A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus Part 25

There are several unjustifiable extravagances which every normal man commits. There are also several unjustifiable economies. Among others, there is that absurd eagerness to save the striking of a second match, which occasions so many burned fingers, and such picturesque language. And again, there is the desire to compress a telegraphic message into the minimum sixpennyworth, and so send an ambiguous and cryptic sentence, when sevenpence would have made it as clear as light. We all tend to be stylists in our telegrams.

A week after the conversation about Mr. Pepys, when some progress had been made with the reading of the Diary, Maude received the following wire from Frank -

'Mrs. Crosse. Woking.--Pepys b.u.t.tered toast suede gloves four Monument wait late.'

As a sixpennyworth it was a success, but as a message it seemed to leave something to be desired. Maude puzzled over it, and tried every possible combination of the words. The nearest approach to sense was when it was divided in this way--Pepys--b.u.t.tered toast-- suede gloves--four--Monument, wait late.

She wrote it out in this form, and took it section by section.

'Pepys,' that was unintelligible. 'b.u.t.tered toast,' no sense in that. 'Suede gloves,' yes, she had told Frank that when she came to town, she would buy some suede gloves at a certain shop in the City, where she could get for three and threepence a pair which would cost her three and ninepence in Woking. Maude was so conscientiously economical, that she was always prepared to spend two shillings in railway fares to reach a spot where a sixpence was to be saved, and to lavish her nerve and energy freely in the venture. Here, then, in the suede gloves, was a central point of light. And then her heart bounded with joy, as she realised that the last part could only mean that she was to meet Frank at the Monument at four, and that she was to wait for him if he were late.

So, now, returning to the opening of the message, with the light which shone from the ending, she realised that b.u.t.tered toast might refer to a queer little City hostel, remarkable for that luxury, where Frank had already taken her twice to tea. And so leaving Mr.

Pepys to explain himself later, Maude gave hurried orders to Jemima and the cook, and dashed upstairs to put on her new fawn-coloured walking-dress--a garment which filled her with an extraordinary mixture of delight and remorse, for it was very smart, cost seven guineas, and had not yet been paid for.

The rendezvous was evidently a sudden thought upon the part of Frank, for he had left very little time for her to reach the trysting-place.

However, she was fortunate in catching a train to Waterloo, and another thence to the City, and so reached the Monument at five minutes to four. The hour was just striking when Frank, with his well-brushed top-hat and immaculate business frock-coat, came rushing from the direction of King William Street. Maude held out her hand and he shook it, and then they both laughed at the formality.

'I am so glad you were able to come, dearest. How you do brighten up the old City!'

'Do I? I felt quite lonely until you came. Nothing but droves of men--and all staring.'

'It's your dress.'

'Oh, thank you, sir!'

'Entirely that pretty brown--'

'Brown! Fawn colour.'

'Well, that's brown. Anyhow, it looks charming. And so do you--by Jove you do, Maude! Come this way!'

'Where are we going?'

'By underground. Here we are.--Two second singles, Mark Lane, please!--No, that's for the west-end trains. Down here! Next train, the man says.'

They were in the mephitic cellar, with the two long wooden platforms where the subterranean trains land or load their freights. A strangling gas tickled their throats and set them coughing. It was all dank and dark and gloomy. But little youth and love care for that! They were bubbling over with the happiness of this abnormal meeting. Both talked together in their delight, and Maude patted Frank's sleeve with every remark. They could even illuminate all that was around them, by the beauty and brightness of their own love.

It went the length of open praise for their abominable surroundings.

'Isn't it grand and solemn?' said Maude. 'Look at the black shadows.'

'When they come to excavate all this some thousands of years hence, they will think it was constructed by a race of giants,' Frank answered.

'The modern works for the benefit of the community are really far greater than those which sprang from the caprice of kings. The London and North-Western Railway is an infinitely grander thing than the pyramids. Look at the two headlights in the dark!'

Two sullen crimson discs glowed in the black arch of the tunnel.

With a menacing and sinister speed, they grew and grew until roaring they sprang out of the darkness, and the long, dingy train, with a whining of brakes, drew up at the platform.

'Here's one nearly empty,' said Frank, with his hand on the handle.

'Don't you think--' said Maude.

'Yes, I do,' cried Frank.

And they got into one which was quite empty. For the underground railway is blessed as regards privacy above all other lines, and where could a loving couple be more happy, who have been torn apart by cruel fate for seven long hours or so? It was with a groan that Frank remarked that they had reached Mark Lane.

'Bother!' said Maude, and wondered if there were any shop near where she could buy hairpins. As every lady knows, or will know, there is a very intimate connection between hairpins and a loving husband.

'Now, Frank, about your telegram.'

'All right, dear. Come along where I lead you, and you will understand all about it.'

They pa.s.sed out of Mark Lane Station and down a steep and narrow street to the right. At the bottom lay an old smoke-stained church with a square tower, and a small open churchyard beside it.

'That's the church of Saint Olave,' said Frank. 'We are going into it.'

He pushed open a folding oaken door, and they found themselves inside it. Rows of modern seats filled the body of it, but the walls and windows gave an impression of great antiquity. The stained gla.s.s-- especially that which surmounted the altar--contained those rich satisfying purples and deep deep crimsons which only go with age. It was a bright and yet a mellow light, falling in patches of vivid colour upon the brown woodwork and the grey floors. Here and there upon the walls were marble inscriptions in the Latin tongue, with pompous allegorical figures with trumpets, for our ancestors blew them in stone as well as in epitaphs over their tombs. They loved to die, as they had lived, with dignity and with affectation. White statues glimmered in the shadows of the corners. As Frank and his wife pa.s.sed down the side-aisle, their steps clanged through the empty and silent church.

'Here he is!' said Frank, and faced to the wall.

He was looking up at the modern representation of a gentleman in a full and curly wig. It was a well-rounded and comely face, with shrewd eyes and a sensitive mouth. The face of a man of affairs, and a good fellow, with just that saving touch of sensuality about it which makes an expression human and lovable. Underneath was printed -

SAMUEL PEPYS Erected by public subscription 1883.

'Oh, isn't he nice?' said Maude.

'He's not a bad-looking chap, is he?'

'I don't believe that man ever could have struck his wife or kicked the maid.'

'That's calling him a liar.'

'Oh dear, I forgot that he said so himself. Then I suppose he must have done it. What a pity it seems.'

'Cheer up! We must say what the old heathen lady said when they read the gospels to her.'

'What did she say?'

'She said, "Well, it was a long time ago, and we'll hope that it wasn't true!"'

'O Frank, how can you tell such stories in a church. Do you really suppose that Mr. Pepys is in that wall?'

'I presume that the monument marks the grave.'

'There's a little bit of plaster loose. Do you think I might take it?'

'It isn't quite the thing.'