"I say," said Swetnam confidentially, as if obeying a swift impulse, "I did hear that the _Signal_ people meant to collar all your chaps this afternoon, and I believe they have done. Hear that now?" (Swetnam's father was exceedingly intimate with the _Signal_ people.)

"I know," Denry replied.

"But I mean-papers and all."

"I know," said Denry.

"Oh!" murmured Swetnam.

"But I 'll tell you a secret," Denry added. "They are n't to-day's papers. They 're yesterday's, and last week's, and last month's. We 've been collecting them specially and keeping them nice and new-looking."

"Well, you're a caution!" murmured Swetnam.

"I am," Denry agreed.

A number of men rushed at that instant with bundles of the genuine football edition from the offices of the _Daily_.

"Come on!" Denry cried to them. "Come on! This way! By-by, Swetnam."

And the whole file vanished round a corner. The yelling of imprisoned cheese-fed boys grew louder.

V

In the meantime at the _Signal_ office (which was not three hundred yards away, but on the other side of Crown Square) apprehension had deepened into anxiety as the minutes pa.s.sed and the Snape Circus procession persisted in not appearing on the horizon of the Oldcastle Road. The _Signal_ would have telephoned to Snape's but for the fact that a circus is never on the telephone. It then telephoned to its Oldcastle agent, who, after a long delay, was able to reply that the cavalcade had left Oldcastle at the appointed hour with every sign of health and energy. Then the _Signal_ sent forth scouts all down the Oldcastle Road to put spurs into the procession, and the scouts returned having seen nothing. Pessimists glanced at the possibility of the whole procession having fallen into the ca.n.a.l at Cauldon Bridge. The paper was printed, the train parcels for Knype, Longshaw, Bursley, and Turnhill were despatched; the boys were waiting; the fingers of the clock in the publishing department were simply flying. It had been arranged that the bulk of the Hanbridge edition, and in particular the first copies of it, should be sold by boys from the gilt chariots themselves. The publisher hesitated for an awful moment, and then decided that he could wait no more and that the boys must sell the papers in the usual way from the pavements and gutters. There was no knowing what the _Daily_ might not be doing.

And then _Signal_ boys in dozens rushed forth paper-laden, but they were disappointed boys; they had thought to ride in gilt chariots, not to paddle in mud. And almost the first thing they saw in Crown Square was the car of Jupiter in its glory, flying all the _Signal_ colours; and other cars behind. They did not rush now; they sprang, as from a catapult; and alighted like flies on the vehicles. Men insisted on taking their papers from them and paying for them on the spot. The boys were startled; they were entirely puzzled; but they had not the habit of refusing money. And off went the procession to the music of its own band down the road to Knype, and perhaps a hundred boys on board, cheering. The men in charge then performed a curious act; they tore down all the _Signal_ flagging, and replaced it with the emblem of the _Daily_.

So that all the great and enlightened public, wandering home in crowds from the football match at Knype, had the spectacle of a _Daily_ procession instead of a _Signal_ procession, and could scarce believe their eyes. And _Dailys_ were sold in quant.i.ties from the cars. At Knype Station the procession curved and returned to Hanbridge, and finally, after a mult.i.tudinous triumph, came to a stand with all its _Daily_ bunting in front of the _Signal_ offices; and Denry appeared from his lair. Denry's men fled with bundles.

"They 're an hour and a half late," said Denry calmly to one of the proprietors of the _Signal_, who was on the pavement. "But I 've managed to get them here. I thought I 'd just look in to thank you for giving such a good feed to our lads."

The telephones hummed with news of similar _Daily_ processions in Longshaw and Bursley. And there was not a high-cla.s.s private bar in the district that did not tinkle with delighted astonishment at the brazen, the inconceivable effrontery of that card, Denry Machin. Many people foresaw lawsuits, but it was agreed that the _Signal_ had begun the game of impudence, in trapping the _Daily_ lads so as to secure a holy calm for its much-trumpeted procession.

And Denry had not finished with the _Signal_.

In the special football edition of the _Daily_ was an announcement, the first, of special Martinmas fetes organised by the Five Towns _Daily_.

And on the same morning every member of the Universal Thrift Club had received an invitation to the said fetes. They were three-held on public ground at Hanbridge, Bursley, and Longshaw. They were in the style of the usual Five Towns "wakes"; that is to say, roundabouts, shows, gingerbread stalls, swings, cocoa-nut shies. But at each fete a new and very simple form of "shy" had been erected. It consisted of a row of small railway signals.

"March up! March up!" cried the shy-men. "Knock down the signal! Knock down the signal! And a packet of Turkish delight is yours. Knock down the signal!"

And when you had knocked down the signal the men cried:

"We wrap it up for you in the special Anniversary Number of the _Signal_."

And they disdainfully tore into suitable fragments copies of the _Signal_ which had cost Denry and Co. a halfpenny each, and enfolded the Turkish delight therein and handed it to you with a smack.

And all the fair-grounds were carpeted with draggled and muddy _Signals_. People were up to the ankles in _Signals_.

The affair was the talk of Sunday. Few matters in the Five Towns had raised more gossip than did that enormous escapade which Denry invented and conducted. The moral damage to the _Signal_ was held to approach the disastrous. And now not the possibility but the probability of lawsuits was incessantly discussed.

On the Monday both papers were bought with anxiety. Everybody was frothing to know what the respective editors would say.

