It is remarkable1 that even in the most fashionable shopping thoroughfares certain shops remain brilliantly open, exposing plush-cushioned wares2 under a glare of electricity in the otherwise darkened street, for an hour or so after all neighbouring establishments have drawn3 down their blinds and put up their shutters4. An interesting point of psychology5 is involved in this phenomenon.
On his way home from the paradise of the mosque6, Mr. Prohack, afoot and high-spirited, and energised by a long-forgotten sensation of physical well-being7, called in at such a shop, and, with the minimum of parley8, bought an article enclosed in a rich case. A swift and happy impulse on his part! The object was destined9 for his wife, and his intention in giving it was to help him to introduce more easily to her notice the fact that he was now, or would shortly be, worth over quarter of a million of money. For he was a strange, silly fellow, and just as he had been conscious of a certain false shame at inheriting a hundred thousand pounds, so now he was conscious of a certain false shame at having increased his possessions to two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.
The Eagle was waiting in front of Mr. Prohack's door; he wondered what might be the latest evening project of his women, for he had not ordered the car so early; perhaps the first night had been postponed11; however, he was too discreet12, or too dignified13, to make any enquiry from the chauffeur14; too indifferent to the projects of his beloved women. He would be quite content to sit at home by himself, reflecting upon the marvels15 of existence and searching among them for his soul.
Within the house, servants were rushing about in an atmosphere of excitement and bell-ringing. He divined that his wife and daughter were dressing16 simultaneously17 for an important occasion—either the first night or something else. In that feverish18 environment he forgot the form of words which he had carefully prepared for the breaking to his wife of the great financial news. Fortunately she gave him no chance to blunder.
"Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" she cried, sweetly reproachful, as with an assumed jauntiness19 he entered the bedroom. "How late you are! I expected you back an hour ago at least. Your things are laid out in the boudoir. You haven't got a moment to spare. We're late as it is." She was by no means dressed, and the bedroom looked as if it had been put to the sack; nearly every drawer was ajar, and the two beds resembled a second-hand20 shop.
Mr. Prohack's self-protective instinct at once converted him into a porcupine21. An attempt was being made to force him into a hurry, and he loathed22 hurry.
"I'm not late," said he, "because I didn't say when I should return. It won't take me more than a quarter of an hour to eat, and we've got heaps of time for the theatre."
"I'm giving a little dinner in the Grand Babylon restaurant," said Eve, "and of course we must be there first. Sissie's arranged it for me on the 'phone. It'll be much more amusing than dining here, and it saves the servants." Yet the woman had recently begun to assert that the servants hadn't enough to do!
"Ah!" said Mr. Prohack, startled. "And who are the guests?"
"Oh! Nobody! Only us and Charlie, of course, and Oswald Morfey, and perhaps Lady Massulam. I've told Charlie to do the ordering."
"I should have thought one meal per diem at the Grand Babylon would have been sufficient."
"But this is in the restaurant, don't I tell you? Oh, dear! That's three times I've tried to do my hair. It's always the same when I want it nice. Now do get along, Arthur!"
"Strange!" said he with a sardonic23 blitheness24. "Strange how it's always my fault when your hair goes wrong!" And to himself he said: "All right! All right! I just shan't inform you about that quarter of a million. You've no leisure for details to-night, my girl."
And he went into the boudoir.
His blissful serenity25 was too well established to be overthrown26 by anything short of a catastrophe27. Nevertheless it did quiver slightly under the shock of Eve's new tactics in life. This was the woman who, on only the previous night, had been inveighing28 against the ostentation29 of her son's career at the Grand Babylon. Now she seemed determined30 to rival him in showiness, to be the partner of his alleged31 vulgarity. That the immature32 Sissie should suddenly drop the ideals of the new poor for the ideals of the new rich was excusable. But Eve! But that modest embodiment of shy and quiet commonsense33! She, who once had scorned the world of The Daily Picture, was more and more disclosing a desire for that world. And where now were her doubts about the righteousness of Charlie's glittering deeds? And where was the ancient sagacity which surely should have prevented her from being deceived by the superficialities of an Oswald Morfey? Was she blindly helping34 to prepare a disaster for her blind daughter? Was the explanation that she had tasted of the fruit? The horrid35 thought crossed Mr. Prohack's mind: All women are alike. He flung it out of his loyal mind, trying to substitute: All women except Eve are alike. But it came back in its original form.... Not that he cared, really. If Eve had transformed herself into a Cleopatra his ridiculous passion for her would have suffered no modification36.
