Jimmy Quixote Part 24

"Well, Mr. Larrance," he began--"I have read your book--after my reader's report upon it--and I may say that I have read it with very great pleasure." He coughed, and added, as an afterthought--"with very great pleasure indeed."

Jimmy had a feeling that this was the sort of man he would like to shake by the hand, if he got an opportunity. And oh--he should have the book cheap! Which thought, it may be noted as a rare coincidence, was also in the mind of the large-bearded man.

"At the same time, Mr. Larrance," went on the other--"I have a doubt whether the public will take to it. The public, my dear sir, is tricky; prefers, I fear, books which are not good for it; is something like a spoilt child, crying for sweets when it should be fed on oatmeal. On the other hand, there is a possibility that the book might catch on; one never can tell."

"We could hope that that would be so," suggested Jimmy.

The large man shook his head sadly. "Even a publisher cannot live on hope," he said. "However, Mr. Larrance, I am half inclined to take the risk--I am, indeed. People will probably call me foolish--but I must put up with that. Now--shall we talk about terms?"

He pulled a sheet of paper towards him, and took up a pencil, and began to make figures upon the paper--figures over which he shook his large head, and pursed up his lips. Jimmy watched him, fascinated; for, of course, it was a well-known fact that if once you got a book published, you sat still for ever afterwards, while the publisher sent you cheques; or, at all events, you sat still until you felt inclined to write another book. Jimmy held his breath in awe of the great man who could do these things; and incidentally wondered whether he paid monthly, or quarterly, or half yearly.

"I like to deal fairly with people--especially young people," said the big man, beaming upon Jimmy, the while Jimmy's heart expanded to him. "I would propose that we do this thing together."

"Together?" Jimmy looked at him in some perplexity.

"Yes"--the big man was absolutely warming with his subject and benevolence stirred his very beard--"together. We'll share the thing; we'll share expenses, and we'll share profits. How do you like that proposal?"

"Well"--Jimmy looked at him, and was conscious that his face was burning--"I should be delighted; but I'm not a capitalist. I have no money that I could expend."

"I have not asked you to expend anything," retorted the other, with a smile. "I will pay for everything; I will produce the book--pay for advertis.e.m.e.nts--everything. Then, when the profits come in, everything will be divided, after deducting expenses. You pay nothing--and you may receive something--if we're lucky. The only risk taken will be by me."

Jimmy began to feel that here was a man who should at least be canonised at the earliest opportunity; a man about whom the world ought to know.

It was wonderful that a man of this character should sit in this place, doing good with a large heart and a large hand, and that so few people knew about it. Jimmy's pleasure must have shown itself in his face; for the large man held up a warning hand.

"Now, don't thank me; this is a matter of business," he said. "You may get nothing out of it, although that is very unlikely; and I may lose a lot of money--which is very likely indeed. But in any case we shall know that we have done our best. Say the word, and I'll have an agreement drawn up, and send it to you."

Jimmy said the word; in his grat.i.tude he said many words. Finally he went out of the office with a light heart and a light step, feeling that he had made another great and powerful friend.

There came the time--the time that comes only once in one's life!--when the first proofs of the book were received; proofs to be lingered over lovingly, and left conspicuously on Jimmy's desk for the edification of chance callers. Finally the book itself, with some copies which belonged to him by right.

Curiously enough, according to the melancholy account given by the big-bearded man, the thing fell flat; he said the public wasn't ripe for it. Jimmy saw it in book-sellers' windows now and then; and some of the notices were kind, and one actually dug out that Idea, and made the most of it; said there was something new about it. Jimmy ventured, after a decent interval, to go and see the publisher; was kept waiting a little longer than before, but was finally shown in. There he learned for the first time the disastrous thing he had done--so far, that is, as the big man was concerned.

"I told you there was a risk," said the man, smiling as cheerfully as ever; "and I made it clear, I think, that I took the risk, and you didn't. My dear young friend"--the big man dived among a heap of papers, and brought out one particular sheet, which he perused with his head on one side--"you owe me quite a decent sum of money."

"But you said----"

"Only on paper, of course," broke in the other quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you; there's nothing for you to pay. _I_ attend to that part of the business, and I may say that from an artistic point of view I am proud to have brought the book out--proud to feel that I have, even at a loss, put such a story before the public. I shall have another go at it, and see if I can't make it hum a little yet."

Whether the big man ever really did make it "hum" or not it is impossible to say; but it may be mentioned here that at the end of some months Jimmy received an account from the publisher, informing him that there was a sum against him in their books of a mere trifle of 6 5s.

9d.; and the account was accompanied by a cheery letter from the big man, informing him kindly that this was a mere formality, to enable them to keep their books straight. And wound up with a casual suggestion--"When are we to have another book from you?"

