"Would you care to come to the theatre with me?"

Miss Jennings's slightly anaemic features broke into a frank smile.

"It's no good my pretending I don't want to go to the theatre when I do," she remarked; "so why not say so? Where shall we go?"

"Anywhere you please."

"When?"

"To-night, if you like."

Miss Jennings considered.

"I must see if my sister's to be at home," she said. "There are just two of us, and one always stays in of an evening with mother. May I use the telephone? My sister is with Goswell Brothers, in Finsbury Circus."

"Certainly," said Philip.

Miss Jennings sat down at the roll-top desk and took the receiver off the hook. She flatly declined to accept the a.s.surance of the operator at the exchange that the number she required,--

(1) was out of order;

(2) was engaged;

(3) had not replied;

and in the incredible s.p.a.ce of four minutes succeeded in establishing telephonic communication with a place of business almost a mile away. A much briefer but equally decisive encounter with the Finsbury Circus office-boy ended with the production of Miss Jennings's sister, who was forthwith addressed:--

"That you, May dear?"

"T'ck, t'ck," replied the instrument.

"I want to go out to-night. Can you stay in with mother, or are you doing anything?"

Apparently the reply was satisfactory, for Miss Jennings turned to Philip.

"That will be all right, Mr. Meldrum," she said.

They dined at Gatti's, and went on to the Gaiety. Philip dropped readily into the etiquette of the amphitheatre stalls, and provided Miss Jennings with chocolates and lemon squashes during the interval. Halfway through the second act he decided that this was the pleasantest evening he had spent since he came to London. What Miss Jennings thought of it all he did not know, for she did not tell him. Having speared her hat to the back of the seat in front and dabbed her hair into position, she sat absolutely silent, with her eyes fixed unwinkingly upon the stage. For the time her perpetual companion, the typewriter, was forgotten, and she lived and moved in the world of romance, where ladies were always fair and gentlemen either gallant or entertaining. Occasionally, without removing her gaze, she would call her host's attention, by a half-unconscious gesture, to some particularly attractive item of the entertainment.

When all was over she sighed resignedly and preceded Philip out into the roaring Strand. Philip, scanning the street for a disengaged cab, asked her where she lived. Miss Jennings gave him an address in Balham.

"We had better walk down to the Embankment," he said. "We might pick up a taxi or a hansom outside the Savoy."

Miss Jennings murmured something perfunctory about the facilities offered to the public by the London General Omnibus Company, and then accompanied him to the Embankment.

Presently a hansom was secured, and Philip handed his guest in, at the same time furtively paying the driver.

"Good-night," said Miss Jennings, "and thank you."

They shook hands, for the first time in their acquaintanceship. The cabman and his horse, however, did not know this, and immediately feigned a studious interest in something on the Surrey side of the river.

Philip walked home, and let himself into his dark and silent flat. On turning up the light he found that the lady who "did" for him had omitted to clear the breakfast-table. He accordingly set to work to wash up himself, knowing full well that the task would be even less congenial to-morrow morning.

As he groped philosophically in his tiny pantry for a dish-cloth, it occurred to him that to a lonely man female society is a very helpful thing. And he was right. For it is so helpful that though a man may, and often does, exist contentedly enough without it, once he has tasted thereof he must have it always or feel forever helpless.

And yet, every day, refined young women are surprised, and shocked, and indignant, when a brother in London suddenly telegraphs home to say that he has married a girl out of a tea-shop.

CHAPTER XVIII

MY SON TIMOTHY

PHILIP and Miss Jennings resumed business faces next morning; and although they subsequently indulged in other jaunts, one of which--a Sat.u.r.day-afternoon excursion to Earl's Court--included sister May, no cloud of sentimentality ever arose between them to obscure the simple clarity of their relations. Miss Jennings was much too matter-of-fact a young person to cherish any romantic yearnings after her employer. She was not of the breed which battens upon that inexpensive brand of literature which converts kitchenmaids into d.u.c.h.esses. She recognised Philip for what he was--a very kind, rather shy, and entirely trustworthy gentleman--and accepted such attentions as he offered her with freedom and confidence. Nor did Miss Jennings herself, beyond arousing in him a dim realisation of the fact that the elixir of life is not exclusively composed of petrol, make any direct impression upon Philip's peace of mind. At present his heart was too full of applied mechanics to have room for tenderer preoccupations--a very fortunate condition for a heart to be in when it belongs to a young man who has yet to establish a position for himself.

So life in the London offices went on for two years. It contained a great deal of hard work and a great deal of responsibility and a great deal of drudgery; but it had its compensations. Philip still played Rugby football in the winter and suffered upon a sliding-seat for the honour of the Thames Rowing Club in the summer. There were visits to Cheltenham to see Uncle Joseph, and to Red Gables to see the Mablethorpes. There was the ever-enthralling pageant of London itself.

And there was the rapturous day upon which a high official of the Company arrived upon a visitation and announced, after compliments, that the merits of the Meldrum Automatic Lubricator (recently patented) had so favourably impressed the directors that they had decided to adopt the same as the standard pattern upon all the Company's cars. Would Mr.

Meldrum enter into a further agreement with the directors to give them the first refusal of any further inventions of his? Those were days.

Then, finally, with a hilarious splash, came Timothy.

He arrived one morning to take possession of a six-cylinder Britannia touring-car which had just been completed to his order--or rather, to the order of an indulgent parent. He was a hare-brained but entirely charming youth of twenty-two, and Philip, who encountered far too few of his own caste in those days, hailed him as a G.o.dsend. Each happened to be wearing an Old Studleian tie, so common ground was established at once.

Philip enquired after Mr. Brett, and learned that that "septic blighter"

(Timothy's description) had retired from the position of Housemaster and had been relegated to a post of comparative harmlessness; but the old House was going strong.

All this time they were examining the new car. It soon became apparent that the technical knowledge of Mr. Rendle (Timothy) was not of a far-reaching nature, but his anxiety to improve it was so genuine that Philip sent to the workshop for a mechanic to come and lay bare various portions of the car's anatomy. Presently that fire-eating revolutionary, Mr. Brand, appeared.

"If you are not in a hurry," said Philip to him, "we will take the top off the cylinders, and then I can give you a demonstration."

No, Mr. Rendle was in no hurry. He was a young man of leisure, it appeared.

"Only too glad to spend such a profitable morning," he said. "Usually in bed at this time of day."

Mr. Brand, whose views upon the subject of the idle rich were of a decided nature, looked up from a contest with a refractory nut, and regarded Timothy severely. Then, returning to his task, and having exposed the internal secrets of the engine, he plunged into an elaborate lecture, in his most oppressive and industrious-apprentice manner, upon big-ends and timing-gears. Philip did not interrupt. Mr. Brand was fond of the sound of his own voice, and was obviously enjoying his present unique opportunity of laying down the law to a wealthy and ignorant member of the despised upper cla.s.ses. He employed all the long words he could think of. Timothy positively gaped with admiration.

"I say," he said, "you ought to go into Parliament."

"P'raps I shall," replied the Industrious Apprentice haughtily.

Evidently with the intention of resuming his interrupted discourse, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. Then, suddenly, his mouth closed with a jerk, he turned a dusky red, and a.s.sumed an ostrich-like posture over the cylinders of the car.

"There's a trunk-call coming through for you, Mr. Meldrum," said a clear voice.

Philip turned round, to find Miss Jennings.

"I shall be back directly, Mr. Rendle," he said to Timothy, and accompanied the typist to the office.