pgw.uneasymoney-第8部分

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s　Tom；　the　liftman　from　downstairs；　a　friendly　soul　who　hailed　from　London　and　had　been　dropping　in　at　intervals　during　the　past　two　days　to　acquire　the　latest　news　from　his　native　land。　He　stared　at　this　changeling　inquiringly。　The　solution　of　the　mystery　came　with　the　stranger's　first　words
　'Is　Gates　in？'
　He　spoke　eagerly；　as　if　Gates　were　extremely　necessary　to　his　well…being。　It　distressed　Lord　Dawlish　to　disappoint　him；　but　there　was　nothing　else　to　be　done。
　'Gates　is　in　London；'　he　said。
　'What！　When　did　he　go　there？'
　'About　four　months　ago。'
　'May　I　e　in　a　minute？'
　'Yes；　rather；　do。'
　He　led　the　way　into　the　sitting…room。　The　stranger　gave　abruptly　in　the　middle；　as　if　he　were　being　folded　up　by　some　invisible　agency；　and　in　this　attitude　sank　into　a　chair；　where　he　lay　back　looking　at　Bill　over　his　knees；　like　a　sorrowful　sheep　peering　over　a　sharp…pointed　fence。
　'You're　from　England；　aren't　you？'
　'Yes。'
　'Been　in　New　York　long？'
　'Only　a　couple　of　days。'
　The　stranger　folded　himself　up　another　foot　or　so　until　his　knees　were　higher　than　his　head；　and　lit　a　cigarette。
　'The　curse　of　New　York；'　he　said；　mournfully；　'is　the　way　everything　changes　in　it。　You　can't　take　your　eyes　off　it　for　a　minute。　The　population's　always　shifting。　It's　like　a　railway　station。　You　go　away　for　a　bit　and　e　back　and　try　to　find　your　old　pals；　and　they're　all　gone：　Ike's　in　Arizona；　Mike's　in　a　sanatorium；　Spike's　in　jail；　and　nobody　seems　to　know　where　the　rest　of　them　have　got　to。　I　came　up　from　the　country　two　days　ago；　expecting　to　find　the　old　gang　along　Broadway　the　same　as　ever；　and　I'm　dashed　if　I've　been　able　to　put　my　hands　on　one　of　them！　Not　a　single；　solitary　one　of　them！　And　it's　only　six　months　since　I　was　here　last。'
　Lord　Dawlish　made　sympathetic　noises。
　'Of　course；'　proceeded　the　other；　'the　time　of　year　may　have　something　to　do　with　it。　Living　down　in　the　country　you　lose　count　of　time；　and　I　forgot　that　it　was　July；　when　people　go　out　of　the　city。　I　guess　that　must　be　what　happened。　I　used　to　know　all　sorts　of　fellows；　actors　and　fellows　like　that；　and　they're　all　away　somewhere。　I　tell　you；'　he　said；　with　pathos；　'I　never　knew　I　could　be　so　infernally　lonesome　as　I　have　been　these　last　two　days。　If　I　had　known　what　a　rotten　time　I　was　going　to　have　I　would　never　have　left　Brookport。'
　'Brookport！'
　'It's　a　place　down　on　Long　Island。'
　Bill　was　not　by　nature　a　plotter；　but　the　mere　fact　of　travelling　under　an　assumed　name　had　developed　a　streak　of　wariness　in　him。　He　checked　himself　just　as　he　was　about　to　ask　his　panion　if　he　happened　to　know　a　Miss　Elizabeth　Boyd；　who　also　lived　at　Brookport。　It　occurred　to　him　that　the　question　would　invite　a　counter…question　as　to　his　own　knowledge　of　Miss　Boyd；　and　he　knew　that　he　would　not　be　able　to　invent　a　satisfactory　answer　to　that　offhand。
　'This　evening；'　said　the　thin　young　man；　resuming　his　dirge；　'I　was　sweating　my　brain　to　try　to　think　of　somebody　I　could　hunt　up　in　this　ghastly；　deserted　city。　It　isn't　so　easy；　you　know；　to　think　of　fellows'　names　and　addresses。　I　can　get　the　names　all　right；　but　unless　the　fellow's　in　the　telephone…book；　I'm　done。　Well；　I　was　trying　to　think　of　some　of　my　pals　who　might　still　be　around　the　place；　and　I　remembered　Gates。　Remembered　his　address；　too；　by　a　miracle。　You're　a　pal　of　his；　of　course？'
　'Yes；　I　knew　him　in　London。'
　'Oh；　I　see。　And　when　you　came　over　here　he　lent　you　his　flat？　By　the　way；　I　didn't　get　your　name？'
　'My　name's　Chalmers。'
　'Well；　as　I　say；　I　remembered　Gates　and　came　down　here　to　look　him　up。　We　used　to　have　a　lot　of　good　times　together　a　year　ago。　And　now　he's　gone　too！'
　'Did　you　want　to　see　him　about　anything　important？'