But this by the way. It only happened, of course, some months after that first interview; but it left its sting on Jimmy nevertheless. It is only mentioned here because indirectly it was to change Jimmy's life; indirectly it was to bring him on the path his wandering feet had been seeking for so long. Before he knew the disaster he felt he had brought upon the big-bearded man, Jimmy received a letter, sent through the office of that gentleman; a letter which caused him to catch his breath, and to open his eyes, and to feel that the world was still a wonderful place, despite all that the cynics might say.

Someone had actually discovered the Idea!

The letter was headed with the name of a theatre; it was written in a sprawling hand difficult to decipher; and it was signed by a certain Mr.

Bennett G.o.dsby. As everyone knew the name of Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby, Jimmy for a moment or two felt the room going round him, and wondered, after that glance at the signature, what so great a man could possibly have to say to him. Then he tackled the letter.

It appeared that Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby had happened to have his attention called to the book; had read it; and had dug out of it that Idea which had for others been so carefully concealed. With a feeling of pity for the probable ignorance of Mr. James Larrance in regard to such matters, Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby begged to inform that gentleman that the name of Bennett G.o.dsby was known on two sides of the Atlantic, as an actor who had played many parts, and who, as it happened, was at that time in want of a play. If any dramatic version of the story had been done, Mr.

Bennett G.o.dsby would be glad to see it; in any case, it might be well if he could see Mr. Larrance. The Idea appeared to be a strong one, and something ought to be made of it. So Jimmy, greatly elated, went off to the theatre at a time that had been suggested by the great man himself.

Inquiring at the stage door, he was kept waiting for a time, in company with a man who was smoking a pipe--a gas stove--and a very old dog.

While he waited, a harsh little swing-door kept banging backwards and forwards on its hinges, to admit or to let out various men and women, who all seemed to be in a great hurry, and who all seemed also to know each other remarkably well. Presently Jimmy was requested by the man (who laid down his pipe at a summons from someone within) to step with him; and stepping accordingly, found himself, after traversing various long pa.s.sages and flights of stone steps, stumbling among the holland-covered stalls of the theatre, in semi-darkness, on his way to find Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby, who was seated, m.u.f.fled in an overcoat, in the second row.

On the dimly-lighted stage some sort of rehearsal was going forward, conducted for the most part by a pale and anxious young man, who was darting hither and thither among a crowd of people, endeavouring to get them into some semblance of order. Just as Jimmy reached Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby's side, and stood quaking, the great man stood up to roar out some instructions to the pale and anxious young man, while the latter craned forward over the footlights, at the imminent risk of his neck, to listen.

"Very good, sir," exclaimed the young man, with several emphatic nods; and plunged again among the crowd. Mr. G.o.dsby, bending his head the better to read Jimmy's card, held out a hand to him, and drew him down beside him. This being Jimmy's first experience of a theatre in its morning wrappers, he looked up curiously at the shrouded boxes and circles, and then at the stage; came back from that inspection, to find that Mr. G.o.dsby was speaking to him in a strong deep voice that could be heard easily even above the racket on the stage.

Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby was a small, spare man, with a rather lined face, and with deep-set eyes; he seemed to look Jimmy over carefully while he talked to him. The talk was difficult, because it was interrupted every now and then by Mr. G.o.dsby himself, when he stood up to shout at the stage, and by various people who came from time to time into the row of stalls behind, and whispered to Mr. G.o.dsby over his shoulder.

"Well, Mr. Larrance--I'm very glad to see you," he said. "Perhaps my letter was a little impulsive," he went on, with an indulgent smile--"but then I am nothing if not impulsive; it's the life, you know.

But there is something in your book that seems to appeal to me; something in that particular character that seems to move me. Have you had any experience with stage work?"

Jimmy was learning wisdom; Jimmy was giving over that habit of showing his hand on all occasions. Now he shrugged his shoulders, and spoke with what carelessness he might.

"I have studied it a great deal--from an outside point of view," he said. "You see, I am still rather--rather young."

"That is in your favour," said the other, with another smile. "Now, how does your work appeal to you in the sense of a play? Have you, for instance, thought of me in regard to it at all?"

Jimmy, again with wisdom, said that the idea had certainly occurred to him, and that he thought Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby would be the one man to interpret the character. Mr. G.o.dsby nodded, and smiled; then suddenly started up in a fury, and roared out at the young man on the stage:

"What in the world have you got those people up there for?" he shouted.

"Take 'em all back; show 'em exactly what I showed you yesterday. How do you think I'm going to make that entrance through that crowd, when they're all fighting together up in that corner? And teach 'em how to jeer; remember they've got to jeer at me at the beginning of that scene, or it goes for nothing." Absolute silence on the stage, while the pale young man craned his neck over the footlights, and nodded emphatically, and looked more anxious than ever. "Oh, my G.o.d!" concluded Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby, as he sank back into his stall--"the amount of work that I have to do with you people, because you won't remember from one day to the other----There--get on--get on, please!"

"Now, Mr. Larrance--what was I saying? Oh, to be sure--I wanted to know whether you had thought of me; and it seems you have. Very well, then--do you think that it is possible for you to make a play out of this--or have you already done anything in the way of a play with it?"

