CHAPTER XXXIV

IN WHICH I BRING TOGETHER THREE MEN WHO WERE DUE TO MEET, AND A NOVEL AND BENEFICIAL SCHEME IS DECIDED UPON

Heaven, I am glad to say, has been pleased to remove Mr. Wiles's adopted daughter from this transitory sphere. She was sickly when she came, and she never rallied, in spite of the most assiduous care on his part, in which he was more or less assisted by a loyal wife.

"Wiles does nothing but mope," Mrs. Wiles told Naomi. "At first, after he found it was no good and the creature was bound to die, he was a little excited and above himself with a scheme he had for getting it Christian burial. I don't know what's come over the man--he never used to have such ideas--but he actually thought of trying to smuggle it into a cemetery as though it was a real child. Went about peering in undertakers' windows and wondering which looked most like helping him. But I put a stop to all that. It wasn't fair to the real people buried there, I said. A pretty thing to pay money for a nice grave or comfortable family vault, and then have a heathen ape laid near you! Wiles came round to my way of thinking, but he's never recovered his spirits. In the end, he paid good money to have it buried in the dogs' cemetery in the Bayswater Road, and he let me have the scullery new whitewashed without saying a word. If he doesn't get something to do soon I don't know what will happen. But I'm afraid of the drink and the Stock Exchange, both, for he's begun to be interested in tin mines and things like that. If only Mr. Falconer could find him an occupation!"

The good woman's concern about her husband had long made me want to help, and after Mrs. Duckie's statement that the head waiter of the "Golden Horn" had saved enough to start an eating-house of his own, the finger of Providence seemed to be in it, pointing directly at the homely features of Mordecai Wiles, late of the New Ape House.

It is amusing to be able to help a little, but a mistake to congratulate oneself upon the feat. For two reasons, of which one is that one is only an instrument of fate or chance, and the other that most deeds which at first wear the guise of assistance have a way of turning into mischief. The Spaniards, whose proverbs are the best, say that he who would tell the truth should have one foot in the stirrup; and similarly I would advise most self-conscious benefactors of their neighbours to be all ready to run. For otherwise they are in danger of the wrong kind of thanks.

In the present case, however, no harm has yet come to me. The victims of my experiment in busybodydom--or helpfulness, if you like--are not only Mr. Wiles and Mr. Duckie, but (such strange bedfellows can an active altruist bring together) Mr. Lacey. Mr. Duckie for the reasons given; Mr. Wiles also for the reasons given; and Mr. Lacey, because he had told me of his wonderful chop-house scheme. It was a simple duty to unite them; and we met at Mr. Wiles's for the purpose--the time and the place and the interested ones all together.

The weight of the interview fell upon Mr. Lacey, but he enjoyed it. He had to convince Mr. Wiles that there was money in an eating-house at all; and Mr. Duckie, that to limit the food so severely was practicable; and both, that (as I had told them, but men are stubbornly sceptical in such matters) he was an enthusiast and not a company promoter. One can so easily be misunderstood on this point.

He outlined his scheme, I must admit, with a persuasiveness that no company promoter could exceed, and a poor observer might easily have confused him with that _bête noire_; but neither of his hearers kindled perceptibly. Mr. Wiles has had so many affable gentlemen endeavouring, as Farrar's phrase has it, to bite his ear, that he has come to adopt an apathetic mien as second nature; while Mr. Duckie was obviously pained and startled by the revolutionary character of Mr. Lacey's proposal.

"Hot chops, of course, gentlemen like," said Mr. Duckie, "but not for ever. Cold chops I've never heard of. That is to say, chops cold on purpose."

Mr. Lacey admitted that it was an experiment. Possibly there might not be many customers who would come every day, but there ought to be enough regular customers for every other day, and plenty of strangers in a hurry, always. It would be, frankly, a house for hasty lunches. That would be stated. There should be no disguise about it; the outside would convey the intimation that within you could have a cold chop and salad in one minute, or a hot chop and hot buttered toast in ten minutes, and nothing else. "This world," said Mr. Lacey, "would be a vastly easier place if everyone announced his business in plain language. There's no diplomacy like frankness."

The idea was a novel one to Mr. Duckie, who had served for so many years in a restaurant where the bill of fare spelt new potatoes and new peas in capital letters right into August, and prefixed the word fresh to its coffee all the year round.

"People don't like to be told that they can't get nothing else," he said. "The words are not hospitable, if I may say so."

Mr. Lacey pointed out that in the long run the plain dealer won. That is, if his quality was equal to his candour.

Mr. Duckie, however, was a very old dog to learn such unwonted tricks.

"But what about the people who want roast beef?" he asked at length.

"They must go elsewhere," said Mr. Lacey. "We have nothing for them."

"Yes," said Mr. Duckie, "but roast beef's such a popular dish."

"It can't be helped," said Mr. Lacey. "We must specialize."

