know, you need not reply."
"I shall answer anything you ask."
"A large cheque came to my husband about three months ago. I did not see the cheque itself, but I found the letter that accompanied it, and saw it should have been deposited in our County Bank. I have reason to believe it was deposited in Manchester, although I don't know where."
"Oh, that's all right! It was placed in Cutler's Bank, Manchester, on March 3rd."
"You knew of that, then?"
"Yes."
"The letter said the money was for the library, but I understood that Mr. Barnacle paid for the new building."
"Well, you see, Mrs. Wilson, it's a sort of co-operative affair. I gave the land. Barnacle puts up the building, and then I'm going to present the bulk of the books. Now, it is quite natural that money to put up a library should be deposited in a Manchester bank, because Manchester contains one of the most beautiful libraries in the world, built and equipped by private generosity. You evidently think something is amiss. Even if that should be so, I give you my word I shall take no action in the matter, thus, you see, there is nothing to fear.
"I noticed this evening that you seemed uneasy when I spoke of attending the function on Wednesday, and so resolved not to go. When the festivities are finished, tell your husband I called, and ask him to pay me a visit at this hour on Wednesday night, as I wish to consult him about several matters relating to the estate."
The careworn woman departed after embarrassing him with her thanks. Stranleigh sat down again, deep in thought.
"Of course," he said to himself, "Wilson stole the five thousand, and her warning will give him time to bolt. He can be over in France, or off to America, before a slack man like me raises a hue and cry. He'll desert her, but I will grant her a pension, and that may be some consolation."
Imagine Stranleigh's astonishment when at nine o'clock on Wednesday evening he learned that Mr. Wilson wished to see him. On being shown into the study the agent bade his master a curt good-evening, but made no offer to shake hands. Without being invited, he helped himself to a chair, which he drew up to the table.
When he was announced, Stranleigh expected to meet an exaggeration of that cringing manner which always distinguished Wilson's approach when he knew he had done wrong, but in this again he was disappointed. The factor wore an air of bravado, not to say truculence and defiance.
"My wife says you want to see me. What for?"
"Oh, merely a little matter of curiosity on my part, Wilson," replied Stranleigh, with nonchalance. "Whose money did you steal? Barnacle's or mine?"
"That's a stupid question to ask," commented Wilson.
"You deny the theft, then?"
"I wasn't thinking of the theft; I was thinking of the question. Nobody but an ass would put it."
"Why?"
"Because Barnacle ventured three thousand pounds while you risked five thousand, therefore, as I couldn't steal both sums, I naturally secured the larger. Any fool could have told you that."
"I see. Then I'm the victim?"
"Certainly."
"Well, for cool cheek, I think that beats the record!"
"No; it is only your muddle-headedness that beats the record. With the complacency of a conceited, selfish simpleton, you force a business man like myself into an impossible position. After things had gone so far I couldn't write to Barnacle and tell him the deal was off. I knew that any appeal to you would be futile, because reasoning doesn't appeal to a brain the calibre of yours."
"I quite understand. I think the phrase 'drivelling idiot' would comprise all the epithets you have hurled at me, so we'll let it go at that. Cut the cackle, and come to the 'osses. Common sense having no effect on this idiot, what did you do?"
"I allowed an old fool to build the library, and put aside the money of the young fool until this was done, and I could safely return it to him."
"Return it!" cried Stranleigh in amazement.
"What else?" Wilson drew a note-book from his inside pocket, extracted a cheque, and tossed the document over to Stranleigh, who opened it in dazed fashion, and saw it was payable to his order for five thousand and seventy-five pounds.
"Why the seventy-five pounds?" he asked.
"Interest for three months at six per cent. In most of your investments you get only four, you know."
"In handing me a cheque which doubtless will be returned dishonoured, you hope to gain time, and so, as we used to say at school, make a bunk for it to the Continent, You are putting yourself to needless trouble, Wilson. I had already determined to take no action in the matter."
"You are very good," sneered Wilson. "Truth to tell, I thought of doing as you suggest, but what with the telegraph and improved communication all over the world, I concluded it wasn't worth the risk. It would have been a joke to pull out my four hundred and fifty thousand from Cutler's Bank before this cheque was presented, but as it is, I'm buying a small estate next to your own, and investing the rest of the money in reliable securities which will give me an income even larger than I need. I'm fond of this part of the world, and love the simplicity of country life as compared with the guile and chicanery of the city."
Lord Stranleigh laughed heartily.
"Virtuous man!" he cried. "How did you make all that money?"
"Rubber!" replied Wilson. "Your five thousand pounds' was changed into twenty-five thousand during the first week; sold, and re-invested; and I continued the game almost to the present moment. Now I'm going to settle down and devote my spare time to the invention and construction of a spring wheel that will render rubber tyres useless for automobiles."
Again Stranleigh laughed.
"Speaking of the guilefulness of cities," he said, "I have secured a two-thirds majority on the board controlling the lovely scarlet building you opened to-day. The first act will be to inaugurate an industrial school in the new edifice, and thus the land on which it stands will revert to me. Meanwhile, I shall build, with the good grey stone of our quarries, a library whose architecture will be in keeping with the village and the old church. I shall erect it facing High Street, and its grounds shall run down to the little rivulet, for I think the murmur of water is a pleasant sound to accompany the reading of a book. I shall then tear down and cart away your red-brick abomination. I'll pay back to Barnacle his three thousand pounds with interest at ten per cent."
"All right," said Wilson, rising. "I cared nothing about the library from the beginning, except as a chance for making money. Meanwhile, here's another document to complete our transaction," and with that he handed Stranleigh his written resignation.
"Accepted," said Stranleigh, laughing. "When you go out through the front door, mind the step, Good-night."