Reginald Cruden, Talbot Baines Reed [best black authors txt] 📗

shall hear of me again, sir!” said she; “mind that! Love, indeed!” whereupon she bounced out of the office and slammed the door behind her.

Reginald sat with his eyes on the door for a full two minutes before he could sufficiently collect his wits to know where he was or what had happened.

Then a sense of indignation overpowered all his other feelings—not against Mrs Wrigley, but against Mr Medlock, for leaving him in a position where he could be, even in the remotest degree, open to so unpleasant a charge as that he had just listened to.

Why could he not be trusted with sufficient money and control over the operations of the Corporation to enable him to meet so unfounded a charge? What would the Bishop of S— or the other directors think if they heard that a lady had come all the way from Dorsetshire to tell them they were a set of swindlers and thieves? If he had had the sending off of the orders to see to, he was confident he could have got every one of them off by this time, even if he had made up every parcel with his own hands.

What, in short, was the use of being called a secretary if he was armed with no greater authority than a common junior clerk?

He opened the letter he had just written to Mr Medlock, and sat down to write another, more aggrieved in its tone and more urgent in its request that Mr Medlock would come down to Liverpool at once to arrange matters on a more satisfactory footing. It was difficult to write a letter which altogether pleased him; but at last he managed to do it, and for fear his warmth should evaporate he went out to post it, locking the office up behind him.

He took a walk before returning—the first he had taken for a week. It was a beautiful crisp December day, when, even through the murky atmosphere of Liverpool, the sun looked down joyously, and the blue sky, flecked with little fleecy clouds, seemed to challenge the smoke and steam of a thousand chimneys to touch its purity. Reginald’s steps turned away from the city, through a quiet suburb towards the country. He would have to walk too far, he knew, to reach real open fields and green lanes, but there was at least a suggestion of the country here which to his weary mind was refreshing.

His walk took him past a large public school, in the playground of which an exciting football match was in active progress. Like an old war horse, Reginald gazed through the palings and snorted as the cry of battle rose in the air.

“Hack it through, sir!” “Well run!” “Collar him there!”

As he heard those old familiar cries it seemed to him as if the old life had come back to him with a sudden rush. He was no longer a poor baited secretary, but a joyous school-boy, head of his form, lord and master of half a dozen fags, and a caution and example to the whole junior school. He had chums by the score; his study was always crowded with fellows wanting him to do this or help them in that. How jolly to be popular! How jolly, when the ball came out of the scrimmage, to hear every one shout, “Let Cruden have it!” How jolly, as he snatched it up and rushed, cleaving his way to the enemy’s goal, to hear that roar behind him, “Run indeed, sir!”

“Back him up!”

“Well played!” Yes, he heard them still, like music; and as he watched the shifting fortunes of this game he felt the blood course through his veins with a strange, familiar ardour.

Ah, here came the ball out of the scrimmage straight towards him! Oh, the thrill of such a moment! Who does not know it? A second more and he would have it—

Alas! poor Reginald awoke as suddenly as he had dreamed. A hideous paling stood between him and the ball. He was not in the game at all. Nothing but a lonely, friendless drudge, whom nobody wanted, nobody cared about.

With a glistening in his eyes which he would have scornfully protested was not a tear, he turned away and walked moodily back to Shy Street, caring little if it were to be the last walk he should ever take.

He was not, however, to be allowed much time for indulging his gloomy reflections on reaching his journey’s end. A person was waiting outside the office, pacing up and down the pavement to keep himself warm. The stranger took a good look at Reginald as he entered and let himself in, and then followed up the stairs and presented himself.

“Is Mr Reginald at home?” inquired he blandly.

Reginald noticed that he was a middle-aged person, dressed in a sort of very shabby clerical costume, awkward in his manner, but not unintelligent in face.

“That is my name,” replied he.

“Thank you. I am glad to see you, Mr Reginald. You were kind enough to send me a communication not long ago about—well, about a suit of clothes.”

His evident hesitation to mention anything that would call attention to his own well-worn garb made Reginald feel quite sorry for him.

“Oh yes,” said he, taking good care not to look at his visitor’s toilet, “we sent a good many of the circulars to clergymen.”

“Very considerate,” said the visitor. “I was away from home and have only just received it.”

And he took the circular out of his pocket, and seating himself on a chair began to peruse it.

Presently he looked up and said,—

“Are there any left?”

“Any of the suits? Oh yes, I expect so. We had a large number.”

“Could I—can you show me one?”

