The Yellow Holly. Fergus Hume
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style. I have therefore taken up my residence here for a brief period to study Old-World types." Here he looked round with a beaming smile. "I am glad to find so rich a field to glean."
This doubtful compliment provoked weak smiles. The boarders did not wish to be rude, but they felt it was impossible to approve of the young man. Not being sufficiently modern to court notoriety, one and all disliked the idea of being "put in a book." Mrs. Taine, conscious of her weak grammar, looked uneasily at Miss Bull, who smiled grimly and then glared at Train. Granger drew himself up and pulled his gray mustache; he was the buck of the establishment, and Harmer nodded, saying, "Well, well!" his usual remark when he did not understand what was going on. Only Madame spoke. Train had taken a sitting-room as well as a bedroom, therefore he must be rich, and as he had not haggled over terms it was necessary that he should be flattered. Mrs. Jersey saw a chance of making money out of him.
"How delightful," she said in her motherly manner; "I hope you will say nice things about us, Mr. Train."
"I shall tell the truth, Madame. The truth does not flatter."
Mrs. Jersey became still more motherly and paid a compliment. "That depends, Mr. Train. If the truth were spoken about you, for instance."
It was really a very nice compliment; but Miss Bull, with malice aforethought, spoilt it in the utterance by laughing pointedly. Train, who had already set his face for a smile, grew red, and Madame darted a look at Miss Bull quite out of keeping with her motherly manner. More than this, she spoke her mind. "I hope, Mr. Train, that you will speak the whole truth of some of us."
Miss Bull shrugged her thin shoulders, and in direct contradiction to the traditions of the evening produced her pack of cards. She played a complicated game called "The Demon," and never went to bed until she had achieved success at least thrice. Even when driven from the drawing-room she would finish the game in her bedroom, and sometimes sat up half the night when her luck was bad. To abstain on this society evening always annoyed her, and since Madame had been rude Miss Bull seized the opportunity to show her indifference, and enjoy, by doing so, her favorite pastime. She was a small, thin, dry old maid, with a pallid face and bright black eyes. Her mouth was hard, and smiled treacherously. No one liked her save Margery, the niece of Mrs. Jersey. But Margery was supposed to be queer, so her approval of Miss Bull mattered little.
"Perhaps Mr. Granger will oblige us with a song," suggested Madame, smoothing her face, but still inwardly furious.
Mr. Granger, who had been waiting for this moment, was only too happy. He knew but one song, and had sung it dozens of times in that very room. It was natural to suppose that he knew it by heart. All the same he produced his music, and read the words as he sang. Margery played his accompaniment without looking at the notes. She was as familiar with them as she was with the moment when Mr. Granger's voice would crack. This night he cracked as usual, apologized as usual, and his hearers accepted the apology as usual, so it was all very pleasant. "'The Death of Nelson,'" said Granger, "is a difficult song to sing when the singer is not in voice. The fog, you know----"
"Quite so," murmured Train, politely. "Do you know 'Will-o-the-Wisp,' Mr. Granger?"
Mr. Granger did not, much to his regret, and Mr. Harmer joined in the conversation. "Now there's a song," said he--"'Will-o-the-Wisp.' I knew a man who could bring the roof down with that song. Such lungs!"
"I don't love that loud shouting, myself," said Mrs. Taine in her fat voice. "Give me something soft and low, like 'My Pretty Jane!'"
"Ah! you should have heard Sims Reeves sing it," said Harmer.
"I have heard him," said Leonard, to whom the remark was addressed.
Harmer was annoyed. "Perhaps you have heard Grisi and Mario also?"
"No, sir. But my grandfather did."
"Probably," said Harmer, glancing at his fresh face and bald head in a near mirror. "I was a mere child myself when I heard them. Do you know much about music, Mr. Train?"
"I have heard it a good deal talked about," replied Leonard, with the air of saying something clever.
"And great rubbish they talk," put in Mrs. Taine, smoothing one hand over the other. "In my young days we talked of Wagner and Weber. Now it is all Vagner and Veber--such affectation."
"Ah! manners are not what they used to be," sighed another old lady, who prided herself on her straight back and clear eyesight.
"Nor singers," said Mr. Granger. "There are no voices nowadays, none."
"What about Calve and Melba?" asked Leonard.
"Those are foreigners," said Mr. Granger, getting out of the difficulty. "I speak of our native talent, sir."
"Melba comes from Australia."
"She is not English--a foreigner, I tell you. Don't talk to me, sir."
Mr. Granger was becoming restive at being thus contradicted, and privately thought Leonard an impertinent young man. Madame, seeing that the old gentleman was ruffled, hastily intervened. "If Mrs. Taine will play us the 'Canary Bird Quadrilles' how pleased we shall be."
Mrs. Taine obliged, and Harmer hung over the piano, quite enraptured at these airs which recalled his hot youth. Afterward he begged for the "Mabel Waltz." Meantime Margery was sitting in the corner with Miss Bull, and both were engrossed with "Patience." Madame, under cover of the music, talked with Train.
"You mustn't mind the guests," she said; "they are old and require to be humored."
"It's most amusing, Madame. I shall stop here three weeks to pick up types."
"Oh! you must stay longer than that," said Madame, smiling and patting his hand, still in a motherly way; "now, that you have found us out, we cannot lose you. By the way--" here Mrs. Jersey's eyes became very searching--"how did you find us out?"
"It was a friend of mine, Madame. He knew that I wanted to get into the Dickens world, and suggested this house. I am not disappointed--oh, not at all--" and Leonard glanced at Margery, who was fat, dull and stupid in her looks. She certainly resembled one of Dickens's characters, but he could not recollect which at the moment.
"Do I know the gentleman?" asked Madame, who seemed anxious.
"I don't think so. But he is coming to see me to-night."
"You must ask him in here and introduce him. I should like to thank him for having recommended my house."
"We were going to have a conversation in my room," said Train, dubiously; "he's such a shy fellow that I don't think he'll come in."
"Oh! but, he must; I love young people." Madame looked round and shrugged. "It is rather dreary here at times, Mr. Train."
"I can quite believe that," replied Leonard, who already was beginning to find the Dickens types rather boring. "Who is that tall old man with the long hair?"
"Hush! He may hear you. His name is Rasper. A great inventor, a most distinguished man."
"What has he invented?"
"Oh, all sorts of things," replied Mrs. Jersey, vaguely. "His name is quite a household word in Clapham. See, he's inventing something now." Mr. Rasper, who had rather a haggard appearance, as though he used his brains too much, was glooming over the back of an envelope and the stump of a pencil. He frowned as he chewed this latter, and seemed bent upon working out an abstruse problem. "But it will really will not do, Mr. Train," said Madame, shaking her head till "the diamonds" twinkled; "this is our evening of relaxation. But Miss Bull, against all precedent, is playing 'Patience,' and here is Mr. Rasper inventing." She rose to interrupt Mr. Rasper, but remained to ask Leonard if his friend was stopping the night.
"He will if he comes at all," replied Leonard, looking at his watch; "but if the fog is very thick I don't know if he'll turn up. It is now nine o'clock."
"We usually disperse at eleven," said Madame, "but on this night I must break up at ten, as I have--" she hesitated--"I have business to do."