It was the voice of Mr. Marrier. Edward Henry and Mr. Marrier were now in regular relations. Before Edward Henry had paid his final bill at Wilkins's and relinquished his valet and his electric brougham, and disposed forever of his mythical "man" on board the _Minnetonka_, and got his original luggage away from the Hotel Majestic, Mr. Marrier had visited him and made a certain proposition. And such was the influence of Mr. Marrier's incurable smile, and of his solid optimism, and of his obvious talent for getting things done on the spot (as witness the photography), that the proposition had been accepted. Mr. Marrier was now Edward Henry's "representative" in London. At the Green Room Club Mr. Marrier informed reliable cronies that he was Edward Henry's "confidential adviser." At the Turk's Head, Hanbridge, Edward Henry informed reliable cronies that Mr. Marrier was a sort of clerk, factotum, or maid of all work. A compromise between these two very different conceptions of Mr. Marrier's position had been arrived at in the word "representative." The real truth was that Edward Henry employed Mr. Marrier in order to listen to Mr. Marrier. He turned to Mr.

Marrier like a tap, and nourished himself from a gushing stream of useful information concerning the theatrical world. Mr. Marrier, quite unconsciously, was bit by bit remedying Edward Henry's acute ignorance.

The question of wages had caused Edward Henry some apprehension. He had learnt in a couple of days that a hundred pounds a week was a trifle on the stage. He had soon heard of performers who worked for "nominal"

salaries of forty and fifty a week. For a manager twenty pounds a week seemed to be a usual figure. But in the Five Towns three pounds a week is regarded as very goodish pay for any subordinate, and Edward Henry could not rid himself all at once of native standards. He had therefore, with diffidence, offered three pounds a week to the aristocratic Marrier. And Mr. Marrier had not refused it, nor ceased to smile. On three pounds a week he haunted the best restaurants, taxicabs, and other resorts, and his garb seemed always to be smarter than Edward Henry's, especially in such details as waistcoat slips.

Of course Mr. Marrier had a taxicab waiting exactly opposite the coach from which Edward Henry descended. It was just this kind of efficient attention that was gradually endearing him to his employer.

"How goes it?" said Edward Henry curtly, as they drove down to the Grand Babylon Hotel, now Edward Henry's regular headquarters in London.

Said Mr. Marrier:

"I suppose you've seen another of 'em's got a knighthood?"

"No," said Edward Henry. "Who?" He knew that by "'em" Mr. Marrier meant the great race of actor-managers.

"Gerald Pompey. Something to do with him being a sheriff in the City, you know. I bet you what you laike he went in for the Common Council simply in order to get even with old Pilgrim. In fact, I know he did.

And now a foundation-stone-laying has dan it!"

"A foundation-stone-laying?"

"Yes. The new City Guild's building, you knaow. Royalty--Temple Bar business--sheriffs--knighthood. There you are!"

"Oh!" said Edward Henry. And then after a pause added: "Pity _we_ can't have a foundation-stone-laying!"

"By the way, old Pilgrim's in the deuce and all of a haole, I heah.

It's all over the Clubs." (In speaking of the Clubs, Mr. Marrier always p.r.o.nounced them with a Capital letter.) "I told you he was going to sail from Tilbury on his world-tour, and have a grand embarking ceremony and seeing-off! Just laike him! Greatest advertiser the world ever saw!

Well, since that P. and O. boat was lost on the Goodwins, Cora Pryde has absolutely declined to sail from Tilbury. Ab-so-lute-ly! Swears she'll join the steamer at Ma.r.s.eilles. And Pilgrim has got to go with her, too."

"Why?"

"Well, even Pilgrim couldn't have a grand embarking ceremony without his leading lady! He's furious, I hear."

"Why shouldn't he go with her?"

"Why not? Because he's formally announced his grand embarking ceremony!

Invitations are out. Barge from London Bridge to Tilbury, and so on!

What he wants is a good excuse for giving it up. He'd never be able to admit that he'd had to give it up because Cora Pryde made him! He wants to save his face."

"Well," said Edward Henry absently, "it's a queer world. You've got me a room at the Grand Bab?"

"Rather!"

"Then let's go and have a look at the Regent first," said Edward Henry.

No sooner had he expressed the wish than Mr. Marrier's neck curved round through the window, and with three words to the chauffeur he had deflected the course of the taxi.

