Book: The Good Comrade

U >> Una L. Silberrad >> The Good Comrade




"It is unusual; that's where the value comes in; but it's real fast
enough, though I don't believe he grew the first, as he says, in his
own garden. It's my opinion that one of his collectors sent him the
first bulb; he has collectors all over the world, you know, looking
for new things."

"What is he going to do with it?" Julia asked.

"He is multiplying it at present; at first he had only one, now, of
course, he has a few more; when he has got enough he will hybridise.
You don't know what that is. Cross-breed with it; use the blue with
the old yellow daffodil as parents to new varieties. That's ticklish
work; growers can't afford to do it till they have a fair number of
the new sort; but, of course, they occasionally get something good
that way."

Julia listened, much interested, though, to tell the truth, the money
value of the thing fascinated her more than anything else.

"Will he never sell any of his blue bulbs?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, in time," Cross answered; "but not while they are worth
anything much to the growers."

"What are they worth? I mean, what would it be worth if there was only
one?"

"I don't know; I dare say I could get L400 for the single bulb."

"But if there were more they would not be worth so much? If there were
five, what would they be worth?"

"Pretty well as much, very likely L300 for one bulb. Van Heigen would
give a written guarantee with it not to sell another bulb to another
grower."

"But he could keep the others himself?" Julia asked. "That would be
eating his cake and having it too. Tell me," she said, feeling she was
imitating the Patriarch when he was pleading for Sodom and Gomorrah,
"if there were ten bulbs, what could you get for one."

Cross was amused by her interest. "A hundred pounds, I dare say," he
said; "but I shall never have the chance. The trade will never touch
those blue daffodils while they are worth having. When the old man
does begin to sell them--when they are worth very little to the
growers--he will sell to collectors, cranky old connoisseurs, from
choice. That's what I mean when I say he doesn't understand business
as business; he would rather sell his precious blue daffodils where
they were what he calls 'appreciated.' He would sooner they went for a
moderate price to people who would worship them, than make an enormous
profit out of them."

"But the connoisseurs could sell them," Julia objected. "If I were a
connoisseur and bought one when they were for sale, I could sell it to
you if I liked."

"Yes, but you wouldn't," Cross said; "if you were a connoisseur you
would not dream of parting with your bulb. You wouldn't have the
slightest wish to make a hundred per cent. on your purchase, or two or
three hundred either. Also I shouldn't buy."

"Why not?"

"I couldn't afford to have my name mixed up with the business."

Julia looked at him critically. "You could afford that the business
should be done without your name?" she suggested.

He laughed. "I could introduce the seller, did such an impossible
person exist, to some one who could buy."

It was Julia's turn to laugh, that soundless laugh of hers which gave
the feeling of a joke only half shared. "For a consideration, of
course," she said.

"Something would naturally stick to my fingers," Cross answered,
amused rather than offended.

He was a good deal amused by his partner, finding her more interesting
than most of the girls he met that evening; afterwards he forgot her,
for two days later he left the place, and thought no more either about
Miss Polkington or the talk he had had with her.

As for her, it was not clear what she thought, but the next day she
wrote to London for a second-hand Dutch dictionary, and then went to
call at the house with the largest library that she knew. When she
came away from there she carried with her a book she had borrowed, a
Dutch version of _Gil Blas_, which she remembered to have once seen
tucked away in a corner. Shortly afterwards, as soon as the dictionary
came, she set to reading the edifying work, and found it easier than
she expected. What one learns from necessity in childhood stays in the
memory, and a good knowledge of German and a smallish one of Dutch
will carry one through greater difficulties than _Gil Blas_.

Before her mother and sisters came back to Marbridge, Julia had
written to the old Dutchman.

When Mrs. Polkington heard Julia wanted to go to Holland and live in a
Dutch family she was surprised. This news was not given to her till
the spring had fairly set in, for it was not till then that Julia had
been able to get everything arranged. It is no use telling people your
plans unless you are quite sure of carrying them out, and you are
never sure of that long before starting; at least, that was Julia's
opinion. It was also her opinion that it was quite unnecessary to tell
all details. She said she was tired of being at Marbridge, and wanted
a complete change; also that when there were three grown-up sisters at
home it seemed rather desirable that one should go away, for a time at
least. When Violet suggested that it was odd to have chosen Holland in
preference to France or Germany, she replied truthfully that the one
was possible to her, the others were not.

Mrs. Polkington, who quite approved of the plan, saw no objection to
Holland, adding as a recommendation, "It is so much more original to
go there." She did not fail to remark on the originality when she
embroidered Julia's going to her friends and acquaintances.

Captain Polkington was the only member of the family who regretted
this going. He had always regarded Julia as something between an ally
and a tolerant go-between; and since she had wrung from him the
confession of his difficulties, and helped in the arrangement of them,
his feeling for her had leaned more and more towards the former. He
had even come to feel a certain protectiveness in her presence, which
made him really sorry she was going. Johnny Gillat was sorrier still.

Johnny had gone back to dismal lodgings in town now; he only heard of
the plan by letter, and the Captain's letters were very prolix, and
not informing. Mr. Gillat's own letters were even worse, for if they
lacked the prolixity, they lacked the little information also. On
receipt of the Captain's information he merely wrote to ask when Julia
was going, and what time she would be in London, as he would like to
give himself the pleasure of meeting her train.

