The 12.30 from Croydon (8 page)

‘It wasn’t to ask me that that you came out all this way this afternoon,’ the old man returned in his somewhat complaining tone. ‘You don’t claim it, I’m sure?’

‘I don’t,’ Charles admitted, smiling broadly. ‘I told you I wanted to see you on a little matter of business, and so I do. But that doesn’t say that I’m not interested to know how you are.’

‘I don’t suppose it does. It’s always a pleasure to meet with disinterested kindness. Well, Charles, what’s it all about?’

‘You haven’t told me how you are yet,’ Charles persisted with his ready smile.

‘That’s true, that’s true. Didn’t you ask Weatherup?’

Charles laughed outright. ‘Weatherup’s a good man for whom I’ve a lot of respect, but even you wouldn’t call him informative. I could get more out of an oyster.’

‘Well, well, well; I’m very well, if you must know. And while we’re on this matter of health, how are you yourself?’

‘Oh, me? Fine, thank you! I’ve just come from York; the Chamber of Commerce lunch. A lot of the men were asking about you.’

‘I hope you relieved their heartfelt anxiety.’

‘I said I was calling in on my way home, and they told me to remember them to you: Digby and Holt and Grainger and some others.’

‘I’m deeply touched: almost as much as they must have been.’

‘The old boy from Bathwick was there. Took too much and made a hell of a fool of himself as usual,’ and Charles went on to describe the function.

Andrew was interested, as Charles had hoped he would be. He knew the older members of the chamber and had attended many a lunch with them himself. As Charles also had hoped, he forgot his suspicions and chatted about old times in a maudlin way. But soon he came back to the present.

‘But you haven’t told me what you came for, Nephew Charles,’ he went on. ‘It wasn’t to talk about your lunch in York, now was it?’

‘No,’ Charles admitted. ‘You’re right; it wasn’t. It was something a good deal more personal and less pleasant. It’s about the business, uncle, and I’m sorry that it’s bad news.’

Andrew was now listening carefully. He made no reply, but sat waiting with an expression half sly, half silly.

‘I’m sorry to say,’ went on Charles, ‘that I’ve got into the same boat as nearly all my neighbours. Expenses are up and profits down with the lot of us. You heard about Bender & Truesett’s dividend, I suppose?’

‘Yes. Bender’s no fool. What have they been playing at?’

Charles decided to make the most of this. ‘Bender’s certainly no fool, as you say,’ he agreed. ‘But neither Bender nor Truesett nor anyone else in the concern could help themselves. It’s the slump, the slump only, and nothing but the slump.’

‘Have you got this slump idea on the brain, too?’ Andrew quavered. ‘I can tell you, my boy, that hard work on the right lines put into a business means prosperity, and slackness means failure. That has always been so and it always will. I suppose Bender is playing tennis and golf instead of minding his business.’

‘No, I really think that you’re wrong there, uncle. Bender and Truesett are a hard-working pair. Practically every firm is in the same boat. Look down your paper and you’ll see how receipts have shrunk in every direction.’

The old man chuckled childishly. ‘It’s only because nobody works now,’ he persisted. ‘Turning up in the middle of the day and weekends and all the rest of it. Why, when I went into business I was down at the works at six o’clock every morning and seldom went home before seven or eight at night. Do you do that, Nephew Charles?’

‘I’m afraid not, uncle,’ Charles returned good-humouredly. ‘As you say, nobody works those hours now. But we do work hard while we’re at it.’

‘Playing games,’ Andrew went on as if in a dream. ‘That’s all that seems to matter these days. Going off to Australia and the Lord knows where to play games instead of staying at home and minding their work. And then surprised if dividends are down.’

Charles made the best reply he could, but the old man had ridden off on his hobby and was not to be stopped. Presently Charles once more got command of the situation and explained his difficulties in detail.

‘Now, as you can see from all this, uncle,’ he went on, ‘I’ve put a lot of my own money into the business. Most people believe that the slump is passing and that if firms can hold on for a little longer they’ll be all right. That’s what I’m trying to do. Those men I have are a good crowd; I don’t want to get rid of any of them if I can help it. And so I’ve put in my own capital to keep things going. And now I want to do more,’ and he told of the new machines. ‘I want to put in these machines so as to have everything up to date with just the object that you recommended, to get whatever’s going.’