Lying around the boudoir were various rectangular parcels, addressed in flowing calligraphy37 to himself: the first harvest-loads of his busy morning. The sight of them struck his conscience. Was not he, too, following his wife on the path of the new rich? No! As ever he was blameless. He was merely executing the prescription39 of his doctor, who had expounded40 the necessity of scientific idleness and the curative effect of fine clothes on health. True, he knew himself to be cured, but if nature had chosen to cure him too quickly, that was not his fault.... He heard his wife talking to Machin in the bedroom, and Machin talking to his wife; and the servant's voice was as joyous41 and as worried as if she herself, and not Eve, were about to give a little dinner at the Grand Babylon. Queer! Queer! The phrase 'a quarter of a million' glinted and flashed in the circumambient air. But it was almost a meaningless phrase. He was like a sort of super-savage and could not count beyond a hundred thousand. And, quite unphilosophical, he forgot that the ecstasy42 produced by a hundred thousand had passed in a few days, and took for granted that the ecstasy produced by two hundred and fifty thousand would endure for ever.
"Take that thing off, please," he commanded his wife when he returned to the bedroom in full array. She was by no means complete, but she had achieved some progress, and was trying the effect of her garnet necklace.
"But it's the best I've got," said she.
"No, it isn't," he flatly contradicted her, and opened the case so newly purchased.
"Arthur!" she gasped43, spellbound, entranced, enchanted44.
"That's my name."
"Pearls! But—but—this must have cost thousands!"
"And what if it did?" he enquired45 placidly47, clasping the thing with much delicacy48 round her neck. His own pleasure was intense, and yet he severely49 blamed himself. Indeed he called himself a criminal. Scarcely could he meet her gaze when she put her hands on his shoulders, after a long gazing into the mirror. And when she kissed him and said with frenzy50 that he was a dear and a madman, he privately51 agreed with her. She ran to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I must show Sissie."
"Wait a moment, child. Do you know why I've bought that necklace? Because the affair with Spinner has come off." He then gave her the figures.
She observed, not unduly52 moved:
"But I knew that would be all right."
"How did you know?"
"Because you're so clever. You always get the best of everybody."
He realised afresh that she was a highly disturbing woman. She uttered highly disturbing verdicts without thought and without warning. You never knew what she would say.
"I think," he remarked, calmly pretending that she had said something quite obvious, "that it would be as well for us not to breathe one word to anybody at all about this new windfall."
She eagerly agreed.
"But we must really begin to spend—I mean spend regularly."
"Yes, of course," he admitted.
"Otherwise it would be absurd, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
"Arthur."
"Yes."
"How much will it be—in income?"
"Well, I'm not going in for any more flutters. No! I've done absolutely with all speculating idiocies53. Providence54 has watched over us. I take the hint. Therefore my investments will all have to be entirely55 safe and sound. No fancy rates of interest. I should say that by the time old Paul's fixed56 up my investments we shall have a bit over four hundred pounds a week coming in—if that's any guide to you."
"Arthur, isn't it wicked!"
She examined afresh the necklace.
By the time they were all three in the car, Mr. Prohack had become aware of the fact that in Sissie's view he ought to have bought two necklaces while he was about it.
Sissie's trunks were on the roof of the car. She had decided57 to take up residence at the Grand Babylon that very night. The rapidity and the uncontrollability of events made Mr. Prohack feel dizzy.
"I hope you've brought some money, darling," said his wife.
II
"Lend me some money, will you?" murmured Mr. Prohack lightly to his splendid son, after he had glanced at the bill for Eve's theatre dinner at the Grand Babylon. Mr. Prohack had indeed brought some money with him, but not enough. "Haven't got any," said Charlie, with equal lightness. "Better give me the bill. I'll see to it." Whereupon Charlie signed the bill, and handed the bowing waiter five ten shilling notes.
"That's not enough," said Mr. Prohack.
"Not enough for the tip. Well, it'll have to be. I never give more than ten per cent."