　'Well；　it's　important　to　me。　I　wanted　him　to　e　out　to　supper。　You　see；　it's　this　way：　I'm　giving　supper　to…night　to　a　girl　who's　in　that　show　at　the　Forty…ninth　Street　Theatre；　a　Miss　Leonard；　and　she　insists　on　bringing　a　pal。　She　says　the　pal　is　a　good　sport；　which　sounds　all　right'　Bill　admitted　that　it　sounded　all　right。　'But　it　makes　the　party　three。　And　of　all　the　infernal　things　a　party　of　three　is　the　ghastliest。'
　Having　delivered　himself　of　this　undeniable　truth　the　stranger　slid　a　little　farther　into　his　chair　and　paused。　'Look　here；　what　are　you　doing　to…night？'　he　said。
　'I　was　thinking　of　going　to　bed。'
　'Going　to　bed！'　The　stranger's　voice　was　shocked；　as　if　he　had　heard　blasphemy。　'Going　to　bed　at　half…past　ten　in　New　York！　My　dear　chap；　what　you　want　is　a　bit　of　supper。　Why　don't　you　e　along？'
　Amiability　was；　perhaps；　the　leading　quality　of　Lord　Dawlish's　character。　He　did　not　want　to　have　to　dress　and　go　out　to　supper；　but　there　was　something　almost　pleading　in　the　eyes　that　looked　at　him　between　the　sharply…pointed　knees。
　'It's　awfully　good　of　you'　He　hesitated。
　'Not　a　bit；　I　wish　you　would。　You　would　be　a　life…saver。'
　Bill　felt　that　he　was　in　for　it。　He　got　up。
　'You　will？'　said　the　other。　'Good　boy！　You　go　and　get　into　some　clothes　and　e　along。　I'm　sorry；　what　did　you　say　your　name　was？'
　'Chalmers。'
　'Mine's　BoydNutbe　Boyd。'
　'Boyd！'　cried　Bill。
　Nutty　took　his　astonishment；　which　was　too　great　to　be　concealed；　as　a　pliment。　He　chuckled。
　'I　thought　you　would　know　the　name　if　you　were　a　pal　of　Gates's。　I　expect　he's　always　talking　about　me。　You　see；　I　was　pretty　well　known　in　this　old　place　before　I　had　to　leave　it。'
　Bill　walked　down　the　long　passage　to　his　bedroom　with　no　trace　of　the　sleepiness　which　had　been　weighing　on　him　five　minutes　before。　He　was　galvanized　by　a　superstitious　thrill。　It　was　fate；　Elizabeth　Boyd's　brother　turning　up　like　this　and　making　friendly　overtures　right　on　top　of　that　letter　from　her。　This　astonishing　thing　could　not　have　been　better　arranged　if　he　had　planned　it　himself。　From　what　little　he　had　seen　of　Nutty　he　gathered　that　the　latter　was　not　hard　to　make　friends　with。　It　would　be　a　simple　task　to　cultivate　his　acquaintance。　And　having　done　so；　he　could　renew　negotiations　with　Elizabeth。　The　desire　to　rid　himself　of　half　the　legacy　had　bee　a　fixed　idea　with　Bill。　He　had　the　impression　that　he　could　not　really　feel　clean　again　until　he　had　made　matters　square　with　his　conscience　in　this　respect。　He　felt　that　he　was　probably　a　fool　to　take　that　view　of　the　thing；　but　that　was　the　way　he　was　built　and　there　was　no　getting　away　from　it。
　This　irruption　of　Nutty　Boyd　into　his　life　was　an　omen。　It　meant　that　all　was　not　yet　over。　He　was　conscious　of　a　mild　surprise　that　he　had　ever　intended　to　go　to　bed。　He　felt　now　as　if　he　never　wanted　to　go　to　bed　again。　He　felt　exhilarated。
　In　these　days　one　cannot　say　that　a　supper…party　is　actually　given　in　any　one　place。　Supping　in　New　York　has　bee　a　peripatetic　pastime。　The　supper…party　arranged　by　Nutty　Boyd　was　scheduled　to　start　at　Reigelheimer's　on　Forty…second　Street；　and　it　was　there　that　the　revellers　assembled。
　Nutty　and　Bill　had　been　there　a　few　minutes　when　Miss　Daisy　Leonard　arrived　with　her　friend。　And　from　that　moment　Bill　was　never　himself　again。
　The　Good　Sport　was；　so　to　speak；　an　outsize　in　Good　Sports。　She　loomed　up　behind　the　small　and　demure　Miss　Leonard　like　a　liner　towed　by　a　tug。　She　was　big；　blonde；　skittish；　and　exuberant；　she　wore　a　dress　like　the　sunset　of　a　fine　summer　evening；　and　she　effervesced　with　spacious　good　will　to　all　men。　She　was　one　of　those　girls　who　splash　into　public　places　like　stones　into　quiet　pools。　Her　form　was　large；　her　eyes　were　large；　her　teeth　were　large；　and　her　voice　was　large。　She　overwhelmed　Bill。　She　hit　his　astounded　consciousness　like　a　shell。　She　gave　him　a　buzzing　in　the　ears。　She　was　not　so　much　a　Good　Sport　as　some　kind　of　an　explosion。
