The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton Part 38

"I'm afraid I should like to," Mr. Waddington began,--"I mean I should be delighted."

"What are you afraid about?" Burton asked quickly.

Mr. Waddington mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Burton," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "I think it's coming on! I'm glad we are going to the _Milan_. I wish we could go to a music-hall to-night.

That woman was attractive!"

Burton set his teeth.

"I can't help it," he muttered. "I can't help anything. Here goes for a good time!"

He dismissed the taxi and entered the Milan, swaggering just a little.

They lunched together and neither showed their usual discrimination in the selection of the meal. In place of the light wine which Mr.

Waddington generally chose, they had champagne. They drank Benedictine with their coffee and smoked cigars instead of cigarettes. Their conversation was a trifle jerky and Mr. Waddington kept on returning to the subject of the Menatogen Company.

"You know, I've three beans left, Burton," he explained, towards the end of the meal. "I don't know why I should keep them. They'd only last a matter of seven months, anyway. I've got to go back sometime. Do you think I could get in with you in the company?"

"We'll go and--Why, there is Mr. Bunsome!" Burton exclaimed. "Mr.

Bunsome!"

The company promoter was just pa.s.sing their table. He turned around at the sound of his name. For a moment he failed to recognize Burton.

There was very little likeness between the pale, contemptuous young man with the dreamy eyes, who had sat opposite to him at the professor's dinner table a few nights ago, and this flushed young man who had just attracted his attention, and who had evidently been lunching exceedingly well. It was part of his business, however, to remember faces, and his natural apt.i.tude came to his a.s.sistance.

"How do you do, Mr. Burton?" he said. "Glad to meet you again.

Spending some of the Menatogen profits, eh?"

"Friend of mine here--Mr. Waddington," Burton explained. "Mr. Cowper knows all about him. He owns the rest of the beans, you know."

Mr. Bunsome was at once interested.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Mr. Waddington!" he declared, holding out his hand. "Indirectly, you are connected with one of the most marvelous discoveries of modern days."

"I should like to make it 'directly,'" Mr. Waddington said. "Do you think my three beans would get me in on the ground floor?"

Mr. Bunsome was a little surprised.

"I understood from the professor," he remarked, "that your friend was not likely to care about entering into this?"

Burton, for a moment, half closed his eyes.

"I remember," he said. "Last night I didn't think he would care about it. I find I was mistaken."

Mr. Bunsome looked at his watch.

"I am meeting Mr. Cowper this afternoon," he said, "and Mr. Bomford.

I know that the greatest difficulty that we have to face at present is the very minute specimens of this wonderful--er--vegetable, from which we have to prepare the food. I should think it very likely that we might be able to offer you an interest in return for your beans. Will you call at my office, Mr. Waddington, at ten o'clock to-morrow morning--number 17, Norfolk Street?"

"With pleasure," Mr. Waddington a.s.sented. "Have a drink?"

Mr. Bunsome did not hesitate--it was not his custom to refuse any offer of the sort! He sat down at their table and ordered a sherry and bitters. Mr. Waddington seemed to have expanded. He did not mention the subject of architecture. More than once Mr. Bunsome glanced with some surprise at Burton. The young man completely puzzled him. They talked about Menatogen and its possibilities, and Burton kept harking back to the subject of profits. Mr. Bunsome at last could contain his curiosity no longer.

"Say," he remarked, "you had a headache or something the other night, I think? Seemed as quiet as they make 'em down at the old professor's. I tell you I shouldn't have known you again."

Burton was suddenly white. Mr. Waddington plunged in.

"Dry old stick, the professor, anyway, from what I've heard," he said.

"Now don't you forget, Mr. Bunsome. I shall be round at your office at ten o'clock sharp to-morrow, and I expect to be let into the company.

Three beans I've got, and remember they're worth something. They took that old Egyptian Johnny--him and his family, of course--a matter of a thousand years to grow, and there's no one else on to them. Why, they're unique, and they do the trick, too--that I can speak for. Paid the bill, Burton?"

Burton nodded. The two men shook hands with Mr. Bunsome and prepared to leave. They walked out into the Strand.

"Got anything to do this afternoon particular?" Mr. Waddington asked, after a moment's hesitation.

"Not a thing," Burton replied, puffing at his cigar and unconsciously altering slightly the angle of his hat.

"Wouldn't care about a game of billiards at the Golden Lion, I suppose?"

Mr. Waddington suggested.

"Rather!" Burton a.s.sented. "Let's buy the girls some flowers and take a taxi down. Go down in style, eh? I'll pay."

Mr. Waddington looked at his companion--watched him, indeed, hail the taxi--and groaned. A sudden wave of half-ashamed regret swept through him. It was gone, then, this brief peep into a wonderful world! His own fall was imminent. The click of the b.a.l.l.s was in his ears, the taste of strong drink was inviting him. The hard laugh and playful familiarities of the buxom young lady were calling to him. He sighed and took his place by his companion's side.

CHAPTER XXVII

MR. WADDINGTON ALSO

With his hat at a very distinct angle indeed, with a fourpenny cigar, ornamented by a gold band, in his mouth, Burton sat before a hard-toned piano and vamped.

"Pretty music, The Chocolate Soldier," he remarked, with an air of complete satisfaction in his performance.

Miss Maud, who was standing by his side with her hand laid lightly upon his shoulder, a.s.sented vigorously.

"And you do play it so nicely, Mr. Burton," she said. "It makes me long to see it again. I haven't been to the theatre for heaven knows how long!"

Burton turned round in his stool. "What are you doing to-night?" he asked. "Nothing," the young lady replied, eagerly. "Take me to the theatre, there's a dear."

"Righto!" he declared. "I expect I can manage it."

Miss Maud waltzed playfully around the room, her hands above her head.

She put her head out of the door and called into the bar.

"Milly, Mr. Burton's taking me to the theatre to-night. Why don't you get Mr. Waddington to come along? We can both get a night off if you make up to the governor for a bit."

"I'll try," was the eager reply,--"that is, if Mr. Waddington's agreeable."

Maud came back to her place by the piano. She was a plump young lady with a pink and white complexion, which suffered slightly from lack of exercise and fresh air and over-use of powder. Her hair was yellower than her friend's, but it also owed some part of its beauty to artificial means. In business hours she was attired in an exceedingly tight-fitting black dress, disfigured in many places by the accidents of her profession.