Mr. Prohack strove to conceal58 his own painful lack of worldliness. He had imagined that he had in his pockets heaps of money to pay for a meal for a handful of people. He was mistaken; that was all, and the incident had no importance, for a few pounds more or less could not matter in the least to a gentleman of his income. Yet he felt guilty of being a waster. He could not accustom59 himself to the scale of expenditure60. Barely in the old days could he have earned in a week the price of the repast consumed now in an hour. The vast apartment was packed with people living at just that rate of expenditure and seeming to think naught61 of it. "But do two wrongs make a right?" he privately demanded of his soul. Then his soul came to the rescue with its robust62 commonsense and replied:
"Perhaps two wrongs don't make a right, but five hundred wrongs positively64 must make a right." And he felt better.
And suddenly he understood the true function of the magnificent orchestra that dominated the scene. It was the function of a brass65 band at a quack-dentist's booth in a fair,—to drown the cries of the victims of the art of extraction.
"Yes," he reflected, full of health and carelessness. "This is a truly great life."
The party went off in two automobiles66, his own and Lady Massulam's. Cars were fighting for room in front of the blazing façade of the Metropolitan67 Theatre, across which rose in fire the title of the entertainment, Smack68 Your Face, together with the names of Asprey Chown and Eliza Fiddle69. Car after car poured out a contingent70 of glorious girls and men and was hustled71 off with ferocity by a row of gigantic and implacable commissionaires. Mr. Oswald Morfey walked straight into the building at the head of his guests. Highly expensive persons were humbling72 themselves at the little window of the box office, but Ozzie held his course, and officials performed obeisances73 which stopped short only at falling flat on their faces at the sight of him. Tickets were not for him.
"This is a beautiful box," said Eve to him, amazed at the grandeur75 of the receptacle into which they had been ushered76.
"It's Mr. Chown's own box."
"Then isn't Mr. Chown to be here to-night?"
"No! He went to Paris this morning for a rest. The acting77 manager will telephone to him after each act. That's how he always does, you know."
"When the cat's away the mice will play," thought Mr. Prohack uncomfortably, with the naughty sensations of a mouse. The huge auditorium78 was a marvellous scene of excited brilliance79. As the stalls filled up a burst of clapping came at intervals81 from the unseen pit.
"What are they clapping for?" said the simple Eve, who, like Mr. Prohack, had never been to a first-night before, to say nothing of such a super-first-night as this.
"Oh!" replied Ozzie negligently82. "Some one they know by sight just come into the stalls. The chic83 thing in the pit is to recognise, and to show by applause that you have recognised. The one that applauds the oftenest wins the game in the pit."
At those words and their tone Mr. Prohack looked at Ozzie with a new eye, as who should be thinking: "Is Sissie right about this fellow after all?"
Sissie sat down modestly and calmly next to her mother. Nobody could guess from her apparently84 ingenuous85 countenance86 that she knew that she, and not the Terror of the departments and his wife, was the originating cause of Mr. Morfey's grandiose87 hospitality.
"I suppose the stalls are full of celebrities88?" said Eve.
"They're full of people who've paid twice the ordinary price for their seats," answered Ozzie.
"Who's that extraordinary old red-haired woman in the box opposite?" Eve demanded.
"That's Enid."
"Enid?"
"Yes. You know the Enid stove, don't you? All ladies know the Enid stove. It's been a household word for forty years. That's the original Enid. Her father invented the stove, and named it after her when she was a girl. She never misses a first-night."
"How extraordinary! Is she what you call a celebrity89?"
"Rather!"
"Now," said Mr. Prohack. "Now, at last I understand the real meaning of fame."
"But that's Charlie down there!" exclaimed Eve, suddenly, pointing to the stalls and then looking behind her to see if there was not another Charlie in the box.
"Yes," Ozzie agreed. "Lady Massulam had an extra stall, and as five's a bit of a crowd in this box.... I thought he'd told you."
"He had not," said Eve.