‘A most creditable desire, most creditable indeed,’ the old man muttered. ‘But surely a little belated? Would it not have been better to put in the machines before spending the money that was required to do it?’ The story had aroused Andrew and he had got sharp and suspicious.

‘It might have been wiser,’ Charles admitted, ‘though I’m afraid nothing would have made any difference. It comes to this really, that if I can’t get some more cash to keep things going, I’ll have to shut down.’

The old man seemed deeply pained. ‘Never,’ he declared, ‘have I had such a disappointment. I put my whole life into those works, and now you come and tell me that you’ve let them down. It’s a blow. Well, nephew, the least said’s the soonest mended. At least it was good of you to come and give me this disinterested information.’

Charles swore mentally. This was just what he had been afraid of. If Andrew refused him he was down and out. He gave a wry laugh.

‘I’m afraid, uncle,’ he said, ‘it’s not so disinterested as you seem to imagine. In fact, in these very special and unusual circumstances, I’ve come to ask your help.’

The expression of sly suspicion grew on Andrew Crowther’s countenance. ‘My advice, I suppose?’ he quavered. ‘I’m afraid it hasn’t been asked for a long time. The old man has been put on the shelf for a long time.’

‘I want your advice, uncle,’ Charles said good-humouredly, ‘but I hope you will let me have something else as well. I hoped indeed that you would see your way to advance me a little money.’

The old man nodded childishly. ‘A good idea. A good idea, indeed. You bungle your business and you want me to pay for your mistakes. A clever idea, Nephew Charles. You deserve to succeed.’

Charles with difficulty restrained his temper. ‘It’s not quite as bad as that,’ he returned pleasantly. ‘I don’t want a penny that you have not already promised me. Let me explain.’

The old man chuckled spitefully. ‘You want to get something for nothing, don’t you? We all want that. Nephew Charles; we all want that. But we don’t often get it.’

Charles forced himself to laugh. Patiently he explained his proposal.

‘You’re a great business man, Nephew Charles; you’ve shown that. And so you want the old man out of the way, do you?’ He leered with a sort of sly cunning. ‘If only the old dodderer were out of the way, you’d get it all.’

Charles was really annoyed. ‘Now, uncle, I don’t think that’s fair,’ he protested. ‘Not a single word that I’ve said could suggest such a thing, and you know it’s not true.’

Andrew seemed surprised. ‘Perhaps not; perhaps not,’ he admitted. ‘But why should I pay your expenses? Can you tell me that?’

‘I don’t suggest that, uncle, or at least only with the money you’ve already promised me. The small amount I want couldn’t make any difference to you.’

‘Very true, no doubt, but not an answer to my question. Is it now?’

‘No,’ Charles returned frankly, ‘I’m afraid it’s not. There’s no reason of course why you should, except that I’m your nephew and that as my uncle you might be willing to help me in a way that you would not do to an outsider.’

Andrew shook his head. ‘Sentiment and business, Nephew Charles. They won’t mix.’

‘Then there is the works; your works that you built up and made so successful. You would do a little to prevent them going down?’

‘I did prevent them going down – when they were mine. They’re not mine now.’

‘But what about the men? They’re good fellows. You know most of them yourself. You would do a little to prevent them losing their jobs? Come now, uncle. It’s a very small thing that I ask.’

To his intense disappointment Charles realized that the old man was getting tired. The unwonted discussion had upset him. He suddenly seemed exhausted. His whole body sagged and he lay back helplessly in his chair. For a moment he tried to speak, while a sharp spasm of dismay passed over Charles. Then he murmured ‘Weatherup!’

Charles rang the bell. Suspiciously soon the door was opened and the saturnine face of the attendant appeared.

‘Mr Crowther,’ said Charles quickly. ‘I’m afraid he’s not well. See to him, will you?’

Weatherup glanced at his employer, then, crossing to a table near the old man’s chair, poured some medicine into a glass and held it to his lips. Andrew drank and in a moment recovered.

‘Did you think you were going to get your money?’ he sneered at Charles. ‘Not this time. There’s some life in the old dodderer still.’

‘I admit you gave me a fright,’ Charles returned. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve tired you with my talk.’

‘Oh, not at all, not at all. I’m always grateful for a disinterested visit. That’ll do, Weatherup, Mr Charles wants to talk business.’