"I see that," said Mr. Duckie, "but wouldn't it be better to specialize in beef rather than mutton? Gentlemen are so partial to beef. Hot beef, cabbage, and potatoes, or cold beef and salad."

Mr. Lacey pointed out the difference between the two schemes. "If you want beef and vegetables you want an oven and a totally different arrangement of kitchens. The difficulty about potatoes is, they are never hot; cabbage is not always in season; and joints of beef mean a certain amount of waste. Chops and toast can be cooked at the grill, and there is no waste. The place would need plenty of grill accommodation and two or three of the best grillers to be obtained. Also the best chops, butter, and salad oil. Could anything be simpler? The salad oil should come from Italy direct; the house should become famous for it. Tarragon vinegar too--very little dearer than the other and much more memorable."

What a wonderful man, I thought, as he went on, kindling as he spoke, and thinking as he spoke, for he is a born improviser; business men in every walk of life ought to pay him ten guineas an hour just to make him talk on their own affairs. But business men have always a horror of men with ideas.

Mr. Duckie, I noticed, began to kindle too, but very cautiously. He still had beef on his mind.

"Very true," he said; "but what I mean about roast beef is, that gentlemen seem to expect it. When they're in a hurry they always ask if there's any cold beef."

Mr. Lacey told him again about the big notice outside the chop-house. No one could come in under false pretences.

"But, sir," said Mr. Duckie, "you don't know them. It doesn't matter what you say outside, they'll come in and ask for roast beef. People who're hungry have no reason."

"Very well, then, let them ask; they won't get it," said Mr. Lacey.

"But it's such a mistake in a restaurant not to have what people want," said Mr. Duckie.

Poor Lacey, his quick mind was in despair.

I relieved his agony by asking Mr. Wiles how it all struck him.

"I think it is a good scheme," he said. "I believe in finding a good food and sticking to it. That's what we do with our apes, and after all they're not so wonderfully different from city men. We find what suits them best and keep them on it, with a grape or two or slice of apple when they've done a trick, of course. I'm all for cold mutton myself. It's nourishing and it's clean. You can cut it with a pocket knife, like whittling a stick, and eat it all. But what I've been wondering is, what about drink?"

"Beer," said Mr. Lacey, "and whisky and soda, and coffee. Nothing else. But the best of each."

Mr. Duckie had been very thoughtful. "Supposing," he said, at last, "we were to have three beef days a week and three mutton?"

Mr. Lacey would not hear of it. "But," he said, "look here. This is what I'll do. The scheme's mine, and if you take it up I'll help you with advice about a site and furnishing and so forth, and you shall give me ten per cent. of the profits after each of you has drawn ten per cent., and nothing if you don't draw that. That's all I ask, and I ask that only if you stick to my idea. But if you decide to do something else, then I make you a present of the whole thing and retire at once. It interests me only as a whole."

Mr. Duckie admitted that this was more than fair, and looked at Mr. Wiles.

Mr. Wiles said that for his part he would go into it and find capital to run it for three years at a reasonable loss, with Mr. Duckie as manager and partner, on a definite understanding--but only if I approved and Mr. Lacey had control. "But," he said, "of course I must ask my wife's opinion," and Mrs. Wiles was called in.

The good woman, after asking my views and finding that I supported the scheme, pronounced in its favour, speaking both as a cook and a speculator. "And all I can say," she ended, "is, that I hope you'll arrange to keep Wiles busy. For I'm tired of him mooning about the house. And now, sir, if you've finished your talk, I wish you'd come and see my Annie."

She drew me from the room, and with her finger on her lips and tiptoeing along, led me to a bedroom, where, in a cot, I saw a little girl asleep.

"That's our Annie," she said proudly. "She only came to-day. I want Mrs. Falconer to see her to-morrow, if she will, because, of course, Annie was her idea."

Lenient as thoughts of Lavender had made me to all small creatures, I cannot say that I viewed Annie with any active satisfaction, she was so poor and stunted a little Cockney. But, of course, it is best that the good woman should lavish herself on a weakling than on a robust child. The robust grow up anyway, but the others want attention. I asked Annie's history.

"It's very sad," said Mrs. Wiles. "She is an only child, and the mother and father died within a few days of each other. The mother died of pneumonia, which in a kind of way gives Wiles a special interest in Annie, he having seen so much of it; while the father was knocked down and killed by a motor-bus only last week. So the child was taken to the St. Pancras Workhouse, and we heard of it through one of Wiles's friends, and applied for her, and here she is. But I shall never think quite the same about motor-buses any more. Talk about blessings in disguise--I mean, of course, to Wiles and me; but what a disguise!"

Upon rejoining the others, Lacey and I came away, leaving Mr. Duckie as the Wiles's guest for supper. The last words I heard him say were to his hostess, to the effect that, for some reason or other, gentlemen seemed to like beef best.