Allan and the Holy Flower, H. Rider Haggard [best romance books of all time .TXT] 📗

with a pocket-handkerchief. “Quite exciting while it lasted, wasn’t it, Mr. Quatermain—but I have been there before, so to speak. And now what do you say to some luncheon? Pym’s is close by, and they have very good oysters. Only I think we’ll drive round by the bank and hand in this cheque. When he’s angry my parent is capable of anything. He might even stop it. Woodden, get off down to Twickenham with ‘O. Pavo.’ Keep it warm, for it feels rather like frost. Put it in the stove for to-night and give it a little, just a little tepid water, but be careful not to touch the flower. Take a four-wheeled cab, it’s slow but safe, and mind you keep the windows up and don’t smoke. I shall be home for dinner.”

Woodden pulled his forelock, seized the pot in his left hand, and departed with his right fist raised—I suppose in case Sir Alexander should be waiting for him round the corner.

Then we departed also and, after stopping for a minute at the bank to pay in the cheque, which I noted, notwithstanding its amount, was accepted without comment, ate oysters in a place too crowded to allow of conversation.

“Mr. Quatermain,” said my host, “it is obvious that we cannot talk here, and much less look at that orchid of yours, which I want to study at leisure. Now, for a week or so at any rate I have a roof over my head, and in short, will you be my guest for a night or two? I know nothing about you, and of me you only know that I am the disinherited son of a father, to whom I have failed to give satisfaction. Still it is possible that we might pass a few pleasant hours together talking of flowers and other things; that is, if you have no previous engagement.”

“I have none,” I answered. “I am only a stranger from South Africa lodging at an hotel. If you will give me time to call for my bag, I will pass the night at your house with pleasure.”

By the aid of Mr. Somers’ smart dog-cart, which was waiting at a city mews, we reached Twickenham while there was still half an hour of daylight. The house, which was called Verbena Lodge, was small, a square, red-brick building of the early Georgian period, but the gardens covered quite an acre of ground and were very beautiful, or must have been so in summer. Into the greenhouse we did not enter, because it was too late to see the flowers. Also, just when we came to them, Woodden arrived in his four-wheeled cab and departed with his master to see to the housing of “O. Pavo.”

Then came dinner, a very pleasant meal. My host had that day been turned out upon the world, but he did not allow this circumstance to interfere with his spirits in the least. Also he was evidently determined to enjoy its good things while they lasted, for his champagne and port were excellent.

“You see, Mr. Quatermain,” he said, “it’s just as well we had the row which has been boiling up for a long while. My respected father has made so much money that he thinks I should go and do likewise. Now, I don’t see it. I like flowers, especially orchids, and I hate bullion-broking. To me the only decent places in London are that sale-room where we met and the Horticultural Gardens.”

“Yes,” I answered rather doubtfully, “but the matter seems a little serious. Your parent was very emphatic as to his intentions, and after this kind of thing,” and I pointed to the beautiful silver and the port, “how will you like roughing it in a hard world?”

“Don’t think I shall mind a bit; it would be rather a pleasant change. Also, even if my father doesn’t alter his mind, as he may, for he likes me at bottom because I resemble my dear mother, things ain’t so very bad. I have got some money that she left me, £6,000 or £7,000, and I’ll sell that ‘Odontoglossum Pavo’ for what it will fetch to Sir Joshua Tredgold—he was the man with the long beard who you tell me ran up Woodden to over £2,000—or failing him to someone else. I’ll write about it to-night. I don’t think I have any debts to speak of, for the Governor has been allowing me £3,000 a year, at least that is my share of the profits paid to me in return for my bullion-broking labours, and except flowers, I have no expensive tastes. So the devil take the past, here’s to the future and whatever it may bring,” and he polished off the glass of port he held and laughed in his jolly fashion.

Really he was a most attractive young man, a little reckless, it is true, but then recklessness and youth mix well, like brandy and soda.

I echoed the toast and drank off my port, for I like a good glass of wine when I can get it, as would anyone who has had to live for months on rotten water, although I admit that agrees with me better than the port.

“Now, Mr. Quatermain,” he went on, “if you have done, light your pipe and let’s go into the other room and study that Cypripedium of yours. I shan’t sleep to-night unless I see it again first. Stop a bit, though, we’ll get hold of that old ass, Woodden, before he turns in.”

“Woodden,” said his master, when the gardener had arrived, “this gentleman, Mr. Quatermain, is going to show you an orchid that is ten times finer than ‘O. Pavo!’”

“Beg pardon, sir,” answered Woodden, “but if Mr. Quatermain says that, he lies. It ain’t in Nature; it don’t bloom nowhere.”

I opened the case and revealed the golden Cypripedium. Woodden stared at it and rocked. Then he stared again and felt his head as though to make sure it was on his shoulders. Then he gasped.

“Well, if that there flower baint made up, it’s a MASTER ONE! If I could see that there flower ablowing on the plant I’d die happy.”

“Woodden, stop talking, and sit down,” exclaimed his master. “Yes, there, where you can look at the flower. Now, Mr. Quatermain, will you tell us the story of that orchid from beginning to end. Of course omitting its habitat if you like, for it isn’t fair to ask that secret. Woodden can be trusted to hold his tongue, and so can I.”

I remarked that I was sure they could, and for the next half-hour talked almost without interruption, keeping nothing back and explaining that I was anxious to find someone who would finance an expedition to search for this particular plant; as I believed, the only one of its sort that existed in the world.

“How much will it cost?” asked Mr. Somers.

“I lay it at £2,000,” I answered. “You see, we must have plenty of men and guns and stores, also trade goods and presents.”

“I call that cheap. But supposing, Mr. Quatermain, that the expedition proves successful and the plant is secured, what then?”

“Then I propose that Brother John, who found it and of whom I have told you, should take one-third of whatever it might sell for, that I as captain of the expedition should take one-third, and that whoever finds the necessary money should take the remaining third.”

“Good! That’s settled.”

“What’s settled?” I asked.