"The pay offered is four hundred rupees a month, and house rent; not much, I admit, considering the fall of the rupee and Rangoon prices; but we have been compelled to modify expenses, our profits are run so fine, thanks to an active German mercantile element. Well, what do you think, Shafto?"

Shafto thought Mr. Martin a species of genie, who was offering him a magic carpet that would transport him into the great, hurrying, active world; into the land of sunshine he had longed to see; he would have jumped at the proposal if the salary had been half, and he replied:

"I shall be glad to accept."

"Then that's all right! I was afraid you might have some ties in this country. Of course, in time you are bound to get a rise, and I believe there are boarding-houses in Rangoon where they make you fairly comfortable."

"When do you wish me to start?"

"As soon as you can get under way," was the unexpected reply. "One of the Bibby Line sails on Sat.u.r.day week, and that brings me to another matter. You have to pay for your own pa.s.sage and outfit. The pa.s.sage money is six hundred rupees; the outfit, good English boots, cool clothes, a solar topee, and a revolver--and a medicine-chest might come in handy. No doubt some of your relations will help, or give you a loan. You see, you are getting a big rise and a capital opening in a new line."

"That is true, sir," replied Douglas, whose face had considerably lengthened, "but I'm afraid I cannot manage the ready money--near a hundred pounds. Is my salary paid in advance?"

"No, that is out of the question in a province where cholera carries a man off in a couple of hours. I am sorry about the pa.s.sage; at one time we did pay, but now we have to pinch and consider our expenses.

No doubt you would like to talk over the matter with your people?"

"Well, yes, I should, thank you," he answered, staring fixedly at the floor.

"Then let me have your decision before mail day. I may tell you, Shafto, that, irrespective of Mr. Tremenheere's interest, you have given us entire satisfaction, and for this chance, and it _is_ a chance, you have only yourself to thank. You can take a couple of days' leave and let me hear from you definitely on Friday morning."

It was only eleven o'clock, an oppressively warm July day, and Douglas walked up to Lincoln's Inn Fields, took a seat in the cool shade of the finest trees in the largest square in London, and there endeavoured to think out some plan.

"I say, what a chance!" he muttered to himself. "What a stroke of luck! A new start in life, offering change and freedom." Yet he must lose it--and all for a paltry hundred pounds. Paltry--no; to him it represented a huge and unattainable fortune; there wasn't a soul from whom he could borrow; not from the Tebbs, nor the Tremenheeres, and his a.s.sociates at "Malahide" were, with one detestable exception, as poor as himself. After long meditation, entirely barren of inspiration, he went down to the Strand and lunched at Slater's, and then took the Tube to Bayswater Public Library, where he got hold of some books on Burma--Burma, the land of the PaG.o.da and Golden Umbrella. Somehow the very name fired his imagination and thrilled his blood.

After sitting in the library, greedily devouring information, he strolled back to Lincoln Square, in time for dinner, and all that evening he kept his great news to himself. It would have seemed natural for an only son to carry such important tidings to his mother; but Mrs. Shafto was the last woman to welcome his confidences. She was entirely without the maternal instinct and, armed with a certain fierce reserve, held her son inflexibly at arm's length. A stranger would scarcely have discovered the relationship--unless they happened to note that the pair walked to church together on Sunday, and that she pecked his cheek of a night before retiring. As a matter of course, she made use of Douglas and, insisting on maternal claims, thrust on him disagreeable interviews, sent him messages, borrowed his money--when short of change--and allowed him to pay her taxis. Honestly, she did not care for the boy. He was too detached and self-contained; he had such odd ideas and resembled his father in many respects--especially in appearance--though Douglas's expression was keener and more animated, he had the same well-cut features, fine head, and expressive dark grey eyes.

Yes, he recalled too forcibly a dead man whom she had neglected, detested and deceived. And as for Douglas, for years he had been sensible of the smart of a baffled instinct, a hunger for a mother's love and affection, which had never been his--and never would be his.

In the drawing-room, after dinner, the boarders were amusing themselves as usual and making a good deal of noise, yet somehow the circle presented an air of rather spurious gaiety. Mrs. Shafto, in a smart black-and-gold evening frock, was smoking a cigarette and playing auction-bridge with Mr. Levison and the two j.a.panese; the Misses Smith and various casual boarders were engrossed at c.o.o.n-can. Another group was a.s.sembled about the piano. Douglas Shafto sat aloof in the window seat absorbed in the book on Burma and acquiring information; for even if he were never to see the country, it was as well to learn something about it. Rangoon, the capital (that fact he already knew), once a mere collection of monasteries around the Great PaG.o.da, was now a.s.sumed to be the Liverpool of the East, the resting-place of Buddha's relics, and an important industrial centre. As his reading was disturbed by the boisterous chorus at the piano, and the shrieks of laughter from the c.o.o.n-can set, he tucked the volume under his arm and slipped out of the room as noiselessly as possible. He could rest at peace up in his "c.o.c.k loft" and endeavour to puzzle out some means of reaching the land of the Golden Umbrella--even if he worked his pa.s.sage as a cabin steward. In pa.s.sing the door of Mrs. Malone's den, some strange, unaccountable impulse constrained him to knock. Yes; he suddenly made up his mind that he would confide in _her_--and why not? She was always so understanding, sympathetic and wise.

In reply to a shrill "Come in," he entered and found the old lady sitting by the open window with a black cat on her lap. The room was small and homelike; there were some shabby rugs, a few fine prints, a case of miniatures, and, in a cabinet, a variety of odd "bits" which Mrs. Malone had picked up from time to time.

"So it's you, Douglas," she exclaimed; "come over and sit down. I'm always glad to see you; you know you have the private entree!" and she laughed. "What have you been doing with yourself to-day?"

