**** walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name **** had not caught aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for which **** had not the least reverence. The injustice of the proceedings did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong.
But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife.
'Forgive me, sir, but you have no--no younger man who can arrange this business with me?'
'I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to----'
'You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.'
The man stared blankly at ****, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be good enough to do things.
'Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,' said Torpenhow, critically; 'but I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be careful, ****; remember, this isn't the Soudan.'
'Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your name before the world----'
This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded **** of certain vagrant years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed to enjoy the fruit of those years.
'I don't know quite what to do with you,' began ****, meditatively. 'Of course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides, it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite yourself.'
He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump body beneath the coat. 'My goodness!' said he to Torpenhow, 'and this gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This things' soft all over--like a woman.'
There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to breathe heavily. **** walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches underneath the eyes, and shook his head. 'You were going to steal my things,--mine, mine, mine!--you, who don't know when you may die.
Write a note to your office,--you say you're the head of it,--and order them to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of them. Wait a minute: your hand's shaking. Now!' He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while **** walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned with a gigantic portfolio, he heard **** say, almost soothingly, 'Now, I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when Ihave settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You haven't very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,--get out!' The man departed, staggering and dazed. **** drew a long breath: 'Phew! what a lawless lot these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is gang robbery, organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that man's mind! Are my sketches all right, Torp?'
'Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, ****, you've begun well.'
'He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it was everything to me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave him some medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at the little flurry it cost him. Now, let's look at my things.'
Two minutes later **** had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over and thought of the price at which they had been bought.
The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw **** dancing a wild saraband under the skylight.
'I builded better than I knew, Torp,' he said, without stopping the dance.
'They're good! They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I shall have an exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man would have cheated me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now that I didn't actually hit him?'
'Go out,' said Torpenhow,--'go out and pray to be delivered from the sin of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to make this barn a little more shipshape.'
'And then--oh, then,' said ****, still capering, 'we will spoil the Egyptians!'?
