Denry the Audacious Part 31

Mrs. Cap.r.o.n-Smith and Denry glanced at each other, and even Mrs.

Cap.r.o.n-Smith was at a loss for a moment. Then Ruth approached Mrs.

Cotterill and took her hand. Perhaps Mrs. Cap.r.o.n-Smith was not so astonished after all. She and Nellie's mother had always been "very friendly." And in the Five Towns "very friendly" means a lot.

"Perhaps if you were to leave us," Ruth suggested, twisting her head to glance at Denry.

It was exactly what he desired to do. There could be no doubt that Ruth was supremely a woman of the world. Her tact was faultless.

He left them, saying to himself: "Well, here 's a go!"

In the hall, through an open door, he saw Councillor Cotterill standing against the dining-room mantelpiece.

When Cotterill caught sight of Denry he straightened himself into a certain uneasy perkiness.

"Young man," he said in a counterfeit of his old patronising tone, "come in here. You may as well hear about it. You 're a friend of ours.

Come in and shut the door."

Nellie was not in view.

Denry went in and shut the door.

"Sit down," said Cotterill.

And it was just as if he had said: "Now, you 're a fairly bright sort of youth, and you have n't done so badly in life; and as a reward I mean to admit you to the privilege of hearing about our ill-luck, which for some mysterious reason reflects more credit on me than your good luck reflects on you, young man."

And he stroked his straggling grey beard.

"I 'm going to file my pet.i.tion to-morrow," said he, and gave a short laugh.

"Really!" said Denry, who could think of nothing else to say. His name was not Cap.r.o.n-Smith.

"Yes; they won't leave me any alternative," said Mr. Cotterill.

Then he gave a brief history of his late commercial career to the young man. And he seemed to figure it as a sort of tug-of-war between his creditors and his debtors, he himself being the rope. He seemed to imply that he had always done his sincere best to attain the greatest good of the greatest number, but that those wrong-headed creditors had consistently thwarted him. However, he bore them no grudge. It was the fortune of the tug-of-war. He pretended, with shabby magnificence of spirit, that a bankruptcy at the age of near sixty, in a community where one has cut a figure, is a mere pa.s.sing episode.

"Are you surprised?" he asked foolishly, with a sheepish smile.

Denry took vengeance for all the patronage that he had received during a decade.

"No!" he said. "Are you?"

Instead of kicking Denry out of the house for an impudent young jackanapes, Mr. Cotterill simply resumed his sheepish smile.

Denry had been surprised for a moment, but he had quickly recovered.

Cotterill's downfall was one of those events which any person of acute intelligence can foretell after they have happened. Cotterill had run the risks of the speculative builder, and mortgaged, built and mortgaged, sold at a profit, sold without profit, sold at a loss, and failed to sell; given bills, given second mortgages, given third mortgages; and because he was a builder and could do nothing but build, he had continued to build in defiance of Bursley's lack of enthusiasm for his erections. If rich gold deposits had been discovered in Bursley Munic.i.p.al Park, Cotterill would have owned a mining camp and ama.s.sed immense wealth; but unfortunately gold deposits were not discovered in the Park. n.o.body knew his position; n.o.body ever does know the position of a speculative builder. He did not know it himself. There had been rumours, but they had been contradicted in an adequate way. His recent refusal of the mayoral chain, due to lack of spare coin, had been attributed to prudence. His domestic existence had always been conducted on the same moderately lavish scale. He had always paid the baker, the butcher, the tailor, the dressmaker.

And now he was to file his pet.i.tion in bankruptcy, and to-morrow the entire town would have "been seeing it coming" for years.

"What shall you do?" Denry inquired in amicable curiosity.

"Well," said Cotterill, "that's the point. I 've got a brother, a builder in Toronto, you know. He 's doing very well; building is building over there! I wrote to him a bit since, and he replied by the next mail-by the next mail-that what he wanted was just a man like me to overlook things. He's getting an old man now, is John. So, you see, there 's an opening waiting for me."

As if to say, "The righteous are never forsaken."

"I tell you all this as you 're a friend of the family like," he added.

Then, after an expanse of vagueness, he began hopefully, cheerfully, undauntedly:

"Even _now_ if I could get hold of a couple of thousand I could pull through handsome-and there 's plenty of security for it."

"Bit late now, isn't it?"

"Not it! If only some one who really knows the town, and has faith in the property market, would come down with a couple of thousand-well, he might double it in five years."

"Really!"

"Yes," said Cotterill. "Look at Clare Street!"

Clare Street was one of his terra-cotta masterpieces.

"You, now!" said Cotterill, insinuating. "I don't expect any one can teach _you_ much about the value o' property in this town. You know as well as I do. If you happened to have a couple of thousand loose-by gosh! it's a chance in a million!"

"Yes," said Denry. "I should say that was just about what it was."

"I put it before you," Cotterill proceeded, gathering way, and missing the flavour of Denry's remark. "Because you 're a friend of the family.

You 're so often here. Why, it's pretty near ten years..."

Denry sighed: "I expect I come and see you all about once a fortnight fairly regular. That makes two hundred and fifty times in ten years.

Yes...."

"A couple of thou'," said Cotterill reflectively.

"Two hundred and fifty into two thousand-eight. Eight pounds a visit. A shade thick, Cotterill, a shade thick! You might be half a dozen fashionable physicians rolled into one."

Never before had he called the Councillor "Cotterill" unadorned.

Mr. Cotterill flushed and rose.

Denry does not appear to advantage in this interview. He failed in magnanimity. The only excuse that can be offered for him is that Mr.

Cotterill had called him "young man" once or twice too often in the course of ten years. It is subtle.

III

"No," whispered Ruth, in all her wraps. "Don't bring it up to the door.

I 'll walk down with you to the gate, and get in there."