But in neither sheet was there a single word as to the affair. Both had determined to be discreet; both were afraid. The _Signal_ feared lest it might not, if the pinch came, be able to prove its innocence of the crime of luring boys into confinement by means of toasted cheese and hot jam. The _Signal_ had also to consider its seriously damaged dignity; for such wounds silence is the best dressing. The _Daily_ was comprehensively afraid. It had practically driven its gilded chariots through the entire Decalogue. Moreover, it had won easily in the grand altercation. It was exquisitely conscious of glory.

Denry went away to Blackpool, doubtless to grow his beard.

The proof of the _Daily's_ moral and material victory was that soon afterwards there were four applicants, men of substance, for shares in the _Daily_ company. And this, by the way, was the end of the tale.

For these applicants, who secured options on a majority of the shares, were emissaries of the _Signal_. Armed with the options, the _Signal_ made terms with its rival, and then by mutual agreement killed it. The price of its death was no trifle, but it was less than a year's profits of the _Signal_. Denry considered that he had been "done." But in the depths of his heart he was glad that he had been done. He had had too disconcerting a glimpse of the rigours and perils of journalism to wish to continue in it. He had scored supremely, and, for him, to score was life itself. His reputation as a card was far, far higher than ever.

Had he so desired, he could have been elected to the House of Commons on the strength of his procession and fete.

Mr. Myson, somewhat scandalised by the exuberance of his partner, returned to Manchester.

And the _Signal_, subsequently often referred to as "The Old Lady,"

resumed its monopolistic sway over the opinions of a quarter of a million of people, and has never since been attacked.

CHAPTER X. HIS INFAMY

I

When Denry at a single stroke "wherreted" his mother and proved his adventurous spirit by becoming the possessor of one of the first motorcars ever owned in Bursley, his instinct naturally was to run up to Councillor Cotterill's in it. Not that he loved Councillor Cotterill, and therefore wished to make him a partaker in his joy, for he did not love Councillor Cotterill. He had never been able to forgive Nellie's father for those patronising airs years and years before at Llandudno, airs indeed which had not even yet disappeared from Cotterill's att.i.tude towards Denry. Though they were councillors on the same town council, though Denry was getting richer and Cotterill was a.s.suredly not getting richer, the latter's face and tone always seemed to be saying to Denry: "Well, you are not doing so badly for a beginner." So Denry did not care to lose an opportunity of impressing Councillor Cotterill.

Moreover, Denry had other reasons for going up to the Cotterills.

There existed a sympathetic bond between him and Mrs. Cotterill, despite her prim taciturnity and her exasperating habit of sitting with her hands pressed tight against her body and one over the other.

Occasionally he teased her-and she liked being teased. He had glimpses now and then of her secret soul; he was perhaps the only person in Bursley thus privileged. Then there was Nellie. Denry and Nellie were great friends. For the rest of the world she had grown up, but not for Denry, who treated her as the chocolate child, while she, if she called him anything, called him respectfully "Mr."

The Cotterills had a fairly large old house with a good garden "up Bycars Lane," above the new park and above all those red streets which Mr. Cotterill had helped to bring into being. Mr. Cotterill built new houses with terra-cotta facings for others, but preferred an old one in stucco for himself. His abode had been saved from the parcelling out of several Georgian estates. It was dignified. It had a double entrance gate, and from this portal the drive started off for the house door, but deliberately avoided reaching the house door until it had wandered in curves over the entire garden. That was the Georgian touch! The modern touch was shown in Councillor Cotterill's bay windows, bathroom, and garden squirter. There was stabling, in which were kept a Victorian dog-cart and a Georgian horse, used by the councillor in his business.

As sure as ever his wife or daughter wanted the dog-cart, it was either out, or just going out, or the Georgian horse was fatigued and needed repose. The man who groomed the Georgian also ploughed the flowerbeds, broke the windows in cleaning them, and put blacking on brown boots.

Two indoor servants had differing views as to the frontier between the kingdom of his duties and the kingdom of theirs. In fact, it was the usual s.p.a.cious household of successful trade in a provincial town.

Denry got to Bycars Lane without a breakdown. This was in the days, quite thirteen years ago, when automobilists made their wills and took food supplies when setting forth. Hence Denry was pleased. The small but useful fund of prudence in him, however, forbade him to run the car along the unending sinuous drive. The May night was fine, and he left the loved vehicle with his new furs in the shadow of a monkey-tree near the gate.

As he was crunching towards the door, he had a beautiful idea: "I'll take 'em all out for a spin. There 'll just be room!" he said.

Now even to-day, when the very cabman drives his automobile, a man who buys a motor cannot say to a friend: "I 've bought a motor. Come for a spin," in the same self-unconscious accents as he would say: "I 've bought a boat. Come for a sail," or "I 've bought a house. Come and look at it." Even to-day in the centre of London there is still something about a motor,-well, something.... Everybody who has bought a motor, and everybody who has dreamed of buying a motor, will comprehend me. Useless to feign that a motor is the most ba.n.a.l thing imaginable.

It is not. It remains the supreme symbol of swagger. If such is the effect of a motor in these days and in Berkeley Square, what must it have been in that dim past, and in that dim town three hours by the fastest express from Euston? The imagination must be forced to the task of answering this question. Then will it be understood that Denry was simply tingling with pride.

"Master in?" he demanded of the servant, who was correctly starched, but unkempt in detail.

"No, sir. He ain't been in for tea."

("I shall take the women out then," said Denry to himself.)