“Unfortunately I haven’t got them here; they are all in London.”

“How unfortunate! I did so want to get one.”

Then he perused the paper again.

“How soon could I have one?” he said.

“Oh very soon now; before Christmas certainly,” replied Reginald.

“You are sure?”

“Oh yes. They will all be delivered before then.”

“And have you had many orders?” said the clergyman.

“A great many,” said Reginald.

“Hundreds, I daresay. There are many to whom it would be a boon at this season to get so cheap an outfit.”

“Two hundred, I should say,” said Reginald. “Would you like to leave an order with me?”

“Two hundred! Dear me! And did they all send the two pounds, as stated here, along with their order?”

“Oh yes. Some sent more,” said Reginald, quite thankful to have some one to talk to, who did not regard him either as a fool or a knave.

“It must have been a very extensive bankrupt stock you acquired,” said the clergyman musingly. “And were all the applicants clergymen like myself?”

“Nearly all.”

“Dear me, how sad to think how many there are to whom such an opportunity is a godsend! We are sadly underpaid, many of us, Mr Reginald, and are apt to envy you gentlemen of business your comfortable means. Now you, I daresay, get as much as three or four of us poor curates get together.”

“I hope not,” said Reginald with a smile.

“Well, if I even had your £200 a year I should be thankful,” said the poor curate.

“But I haven’t that by £50,” said Reginald. “Shall I put you down for a complete suit, as mentioned in the circular?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I cannot well do without it,” said the other.

“And what name and address?” said Reginald.

“Well, perhaps the simplest way would be, as I am going back to London, for you to give me an order for the things to present at your depot there. It will save carriage, you know.”

“Very well,” said Reginald, “I will write one for you. You notice,” added he, “that we ask for £2 with the order.”

“Ah, yes,” said the visitor, with a sigh, “that appears to be a stern necessity. Here it is, Mr Reginald.”

“Thank you,” said Reginald. “I will write you a receipt; and here is a note to Mr John Smith, at Weaver’s Hotel, London, who has charge of the clothing. I have no doubt he will be able to suit you with just what you want.”

“John Smith? I fancy I have heard his name somewhere. Is he one of your principals—a dark tall man?”

“I have never seen him,” said Reginald, “but all our orders go to him for execution.”

“Oh, well, thank you very much. I am sure I am much obliged to you. You seem to be single-handed here. It must be hard work for you.”

“Pretty hard sometimes.”

“I suppose clothing is what you chiefly supply?”

“We have also been sending out a lot of globes and blackboards to schools.”

“Dear me, I should be glad to get a pair of globes for our parish school—very glad. Have you them here?”

“No, they are in London too.”

“And how do you sell them? I fear they are very expensive.”

“They cost £3 the set, but we only ask £2 with the order.”

“That really seems moderate. I shall be strongly tempted to ask our Vicar to let me get a pair when in London. Will Mr Smith be able to show them to me?”

“Yes, he is superintending the sending off of them too.”

“How crowded Weaver’s Hotel must be, with so many bulky articles!” said the curate.

“Oh, you know, I don’t suppose Mr Smith keeps them there; but he lives there while he’s in town, that’s all. Our directors generally put up at Weaver’s Hotel.”

“I should greatly like to see a list of the directors, if I may,” said the clergyman. “There’s nothing gives one so much confidence as to see honoured names on the directorate of a company like yours.”

“I can give you a list if you like,” said Reginald.

“I daresay you know by name the Bishop of S—, our chairman?”

“To be sure, and—dear me, what a very good list of names! Thank you, if I may take one of these, I should like to show it to my friends. Well, then, I will call on Mr Smith in London, and meanwhile I am very much obliged to you, Mr Reginald, for your courtesy. Very glad to have made your acquaintance. Good afternoon.”

And he shook hands cordially with the secretary, and departed, leaving Reginald considerably soothed in spirit, as he reflected that he had really done a stroke of work for the Corporation that day on his own account.

It was well for his peace of mind that he did not know that the clergyman, on turning the corner of Shy Street, rubbed his hands merrily together, and said to himself, in tones of self-satisfaction,—

“Well, if that wasn’t the neatest bit of work I’ve done since I came on the beat. The innocent! He’d sit up, I guess, if he knew the nice pleasant-spoken parson he’s been blabbing to was Sniff of the detective office. My eye—it’s all so easy, there’s not much credit about the business after all. But it’s pounds, shillings and pence to Sniff, and that’s better!”