CHAPTER II--_A Young Man in search of Bad Habits_
The first thing that struck George Early on his arrival at the officenext morning, was the extreme seriousness of the three legatees. Graylooked so sober and miserable that George was surprised at it passingunnoticed. For once Busby sat quietly in his office-seat, instead ofentertaining Gray with some fictional incident of the night before. AndParrott was too occupied with his thoughts to give black looks to thelate comers.
"A nice lot they are to get L500 a year!" thought George. "I call it asin. It's a dead waste of money!"
He strolled over to Gray's desk. "Morning, Mr. Gray," he said affably.
"Good morning," said Gray, in a voice hoarse with temperance.
"Back that little thing yesterday?" asked George, in a whisper. "Youknow--Flower-of-the-Field for the Sub.?"
"No," said Gray.
"I did it," whispered George--"ten to one. Bit o' luck, wasn't it?"
Gray assented, and George leaned over the desk to be out of hearing ofBusby. He touched Gray on the hand with one forefinger.
"I've got a drop of Scotch in the desk," he said; "real old stuff.Going to have a nip?"
A flash of eagerness came into Gray's eyes, and then died away.
"No, thanks," he said hastily; "I don't think I will. The fact is, I--Idon't feel up to it this morning."
"Blue ribbon?" asked George, opening his eyes in wonder.
"No--oh no," answered Gray, with some confusion; "no, nothing of that."
"Then have a drop," said George, enjoying the struggles of his victim."It's ten years old, and strong enough to break the bottle. Got it froma friend of mine who works in a distillery."
Gray's eyes glistened; but George moved off to Busby's desk before hehad time to give way.
Busby looked up and nodded, then went on with his work. This wassomething out of the ordinary for Busby, who rarely missed anopportunity to gossip. George Early chuckled to himself and began tosharpen a pencil.
"Saw you last night, Mr. Busby," he said presently. "Nice little girl,that sister-in-law of yours. Fine figure she has, too."
Busby rubbed his chin a moment, and became deeply interested in hiswork.
"She's not my sister-in-law," he said slowly.
"No?" said George, surprised. "Now, look here, you told me that littlegirl was your wife's sister. You don't mean to say she's--she's norelation?"
Busby made no reply, and George began to chuckle audibly.
"You sly dog!" he laughed. "Well, you are a sly dog! Fancy you trottingout a nice little girl like that! And I'll bet your wife doesn't knowit. I'll bet she doesn't--does she?"
Busby frowned and flicked over some papers. "I say, Early, just youclear off; I've got a lot to do this morning," he whispered.
"Oh, get out!" said George. "You know I want to hear all about it. Youare a lucky beggar! Did you kiss her? I'll bet you kissed her a fewtimes. So would I. And, fancy, your wife knowing all about it, too!"
"She doesn't!" blurted out Busby, with reckless truthfulness.
"Not know it?" cried George. "Well, you are a devil! Come on, old chap,tell us the yarn. I suppose you took her out for the evening--eh? Thelittle minx! And she knows you're a married man."
"She doesn't!" cried Busby, with another burst of frankness.
"Great Scott!" said George. "Did she----"
"Look here, Early," began Busby, growing red in the face; "didn't Itell you I was busy?"
George Early gave another audible chuckle, and went back to his stool,after pinching Busby's arm as a token of his appreciation of suchdevilry. Before settling himself, he looked over towards the desk ofthe head clerk; but that estimable man was evidently not in a mood forconversation.
"I'll touch his tender spot later on," said George to himself. "Theyare all taking it very seriously; and so would I if I had the chance.L500 a year for keeping sober! Good Heavens! It makes me mad to thinkof it."
Work was out of the question with George that morning, his head wasfull of legacies. "I wonder if Old Joe would spring another fivehundred if he found a good case," he mused. "There'd be no harm intrying him, anyway."
There seemed to be something in this idea, so George endeavoured to fixupon a sound serviceable vice likely to arouse the interest of the headof the firm. "I might become a chronic borrower," he thought; "that's apretty bad habit. A man who borrows money is always a nuisance to hisfriends and acquaintances. But whether it's worth five hundred or notis another question. There are several objections, I'm afraid. I daresay Old Joe would prefer to have a borrower here to help Polly reform;besides he'd know that as soon as people stop lending the habit ceases.That's no good."
George wrote down all the vices he could think of without being able tofind one strong enough. There were plenty of second and third-ratefailings, but not one that might be called of the first water. "It'sjust like those selfish brutes," he said bitterly, "to monopolize theonly decent bad habits there are! I shouldn't wonder if the artfulhounds got wind of it a long time ago, and went about drinking andtelling lies under Old Joe's nose just to get the money. Men like thoseare capable of anything."
In this unenviable state of mind George Early went out to a bread-shop,and gloomily watched all the lunchers in the hope of discovering someobjectionable practice that he had missed. The only habit that seemedto be noticeable was flirtation, and as George was doubtful of itsviciousness he finished his coffee and strolled towards Billingsgate.Here the first really healthy suggestion came to him. He got it bytreading on the toe of a market porter, who cursed him with avolubility that only time and a natural leaning that way could havemade perfect. Instead of replying with some graceful oaths of his own,George felt inclined to invite his unknown friend to a drink.