On Jimmy confessing that he had not yet done anything with it, the actor pulled a long face; on Jimmy a.s.suring him that it would not take very long, his face lengthened still more. But it came at last to the point that the great man stated, in urgent whispers, what he was prepared to do.

Jimmy was to set about and prepare that extraordinary thing known as a "synopsis"; was to set out, act by act, and scene by scene, what the play was to be; and, on that proving satisfactory, was to have twenty pounds. After that, on the completion of the play, another twenty--and there was to be a small percentage every time it was played.

"What you have to consider chiefly is to build the play"--Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby formed his hands roughly into the shape of a cup, as though he moulded the play within them--"to build the play round me. It may seem strange; but there is a certain public, I am given to understand, which wants me and demands me; and I have to consider that public. I think as a matter of fact"--Bennett G.o.dsby looked up at the proscenium arch, and raised his eyebrows, and smoothed the hair back from his forehead--"I really think there is a large section of the public that would be better satisfied if I was never off at all; if, in fact, I carried the whole thing on my shoulders. And mind you"--this very confidentially, with a hand upon Jimmy's arm--"on many occasions it has been my fate to _have_ to carry a play on my shoulders!"

Jimmy went back to his rooms, feeling that at last Fortune was treading hard upon his heels, and that his chance had really come. Already, as he walked, he seemed to see in the near future people turning in the street to glance at him; nudging each other as he went by. He saw himself seated at the theatre (he thought it wouldn't be a bad plan to appear rather bored, and to wear his honours coldly) and other people bowing to him, and saying who he was. He went back to his rooms, and seized the book, and plunged into it with fresh zest, although he knew it by heart.

So far as he could judge, it would take at a rough estimate at least six full acts to develop the Idea; and in three of those acts Mr. Bennett G.o.dsby, as the leading character, could not appear at all.

This was awkward, remembering the injunction laid upon him by that gentleman that the play must be built round him; Jimmy decided that many things would have to be left out--valuable things at that. But the Jimmy who had learnt his lesson in the old days, what time a certain gentleman in shirt-sleeves had compelled him to cut down and alter work ruthlessly, was a Jimmy who had learnt something of his business, and had left behind him a good deal that was unmarketable. It may sound shameful; but Jimmy had about him an adaptability that was surprising, and that had long since sounded the first notes of his success.

So while Jimmy, heedless of anything but the great prospect that was looming before him, set to work then and there, making copious notes, and lifting pa.s.sages out of the wonderful book that must not by any chance be omitted from the still more wonderful play that was to be written; and while the day drew on to a close, and the lamps were lit in the streets, and he still worked; someone set out for his rooms with the purpose of seeing him, someone who had been forgotten by Jimmy for the time, in the pressure of more urgent things. She came eagerly, and yet with a certain reluctance; she was turning to Jimmy in a crisis in her life, as to someone who might put a different complexion upon that life.

The girl was Moira.

She came almost straight from that momentous interview with Charlie; for in a curious way she felt that this was a matter upon which Jimmy must have a word to say. Charlie had held her in his arms, and had kissed her; and almost, as she walked through the lighted streets, she was a child again in the garden of the rectory, with Charlie's arm about her, and his lips striving to meet hers; almost, too, she was the girl who had hidden among the trees and seen Jimmy fight for her. Oh, yes--Jimmy must have a word to say!

What that word would be or what she desired it to be, she scarcely knew or cared to think. It is safe at least to say that in that inmost heart of hers--that heart she had kept concealed from everyone, and which it might be her fate never to show at all, Jimmy stood first. She had pa.s.sionately longed to see him; it had been Jimmy she was going to meet in London when first she came there with Patience; it was of Jimmy she had been so anxious to hear. On the other hand, of course, there was the natural girlish grat.i.tude to the man who had spoken the first words of love to her--the man who had stepped brightly into her life, and stripped away her loneliness. An additional factor, too, in the case, and one which weighed with her heavily, was that Charlie needed help and guidance; had indeed asked for her strength to lean upon. Jimmy apparently needed no help and no guidance, and had strength enough for himself. Nevertheless, Jimmy must have a word to say in the matter.

Jimmy heard the tap upon the door; felt in his own mind that it heralded a visitor who would interrupt the important work--that work at the end of which lay a much-needed twenty pounds, to say nothing of fame and success. Glancing round impatiently from his desk, he called to the unknown one to come in.

She opened the door timidly, and looked in; and as she saw him then she was destined to remember him, many and many a time; to keep that picture of him in her mind. He sat within the circle of light thrown by his reading lamp; the rest of the room was in shadow. The desk was littered with papers, and Jimmy was evidently furiously at work. Even as she hesitated at the door, she seemed to see here the successful man of affairs--the man who prospered, and to whom work was readily given.

"Oh, it's you, Moira," he said, laying down his pen, and even then pausing for a moment to look at the work he left. "Come in."