　He　was　still　reeling　from　the　spiritual　impact　with　this　female　tidal　wave　when　he　became　aware；　as　one　who；　ing　out　of　a　swoon；　hears　voices　faintly；　that　he　was　being　addressed　by　Miss　Leonard。　To　turn　from　Miss　Leonard's　friend　to　Miss　Leonard　herself　was　like　hearing　the　falling　of　gentle　rain　after　a　thunderstorm。　For　a　moment　he　revelled　in　the　sense　of　being　soothed；　then；　as　he　realized　what　she　was　saying；　he　started　violently。　Miss　Leonard　was　looking　at　him　curiously。
　'I　beg　your　pardon？'　said　Bill。
　'I'm　sure　I've　met　you　before；　Mr　Chalmers。'
　'Erreally？'
　'But　I　can't　think　where。'
　'I'm　sure；'　said　the　Good　Sport；　languishingly；　like　a　sentimental　siege…gun；　'that　if　I　had　ever　met　Mr　Chalmers　before　I　shouldn't　have　forgotten　him。'
　'You're　English；　aren't　you？'　asked　Miss　Leonard。
　'Yes。'
　The　Good　Sport　said　she　was　crazy　about　Englishmen。
　'I　thought　so　from　your　voice。'
　The　Good　Sport　said　that　she　was　crazy　about　the　English　accent。
　'It　must　have　been　in　London　that　I　met　you。　I　was　in　the　revue　at　the　Alhambra　last　year。'
　'By　George；　I　wish　I　had　seen　you！'　interjected　the　infatuated　Nutty。
　The　Good　Sport　said　that　she　was　crazy　about　London。
　'I　seem　to　remember；'　went　on　Miss　Leonard；　'meeting　you　out　at　supper。　Do　you　know　a　man　named　Delaney　in　the　Coldstream　Guards？'
　Bill　would　have　liked　to　deny　all　knowledge　of　Delaney；　though　the　latter　was　one　of　his　best　friends；　but　his　natural　honesty　prevented　him。
　'I'm　sure　I　met　you　at　a　supper　he　gave　at　Oddy's　one　Friday　night。　We　all　went　on　to　Covent　Garden。　Don't　you　remember？'
　'Talking　of　supper；'　broke　in　Nutty；　earning　Bill's　hearty　gratitude　thereby；　'where's　the　dashed　head…waiter？　I　want　to　find　my　table。'
　He　surveyed　the　restaurant　with　a　melancholy　eye。
　'Everything　changed！'　He　spoke　sadly；　as　Ulysses　might　have　done　when　his　boat　put　in　at　Ithaca。　'Every　darned　thing　different　since　I　was　here　last。　New　waiter；　head…waiter　I　never　saw　before　in　my　life；　different…coloured　carpet'
　'Cheer　up；　Nutty；　old　thing！'　said　Miss　Leonard。　'You'll　feel　better　when　you've　had　something　to　eat。　I　hope　you　had　the　sense　to　tip　the　head…waiter；　or　there　won't　be　any　table。　Funny　how　these　places　go　up　and　down　in　New　York。　A　year　ago　the　whole　management　would　turn　out　and　kiss　you　if　you　looked　like　spending　a　couple　of　dollars　here。　Now　it　costs　the　earth　to　get　in　at　all。'
　'Why's　that？'　asked　Nutty。
　'Lady　Pauline　Wetherby；　of　course。　Didn't　you　know　this　was　where　she　danced？'
　'Never　heard　of　her；'　said　Nutty；　in　a　sort　of　ecstasy　of　wistful　gloom。　'That　will　show　you　how　long　I've　been　away。　Who　is　she？'
　Miss　Leonard　invoked　the　name　of　Mike。
　'Don't　you　ever　get　the　papers　in　your　village；　Nutty？'
　'I　never　read　the　papers。　I　don't　suppose　I've　read　a　paper　for　years。　I　can't　stand　'em。　Who　is　Lady　Pauline　Wetherby？'
　'She　does　Greek　dancesat　least；　I　suppose　they're　Greek。　They　all　are　nowadays；　unless　they're　Russian。　She's　an　English　peeress。'
　Miss　Leonard's　friend　said　she　was　crazy　about　these　picturesque　old　English　families；　and　they　went　in　to　supper。　
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　Looking　back　on　the　evening　later　and　reviewing　its　leading　features；　Lord　Dawlish　came　to　the　conclusion　that　he　never　pletely　recovered　from　the　first　shock　of　the　Good　Sport。　He　was　conscious　all　the　time　of　a　dream…like　feeling；　as　if　he　were　watching　himself　from　somewhere　outside　himself。　From　some　conning…tower　in　this　fourth　dimension　he　perceived　himself　eating　broiled　lobste