"I see," Jacob reflected. "Go into business again on a larger scale?"

"Exactly," the accountant a.s.sented, "only, go into an established business, with a partner, where you are not too much tied down. You'll want to enjoy yourself and see a little of the world now. A bungalow down the river for the summer, eh? A Rolls-Royce, of course, and a month or so on the Riviera in the winter. Plenty of ways of getting something out of life, Mr. Pratt, if only one has the means."

Jacob drew a deep sigh and murmured something noncommittal.

"My advice to you," his mentor continued, "would be to enjoy yourself, get value for your money, but--don't give up work altogether. With the capital at your command, you could secure an interest in one of the leading firms in the trade."

"Were you thinking of any one in particular?" Jacob asked quietly.

Mr. Pedlar hesitated.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Pratt," he admitted candidly, "I was.

I know of a firm at the present moment, one of the oldest and most respected in the trade--I might almost say the most prominent firm--who would be disposed to admit into partnership a person of your standing and capital."

"You don't, by any chance, mean Bultiwell's?"

The accountant's manner became more earnest. He had the air of one who releases a great secret.

"Don't mention it, Pratt, whatever you do," he begged. "Mr. Bultiwell would probably be besieged by applications from people who would be quite useless to him."

"I shall not tell a soul," Jacob promised.

"You see," his companion went on, watching the ash of his cigar for a moment, "the Mortimers and the Craigs have both come to an end so far as regards partic.i.p.ation in the business. Colonel Craig was killed playing polo in India, and had no sons, and old Mortimer, too, had only one son, who went into the diplomatic service. That leaves Mr.

Bultiwell the sole representative of the firm, and though he has, as you know, a great dislike for new a.s.sociations, it is certainly too much responsibility for one man."

"The Mortimer and Craig interests have had to be paid out, I suppose?"

Jacob enquired.

"To a certain extent, yes," Mr. Pedlar admitted. "That is where the opportunity for new capital comes in."

"I have made no plans yet," Jacob declared, rising to take his leave.

"If you like to place the figures before me within the course of the next week or so, and the suggested terms, I might consider the matter--that is, if I decide to go into business at all."

"I can't conceive a more comfortable position for a young man with your knowledge of the trade," Mr. Pedlar said, as he wished his guest good morning. "You shall have all the figures placed before you. Good morning, and once more my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Pratt."

CHAPTER III

At twelve o'clock, Jacob was in Regent Street, and at one o'clock, in a new blue serge suit, shirt, collar and tie of the latest pattern, he was dividing his time between admiring his reflection in the mirror and waiting in the entrance hall of Simpson's. Dauncey's coming was, in its way, pathetic. With a pessimism engendered by years of misfortune, he had found it impossible to preserve throughout the morning the exultation of those first few minutes with Jacob in the railway carriage. He entered the restaurant and came towards his friend with a feverish light in his eyes and a trembling of the lips which the latter only too well understood.

"It's all right, old fellow," Jacob a.s.sured him emphatically. "Throw in your hat with mine. Here's our table--two c.o.c.ktails waiting, you see, and a bottle of the best the place has--I tell you the old gentleman in Threadneedle Street parted without a murmur. I'm simply bursting with money--Steady, old chap!"

In the crowd of people waiting for their tables, they were little noticed, these two--Dauncey struggling against the faintness, the rising in his throat, the strange moisture in his eyes, Jacob talking nonsense as hard as he could and affecting to disregard these unusual conditions. Soon he had his friend safely seated opposite him, forced him to drink his c.o.c.ktail, gave cheerful orders to the waiter, and produced a brand new pocketbook, which he laid upon the table.

"Richard," he announced, "there's a hundred pounds in that. Away with it, pocketbook and all. Now put the soles of your feet firmly on the ground and think what you're going to say to Nora when you get home.

You've stood up against some nasty knocks. Now just tell yourself that they're all over. We'll take a feast home to-night. Waiter, open the wine. By Jove, I've heard that pop for other fellows often enough, but not one for myself for two years and more."

"Jacob," Dauncey faltered, "I can't say a word, but I'm all right. And G.o.d bless you," he added, raising his gla.s.s and drinking. "G.o.d bless you, Jacob! You're a pal."

After that, the thing was accepted as part of their lives, and they talked reasonably.

"This afternoon," Jacob confided, "I am going to be measured for half a dozen suits of clothes. I am going to prowl about Bond Street and gratify the longings of a lifetime for variegated hosiery. At five o'clock, Richard, I shall call for you at your office. By the bye, you had better ask them how soon they can let you go."

"They won't worry about that," Dauncey answered, a little bitterly.

"Every Sat.u.r.day for months has been a nightmare to me, for fear I'd get the sack. They don't think I'm smart enough for my job there--not smart enough even for three pounds a week!"

"Just let them know what you think about them, for a change," Jacob enjoined. "Three pounds a week, indeed! Tell them you've accepted a post at five hundred a year with a financier who needs your advice with his investments. That'll give them something to think about!"

"It will!" Dauncey admitted, with a smile. "They'll think I've gone mad."

"Let 'em think what they choose," Jacob insisted. "You come out of it with your nose in the air and leave your office coat behind for the errand boy. They'll always be worried to think that you must have been a great deal smarter than they gave you credit for."

"I'll do my best," Dauncey promised.

"I shall call for you in my motor-car," Jacob continued; "we shall make purchases on our way, and we shall return to Marlingden in state.

Thank heavens, d.i.c.k, for small ambitions! Just for the moment, I feel that nothing could make me happier than to be driven down the village street, pull up at the shops on the way home, and spend a few five-pound notes where I've had to look twice at a shilling."

Dauncey smiled with the air of a man who sees more wonderful things.

"That's all very well in its way, old fellow," he admitted, "but to appreciate this absolutely you ought to be married. I can think of nothing but Nora's face when I tell her--when I show her the pocketbook--when she begins to realise! Jacob, it's worth all the misery of the last few years. It's worth--anything."

Jacob's face glowed with sympathy, but he made a brave attempt to whistle under his breath a popular tune.

"Fact of it is, old chap," he said, as he gripped the bottle for support and watched the bubbles rise in Dauncey's gla.s.s, "we are both altogether too emotional."

Jacob's programme, for the remainder of the day, was carried out very nearly as he had planned it. The car was hired without difficulty, and the sensation created in the village shops by his arrival in it, his lavish orders and prompt payment, was ample and gratifying. Mrs.

Harris alone seemed curiously unmoved when he confided to her the story of this great change in his circ.u.mstances. She who had been all kindness and sympathy in the days of his misfortune listened to the story of his newly arrived wealth with a striking absence of enthusiasm.

"You'll be giving up your rooms now, I suppose?" she observed with a sigh. "Want to go and live in the West End of London, or some such place."

Jacob extended his arm as far as possible around her ample waist.

"Mrs. Harris," he said, "no one else in the world could have looked after me so well when I was poor. No one else shall look after me now that I am rich. If I leave here, you and Harris must come too, but I don't think that I shall--not altogether. There are the roses, you see."

"And what's in that cardboard box?" she asked suspiciously.

"A black silk dress for you," Jacob replied. "You'll give me a kiss when you see it."

"A black silk dress--for me?" Mrs. Harris faltered, her eyes agleam.

"I don't know what Harris will say!"

"There's a bicycle at the station for him," Jacob announced. "No more two-mile trudges to work, eh?"