As he muttered something indefinite, she added, "What's your book?"

holding out her hand. "Burma, I declare! One does not hear much of that part of the world; it's always connected in my mind with rice and rain. Douglas," suddenly raising her eyes, "I believe you have something on your mind. What is it? Come now--speak out--is it a love affair, or money? You know I'm _safe_."

Thus invited, in a few halting sentences, he told her of his friend's good offices, the offer, his supreme delight--and subsequent despair.

"A hundred pounds--yes, well, it's a tidy sum," she admitted, "and you will want all that. I think Gregory and Co. might pay your pa.s.sage, as the salary is not large."

"No," agreed Shafto, "but I'll be only too glad to earn it. It's this blessed ready money that stumps me."

He began to pace about the room with his hands in his pockets, then suddenly broke out:

"Mrs. Malone, I'd give one of my eyes to go; to be up and doing, and get out into the world--especially to the East. Isn't it hard lines--one moment to be offered a splendid chance, and the next to have it s.n.a.t.c.hed away."

"I suppose you couldn't borrow?" she suggested, looking at him over her spectacles.

"No, who would lend _me_ money? I have no security and no wealthy friends."

"Well, I am not a wealthy friend, Douglas, but I will lend you a hundred pounds--I've saved a good bit--and I can."

"No, no, Mrs. Malone," he interrupted. "I couldn't accept it. I know how hardly your money has been earned; I know all your hateful worries; your bothers with servants and coal; your trampings into 'the Grove,'

and up and down these confounded stairs."

"But, Douglas, you can pay me back by degrees."

"No; you'd run a poor chance of seeing your hundred pounds again. Mr.

Martin informed me the firm never paid in advance, as cholera carried off people in a few hours--cheerful, wasn't it? And if I were carried off, where would _you_ be?"

"Here, my boy, and in the deepest grief."

"Well, thanking you all the same, I will not touch a penny of your money; but I know you are long-headed and may think of some scheme for me. I've got nothing to sell of any value; I parted with my father's watch--and it's still at the p.a.w.nbroker's; worse luck!" (His pitilessly selfish mother had borrowed ten pounds and forgotten the debt, and he had been compelled to apply to his "Uncle.") Shafto found his salary a very tight fight; eleven pounds a month seemed to melt away in board, clothes, washing and those innumerable little expenses that crop up in London.

"Anyhow, you have till Friday, you proud, obstinate boy, and before that, I may be able to thrash out something. I have noticed that you don't look yourself the last few weeks, not my dear lively Douglas, tearing up and down stairs, whistling like a blackbird. Tell me the reason," and she laid a well-shaped wrinkled hand upon his arm.

Then, walking up and down the room, he frankly unfolded his troubles--the approaching marriage of his mother (this was no news), and, in an agitated and incoherent manner, his desperate predicament with regard to Cossie Larcher.

"The poor boy," said his listener to herself. "That man-hunting, determined little cat has got her claws into him. I have seen the vulgar, made-up minx, without education, fortune, or modesty, trying to carry off her gentleman cousin! But she shan't have him. No! by hook or by crook, he must be got out of the country, as sure as my name is Joyce Malone!"

CHAPTER VII

"THE MONSTER"

For a considerable time Mrs. Malone sat, stroking her long nose with her long forefinger and thinking profoundly; there fell, in consequence, an unusual silence. At last this was broken by the old lady, who exclaimed with an air of triumph:

"Douglas, my boy, I do believe I have got hold of a bright idea!"

"That's nothing new," he rejoined with a smile.

"Come now, none of your blarney! You know the queer little monster you brought me some time ago. You see him there grinning at us out of the cabinet? Well, a friend of mine noticed him yesterday--she is a bit of a connoisseur, and she said that, if genuine, that diabolical object had considerable value! To-morrow, I will take it round to a shop in 'the Grove,' and get an opinion; let us hear what the expert says, and if the object is good and marketable, I'll sell him--and you shall have the money. Now," raising a hand authoritatively, "I warn you not to say 'No' to me again, for if you do, I'll just take the poker and smash the deformity into a thousand atoms!"

"Oh, well, I suppose that puts the lid on," said Douglas, "but I ask you, if anything in the whole world can be meaner than to give a present and to take it back? However, I'll consent to commit that outrage to save the monster. I don't believe he is worth a sovereign!"

"Stop! I hear them moving in the drawing-room, so, my dear boy, fly up to your roost at once. You know how it vexes your mother to see you spending your time with me. Good night, my dear child," and rising, she laid her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

The very next evening, shortly before dinner, Mrs. Malone sent for her favourite boarder.

"I've grand news for you!" she announced. "I've had the ugly figure valued and a man has offered me a hundred and ten pounds."

"A hundred and ten pounds!" repeated Shafto. "Come, this is one of your good old Irish jokes!"

Alas! it must be here recorded that warm-hearted Mrs. Malone was not joking--but lying. She had never been to any expert. The hundred and ten pounds were to come out of her own lean pocket; this had been her "bright idea," when she contemplated the monster in the cabinet. She was sincerely fond of Shafto; during the time he had been under her roof she had never known him to do a mean or ungentlemanly action; he was considerate, unselfish, and generous--poor as he was; also he opened doors, handed chairs, treated age with deference, and in short conducted himself like the people among whom she had lived most of her life.

Richard Hutton was of the same type, so were the two j.a.panese; but Levison, her most valuable guest, Larcher, and other young boarders had, in her opinion, no manners at all. They smoked where and how they pleased (barring the drawing-room), left cigarette stumps all over the house, kicked off their boots in the hall, were late for meals, loud in talk, arguments and complaints, and supremely indifferent to the comfort of their companions.