A Man's Man Part 32

"I wonder," he said, lighting a spill and puffing, "where young Lance got his figures from. I also wonder what the game is. He was obviously a bit worked up, and I should say he had been fortifying himself for the interview before he arrived. I knew, of course, that he had never forgiven me for being put in charge of Joey's affairs: he has always made things as difficult for me as possible. Perhaps he wants a trifle for himself: his closing remarks rather pointed that way. But what on earth is friend Haliburton doing in that galley? I fancy he has been at the back of things all along. What interest has _he_ in the amount of Joey's fortune? I don't know much about him, but I wouldn't trust him a yard. Perhaps Lance owes him money. Have they gone, John?"

"Aye," replied Mr. Goble. "They went quite quietly," he added regretfully.

He began to lay the table for luncheon.

"I say, John," began Hughie awkwardly.

"Aye?"

"There's a thing I want to speak to you about. I have been losing money lately, and I have to give up some luxuries I can't afford. I--I am afraid you are one of them. I have always regarded a man-servant as an extravagance," he went on with a rush, "and I must ask you to look about for another place. Take your time, of course, and don't leave me till you are suited. I shall be glad to give you a character, and all that.

You understand?"

There was a silence, while Mr. Goble folded a napkin. Then he replied: "Fine!" Then he added, after a pause, "So you've been lossin' your money? Aye! Aha! Mphm!"

"Yes. I'm desperately sorry," said Hughie penitently. "I don't want to lose you. Perhaps it will only be tempor--"

"You'll no be daen' that yet a while," remarked Mr. Goble morosely. "I'm an ill body tae move."

"But, John, you don't understand. I can't afford to keep you for more than--"

"There a cab!" observed Mr. Goble.

Hughie looked down out of the window.

"So it is," he said hastily. "I'll show them up, John. You go on with your work."

He was across and out of the room in three strides, and could be heard descending the stairs kangaroo fashion.

Mr. John Goble breathed heavily into a spoon and rubbed it with the point of his elbow.

"I wunner wha his visitors is," he mused caustically. "Of course he always opens the door himsel' tae all his visitors! Of course I dinna ken wha she is! Oh, no!"

He wagged his head in a broken-hearted manner, and gave vent to a depressing sound which a brother Scot would have recognised as a chuckle of intense amus.e.m.e.nt.

To him entered Miss Ursula Harbord. She wore _pince-nez_ and a sage-green costume of some art fabric--one of the numerous crimes committed in the name of Liberty. She was Joan Gaymer's latest fad; and under her persuasive tutelage Joan was beginning to learn that the men who all her life had served her slightest whim were at once monsters of duplicity and brainless idiots; and that, given a few more fervid and ungrammatical articles in "The New Woman," women would shortly come to their own and march in the van of civilisation, and that people like Ursula Harbord would march in the van of the women.

Pending this glorious destiny, Miss Harbord acted as unsettler-in-general of Joan's domestic instincts, and worried Hughie considerably.

She was followed into the room by Joan; very much the Joan of last summer, if we make allowances for the distressing appearance presented by a young woman of considerable personal attractions who is compelled by Fashion's decree, for this season at any rate, to obscure her features under a hat which looks like an unsuccessful compromise between a waste-paper basket and a dish-cover.

"Well, John," she inquired in her friendly fashion, "have you quite settled down in London?"

"Aye, mem."

"Not missing Scotland?" continued Joan, peeling off her white gloves and sitting down in an arm-chair.

"Naething to speak of," said John.

"I thought," continued Miss Gaymer, surveying Mr. Goble's Cimmerian features, "that you had perhaps left your heart there."

"Ma hairt? What for would I dae a thing like that?" enquired the literal Mr. Goble. "A hairt is no a thing a body can dae wi'oot," he explained.

"It's no like a rib. Ye jist get the ane, so ye canna afford tae get leavin' it ony place."

Miss Gaymer smilingly abandoned the topic, and in all probability the ghost of Sydney Smith chuckled.

"When are you going to pay us another visit at Manors?" was Joan's next question.

"I'm no sure," said Mr. Goble. "Mr. Marrable has jist given me notice."

"Oh, John!" said Joan, "what have you been doing? Breaking his china?"

"Drinking his wine?" suggested Miss Harbord, turning from a scornful inspection of Hughie's stock of current literature.

"I doot I'm no givin' satisfaction," said John.

"But, John, I am _sure_ you are!" said Joan. "Was that the reason he gave?"

"He said he was givin' up keepin' a man-servant."

Miss Harbord, who had been craning her neck to see something in the street, turned round sharply.

"Why? Has he been losing money?"

"I couldna say, mem," said Mr. Goble woodenly. He shared his master's antipathy to Miss Harbord.

That lady shook her head resignedly.

"I thought so!" she said. "Joan, dear--"

At this moment Hughie entered, and Miss Harbord's fire was diverted.

"Mr. Marrable, have you got rid of that cabman?" she enquired with truculence.

"Rather!" said Hughie. "He went like a lamb."

"He was intoxicated," remarked Miss Harbord freezingly.

"I didn't notice it," said Hughie. "He was quite tractable. Apparently you engaged him at Hyde Park Terrace and stopped at two shops on the way."

"That is correct."

"And you gave him one and threepence for a drive of over two miles and a stop of about ten minutes."

"His legal fare. We employed him for exactly half an hour."

"But did you tell him that you were engaging him by the hour?"

"Of course not! They simply _crawl_ if you do. You might have known that, Mr. Marrable."