"Swearing's a habit," said George chuckling, "and a damn bad habit too.Yes, by St. Christopher, that ought to do for Old Joe! There'ssomething rich about a vice like that, and if it doesn't hit him in theeye straight away he's not the benevolent old man I take him to be."
Somebody ran into George as he entered the office, and Mr. Earlypromptly rattled out a string of oaths, just by way of practice.
The language that afternoon was such as Fairbrothers' had neverknown since the firm started. George swore at the office-boysand his fellow-clerks for no apparent reason; and whenever he hadoccasion to make a remark naturally inoffensive, he seasoned it withunparliamentary expressions. He deftly mixed his obscenity with a goodhumour that was unmistakable, so that no person could say his languagewas anything but a vicious habit.
"This suits me down to the ground," thought George; "I should neverhave believed I could pick up anything so quickly; it's easier thanlearning French."
When George Early started on a thing he didn't do it by halves. In thepresent case he made such rapid progress that he was firmly convincedthe following morning would see him proficient.
He remembered with pleasure that it was the morning on which JosephFairbrother was to show some fair Sunday School teachers over thebuilding. Nothing could be better. On their arrival he would drop sometame expletives sufficient to arouse the attention of the ladyvisitors; on their departure he would try something a little stronger.Some of them would be sure to point out his depravity to the principal,and as soon as that charitable gentleman began to keep his ears openGeorge felt sure he could give him all the language he wanted.
That night the ambitious clerk wallowed in an atmosphere of profanity.He cursed the 'bus conductor and the 'bus driver, and the passengers,according to their size and fighting weight. He swore at every one whopushed against him, and a good many who didn't. He cursed dogs andtelegraph-boys, and even lamp-posts. Once he nearly said something rudeto a policeman, and only just pulled up in time to save himself.
His landlady objected to swearing, so George got through the eveningmeal quickly, and sallied forth to the saloon of a neighbouring inn.There he meant to go into training in earnest, and he hoped also topick up a few choice expressions that would make a pleas
ant variationin the day's vocabulary.
He made a bad start by swearing at the landlord, who threatened to puthim outside; but luckily a sailor came in and backed him up, and sworeat the landlord himself in four different languages. After this Georgegot along like a house on fire.
His education advanced so rapidly that the next morning it was as muchas he could do to speak without being offensive. He carefully laid hisplans for the day as he rode to the City; he determined to put in agood morning's work about the office so that everybody might knowswearing was his special vice, in case Old Joe made early inquiries;then he would spread the report that all his family used bad language,so that people might talk about it.
"Bit of luck I went to Billingsgate yesterday," he thought, as hejumped off the bus. "When I come into the five hundred I'll go down andfind the chap who did me a good turn and give him a day out."
He sauntered into the office three-quarters of an hour late, and beganto whistle a ribald tune as he took off his coat.
Somebody called out to him in a stage whisper. George took no notice,but swore at his hat when it dropped off the hook.
"Early," said the voice again. "Early!"
"Well, what the devil do you want?" said George, in a loud voice.
"S--sh!" cried the voice again, and George looked round to see a groupof solemn-looking faces.
"Hallo!" he cried, looking from one to another, "what's the trouble?"
"S--sh!" cried Busby, lifting his hand. "Mr. Fairbrother's dead."
"What?" cried George, aghast. "Well, I'm hanged!" he said, lookinground at the group. "If that isn't just my luck!"
* * * * *
For the second time, George Early was unable to tackle his morningwork. He could only sit gloomily at his desk and use up the language hehad learned overnight in reviling Fate for treating him soscandalously.
Then he began to go over the events of the interviews again, and soonhis countenance cleared so considerably that he was able to discuss thelamentable decease of the firm's head without a pang. Not only did hisspirits rise, but they became positively hilarious towards midday; somuch so that he shocked all those--and they were many--who felt gravityto be the order of the moment.
"Where's Polly?" asked George, as the lunch-hour approached. He wasdirected to the head clerk's private office, and into this he went atonce, closing the door behind him. Parrott was busy with a sheaf ofcorrespondence, and he looked up to see George Early standing easily afew yards away.
"Got a few minutes to spare?" asked George, coming forward, and leaningon the desk.
The head clerk frowned; he resented familiarity.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Oh, it's just a small matter," said George; "I want to borrow half acrown."
Parrott dropped the letters he was holding, and looked up in amazement.
"What?" he said faintly.
"Half a crown," said George; "I want to borrow one."
Parrott looked at George, and George looked at Parrott. Then Parrottput his hand slowly in his pocket, pulled out some coins, and put ahalf-crown on the edge of the desk.
George whipped it up, and put it in his pocket.
"Thanks, old chap," he said, and went out of the office whistling,while the head clerk sat staring at the half-open door like a man in atrance.