Edward Henry had an almost boyish curiosity about his edifice. He would go and give it a glance at the oddest moments. And just now he had a swift and violent desire to behold it. With all speed the taxi shot down Shaftesbury Avenue and swerved to the right....

There it was! Yes, it really existed, the incredible edifice of his caprice and of Mr. Alloyd's constructive imagination! It had already reached a height of fifteen feet; and, dozens of yards above that, cranes dominated the sunlit air, swinging loads of bricks in the azure; and scores of workmen crawled about beneath these monsters. And he, Edward Henry, by a single act of volition was the author of it! He slipped from the taxi, penetrated within the wall of h.o.a.rdings, and gazed, just gazed! A wondrous thing--human enterprise! And also a terrifying thing! ... That building might be the tomb of his reputation.

On the other hand it might be the seed of a new renown compared to which the first would be as naught! He turned his eyes away, in fear--yes, in fear!

"I say," he said, "will Sir John Pilgrim be out of bed yet, d'ye think?"

He glanced at his watch. The hour was about eleven.

"He'll be at breakfast."

"I'm going to see him, then. What's his address?"

"Twenty-five Queen Anne's Gate. But do you knaow him? I do. Shall I cam with you?"

"No," said Edward Henry shortly. "You go on with my bags to the Grand Bab, and get me another taxi. I'll see you in my room at the hotel at a quarter to one. Eh?"

"Rather!" agreed Mr. Marrier, submissive.

II.

"Sole proprietor of the Regent Theatre."

These were the words which Edward Henry wrote on a visiting-card, and which procured him immediate admittance to the unique spectacle--reputed to be one of the most enthralling sights in London--of Sir John Pilgrim at breakfast.

In a very s.p.a.cious front room of his flat (so celebrated for its Gobelins tapestries and its truly wonderful parquet flooring) sat Sir John Pilgrim at a large hexagonal mahogany table. At one side of the table a small square of white diaper was arranged, and on this square were an apparatus for boiling eggs, another for making toast, and a third for making coffee. Sir John, with the a.s.sistance of a young Chinaman and a fox-terrier who flitted around him, was indeed eating and drinking. The vast remainder of the table was gleamingly bare, save for newspapers and letters, opened and unopened, which Sir John tossed about. Opposite to him sat a secretary whose fluffy hair, neat white chemisette, and tender years gave her an appearance of helpless fragility in front of the powerful and ruthless celebrity. Sir John's crimson-socked left foot stuck out from the table, emerging from the left half of a lovely new pair of brown trousers, and resting on a piece of white paper. Before this white paper knelt a man in a frock-coat, who was drawing an outline on the paper round Sir John's foot.

"You _are_ a bootmaker, aren't you?" Sir John was saying airily.

"Yes, Sir John."

"Excuse me!" said Sir John. "I only wanted to be sure. I fancied from the way you caressed my corn with that pencil that you might be an artist on one of the ill.u.s.trated papers. My mistake!" He was bending down. Then suddenly straightening himself he called across the room: "I say, Givington, did you notice my pose then--my expression as I used the word 'caressed'? How would that do?"

And Edward Henry now observed in a corner of the room a man standing in front of an easel and sketching somewhat grossly thereon in charcoal.

This man said:

"If you won't bother me, Sir John, I won't bother you."

"Ah! Givington! Ah! Givington!" murmured Sir John still more airily--at breakfast he was either airy or nothing. "You're getting on in the world. You aren't merely an A.R.A.--you're making money. A year ago you'd never have had the courage to address me in that tone. Well, I sincerely congratulate you.... Here, Snip, here's my dentist's bill--worry it, worry it! Good dog! Worry it!"

(The dog growled now over a torn doc.u.ment beneath the table.)

"Miss Taft, you might see that a _communique_ goes out to the effect that I gave my first sitting to Mr. Saracen Givington, A.R.A., this morning. The activities of Mr. Saracen Givington are of interest to the world, and rightly so! You'd better come round to the other side for the right foot, Mr. Bootmaker. The journey is simply nothing."

And then, and not till then, did Sir John Pilgrim turn his large and handsome middle-aged blond face in the direction of Alderman Edward Henry Machin.

"Pardon my curiosity," said Sir John, "but who are you?"

"My name is Machin--Alderman Machin," said Edward Henry. "I sent up my card and you asked me to come in."