The curtain went up, and this simple gesture on the part of the curtain evoked90 enormous applause. The audience could not control the expression of its delight. A young lady under a sunshade appeared; the mere38 fact of her existence threw the audience into a new ecstasy. An old man with a red nose appeared: similar demonstrations91 from the audience. When these two had talked to each other and sung to each other, the applause was tripled, and when the scene changed from Piccadilly Circus at 4 a.m. to the interior of a Spanish palace inhabited by illustrious French actors and actresses who proceeded to play an act of a tragedy by Corneille, the applause was quintupled. At the end of the tragedy the applause was decupled. Then the Spanish palace dissolved into an Abyssinian harem, and Eliza Fiddle in Abyssinian costume was discovered lying upon two thousand cushions of two thousand colours, and the audience rose at Eliza and Eliza rose at the audience, and the resulting frenzy was the sublimest92 frenzy that ever shook a theatre. The piece was stopped dead for three minutes while the audience and Eliza protested a mutual93 and unique passion. From this point onwards Mr. Prohack lost his head. He ran to and fro in the bewildering glittering maze74 of the piece, seeking for an explanation, for a sign-post, for a clue, for the slightest hint, and found nothing. He had no alternative but to cling to Eliza Fiddle, and he clung to her desperately94. She was willing to be clung to. She gave herself, not only to Mr. Prohack, but to every member of the audience separately; she gave herself in the completeness of all her manifestations95. The audience was rich in the possession of the whole of her individuality, which was a great deal. She sang, danced, chattered96, froze, melted, laughed, cried, flirted97, kissed, kicked, cursed, and turned somersaults with the fury of a dervish, the languor98 of an odalisque, and the inexhaustibility of a hot-spring geyser.... And at length Mr. Prohack grew aware of a feeling within himself that was at war with the fresh, fine feeling of physical well-being. "I have never seen a revue before," he said in secret. "Is it possible that I am bored?"
III
"Would you care to go behind and be introduced to Miss Fiddle?" Ozzie suggested at the interval80 after the curtain had been raised seventeen times in response to frantic99 shoutings, cheerings, thumpings and clappings, and the mighty100 tumult101 of exhilaration had subsided102 into a happy buzz that arose from all the seats in the entire orange-tinted brilliant auditorium. The ladies would not go; the ladies feared, they said, to impose their company upon Miss Fiddle in the tremendous strain of her activities. They spoke103 primly104 and decisively. It was true that they feared; but their fear was based on consideration for themselves rather than on consideration for Miss Fiddle. Ozzie was plainly snubbed. He had offered a wonderful privilege, and it had been disdained105.
Mr. Prohack could not bear the spectacle of Ozzie's discomfiture106. His sad weakness for pleasing people overcame him, and, putting his hand benevolently107 on the young man's shoulder, he said:
"My dear fellow, personally I'm dying to go."
They went by strangely narrow corridors and through iron doors across the stage, whose shirt-sleeved, ragged108 population seemed to be behaving as though the last trump109 had sounded, and so upstairs and along a broad passage full of doors ajar from which issued whispers and exclamations110 and transient visions of young women. From the star's dressing-room, at the end, a crowd of all sorts and conditions of persons was being pushed. Mr. Prohack trembled with an awful apprehension111, and asked himself vainly what in the name of commonsense he was doing there, and prayed that Ozzie might be refused admission. The next moment he was being introduced to a middle-aged112 woman in a middle-aged dressing-gown. Her face was thickly caked with paint and powder, her eyes surrounded with rings of deepest black, her finger-nails red. Mr. Prohack, not without difficulty, recognised Eliza. A dresser stood on either side of her. Blinding showers of electric light poured down upon her defenceless but hardy113 form. She shook hands, but Mr. Prohack deemed that she ought to bear a notice: "Danger. Visitors are requested not to touch."
"So good of you to come round," she said, in her rich and powerful voice, smiling with all her superb teeth. Mr. Prohack, entranced, gazed, not as at a woman, but as at a public monument. Nevertheless he thought that she was not a bad kind, and well suited for the rough work of the world.
"I hope you're all coming to my ball to-night," said she. Mr. Prohack had never heard of any ball. In an instant she told him that she had remarked two most charming ladies with him in the box—(inordinate faculty114 of observation, mused115 Mr. Prohack)—and in another instant she was selling him three two guinea tickets for a grand ball and rout116 in aid of the West End Chorus Girls' Aid Association. Could he refuse, perceiving so clearly as he did that within the public monument was hiding a wistful creature, human like himself, human like his wife and daughter? He could not.
"Now you'll come?" said she.
Mr. Prohack swore that he would come, his heart sinking as he realised the consequence of his own foolish weakness. There was a knock at the door.
"Did you want me, Liza?" said a voice, and a fat gentleman, clothed with resplendent correctness, stepped into the room. It was the stage-manager, a god in his way.
Eliza Fiddle became a cyclone117
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