‘No,’ said Charles, rising, while Weatherup silently disappeared. ‘I’ve said all I have to say. You’ll think over the matter, uncle? It’s the first time I have ever asked a favour, and if you can see your way to help me, it will be the last. For the sake of the men and the works, if not for my own, I ask you.’

The old man shrugged. The medicine seemed to have given him an artificial stimulus and he seemed stronger than before, while his pallid face had taken a more healthy colour.

‘Sentiment, Nephew Charles; all sentiment. I know all about it. I’ve been stuck, not once, but many times, for money. Did I depend on my friends? I depended on myself, and that’s what you must do. It wouldn’t be helping you to pay that money. I won through by hard work. You do the same and you’ll live to bless me.’

The stimulus of the medicine now seemed to be passing off and Andrew sank back into his chair as if exhausted again.

‘Come and let me hear how you get on,’ he murmured, touching the bell on the arm of his chair. Weatherup silently appeared and he went on: ‘I’m tired. I’ll have a little sleep, I think. Get tea for Mr Charles and tell Mrs Pollifex.’ Once again he pushed out his claw-like hand. ‘Good-bye, Nephew Charles; and let me know how you get on.’

Charles’s disappointment was bitter as he followed Weatherup from the room. The ready way of escape from his troubles, to which he had been so hopefully looking forward, had failed him. The old man had taken up just the attitude which he had feared he would. Charles could not exactly blame him. It was old age and illness that were really at fault.

But though his disappointment was so keen, Charles did not entirely lose heart. The idea of making an unaccustomed move had come too quickly for his uncle. Andrew’s natural reaction would be to oppose anything new. But there was a reasonable chance that as he thought over the situation his opposition would decrease.

It would, Charles saw immediately, be a capital mistake to show any signs of annoyance. He therefore controlled himself and told Weatherup he would be glad of tea and that he hoped Mrs Pollifex could see him.

Penelope Pollifex was Andrew’s sister, the widow of a not very successful London stockbroker. When her husband had died, leaving her badly off, Andrew had offered her and her daughter Margot a home in return for running his house. The arrangement had worked well. Mrs Pollifex had carried out her part of the bargain efficiently. Andrew inhabited his own suite of rooms and was not troubled by matters domestic, while otherwise the house was to all intents and purposes Mrs Pollifex’s. With the housekeeping allowance Andrew made her and her own money she was comfortably off, and entertained her friends as if Andrew no longer existed.

Weatherup led the way downstairs and threw open a door. ‘Mr Charles Swinburn,’ he intoned in melancholy accents. Charles passed into the room.

Like the hall, it was spacious and well proportioned, lit by three windows reaching almost from ceiling to floor, and panelled and floored in oak. In an easy chair reclined a well-preserved and elegantly dressed woman of between fifty and sixty. Though her appearance formed a striking contrast to that of the venerable wreck upstairs, there was something in the grey eyes and the set of the features which proclaimed their relationship. Mrs Pollifex suggested what Andrew might have been before his illness, looking, as she did, a woman of the world, hard-headed, resourceful, and suavely competent. As Charles entered she looked up from her book.

‘Hello, Aunt Penelope,’ said Charles. ‘I’ve not seen you for a month of Sundays.’

‘Not my fault, I think, Charles,’ she answered with a smile. ‘How are you?’ Without getting up, she extended a well-manicured hand. Charles shook it dutifully.

‘No, I’m afraid it’s mine,’ he admitted as he dropped into a chair. ‘Been pretty busy lately. Things are difficult at present.’

‘I suppose you’re feeling it like everyone else?’

‘I am rather. Can’t hope to escape, you know. Everyone’s in the same boat.’

‘I know my dividends have dropped badly enough.’ She shrugged daintily. ‘However, if we go bankrupt we’ll have the satisfaction of all doing it together. You were up with your uncle?’

‘I was. I hadn’t seen him for some time.’

‘How did you think he was?’

Charles hesitated momentarily. ‘Not too well, I’m afraid. In fact, he gave me quite a fright. Got some kind of attack; I thought he was going to collapse altogether. He was just able to call for Weatherup. Weatherup gave him some medicine which pulled him round.’

‘He’s getting those attacks more frequently. I notice a change in him. He’s certainly weaker than he was in the winter; weaker both in mind and body.’

‘I thought so, too. He seemed less able to grasp things.’

‘He’s been very depressed lately. I think it’s his indigestion.’