He did give himself that pleasure; he was at the station half an hour
and ten minutes before the train, so as to be sure of being in time.
He was on the platform when the train came in; Julia saw him, a rather
ridiculous figure, his shabby coat tremendously brushed and tightly
buttoned, a gay tie displayed to the uttermost to hide a ragged shirt
front, his round, pink face, with its little grizzled moustache,
wearing a look of melancholy which made it appear more than ordinarily
foolish. He was standing where the part of the train which came from
Marbridge could not possibly stop, much in the way of porters and
trucks; Julia had to find him and find her luggage too, but he seemed
to think he was of much service. Julia's hard young heart smote her
when he gave twopence to her porter.

"Johnny," she said, as he took her ticket on the District Railway, "I
am going to pay for my ticket."

It was only threepence, but there are people who have to consider the
threepences; if Julia was one, she knew that Mr. Gillat was another,
and she had allowed for this threepence, and he probably had not. He
demurred, but she insisted. "Then I won't let you come with me;" and
he gave way.

They were alone in a compartment, and he shouted above the rattle of
the train something about her being missed at Marbridge.

"Oh, no," she said, "mother and the girls think it is a good thing I
am going."

"Your father and I will miss you," Johnny told her.

"You?"

"Yes; I'll miss you very much--we both shall; we shall sit
down-stairs, each side of the fire-place, and think how you used to
come there sometimes. And when I wait in the dining-room when your
father's not at home, I'll remember how you used to come down there
and chat. We had many a chat, didn't we?--you and me, and Bouquet
burning between us--there was nobody could trim Bouquet like you. But
perhaps you'll be back before winter comes round again?"

"I don't know when I shall be back," was all Julia could find to say.
The idea of being missed like this was new and strange to her; the
Polkingtons' feelings were so much guided by what was advisable, or
expedient, that there was not usually much room for simple emotions.
She felt somehow grateful to Johnny for caring a little that she was
going, though at the same time she was unpleasantly convinced that she
did not deserve it.

"It won't be at all the same at No. 27," Mr. Gillat was saying. "Your
mother--she's a wonderful woman, a wonderful woman, and Miss Violet's
a fine girl, so's the other, handsome both of them; but they're in
the drawing-room, you know, and you--you used to come down-stairs."

It did not sound very explicit, but Julia understood what he meant.
Just then the train stopped at a station, and other passengers got in,
so they had little more talk.

In time they reached Mark Lane, from whence it is no great walk to the
Tower Stairs. There is a cheap way of going to Holland from there for
those who do not mind spending twenty-four hours on the journey; Julia
did not mind. When she and Johnny Gillat arrived at the Tower Stairs
they saw the steamer lying in the river, a small Dutch boat, still
taking in cargo from loaded lighters alongside. A waterman put them on
board, or, rather, took them to the nearest waiting lighter, from
whence they scrambled on board, Mr. Gillat very unhandily. A Dutch
steward received them, and taking Johnny for a father come to see his
daughter off, assured them in bad English that she would be quite
safe, and well taken care of.

"She shall haf one cabin to herself, a bed clean. Yes, yes; there is
no passenger but one, a Holland gentleman; he will not speak with the
miss, he is friend of captain."

Johnny nodded a great many times, though he did not quite follow what
was said. Then Julia told him he had better go, and not keep the
waterman any longer.

He agreed, and began fumbling in his pocket, from whence he pulled out
one of his badly-tied parcels.

"A keepsake," he said, putting it into her hand; then, without waiting
to say good-bye, he scrambled over the side in such a hurry that he as
nearly as possible fell into the river.

Julia ran to the side in some anxiety; some one shouted, "Look out,"
and some one else, "Hold up," and a third something less
complimentary. Then a man laid hold of Mr. Gillat's legs and guided
him safely on to the bobbing lighter. There he turned and waved his
hat to Julia before he got into the waiting boat.

"Good-bye," he called.

"Good-bye," she answered. "Oh, do be careful!"

He was not careful, but the waterman had him now, and took him ashore.
She watched him, his round face was suffused with smiles; he waved his
hat once more just as he reached the stairs. He slipped once getting
up them, but he was up now, and turned to wave once before he started
down the street.

It was not till then that Julia became aware of a small sound close at
hand; there was a good deal of noise going on, shouting, the rattling
of cranes, and the thud of shifting bales, with now and then the hoot
of a steamer and the escape of steam, and under all, the restless
lapping of the water. But through it all she now heard a much smaller
sound quite close, a regular _tick_, _tick_. She glanced at the parcel
she had forgotten, then in an instant, as a sudden idea occurred to
her, she had the paper off. Yes, it was. It was Johnny's great
old-fashioned gold watch, with the fetter chain dangling at the end.

She stood quite still with the thing in her hand, her mouth set
straight, and her eyes growing glitteringly bright. The round gilded
face stared up at her, reminding her in some grotesque way of Johnny;
poor, generous, honest, foolish old Johnny! She looked away quickly, a
sudden desire not to go with this moon-faced companion took possession
of her--a desire not to go at all, a horrible new-born doubt about it.

But feelings for abstract right and wrong, like personal likes and
dislikes, do not grow strongly where expediency and advisability and
advantage have to rule; she was only going to do what she must in
Holland; the debt must be paid, honour demanded no less; the blue
daffodil was the only hope of paying it. She was not going to steal a
bulb exactly; she was going to get it somehow, as a gift, perhaps,
opportunity must show how; and when it was hers, she could do with it
as she pleased, there was no wrong in that. She must go; she must do
it; the thing was so necessary as to be unavoidable, and not open to
question. She looked down, and her eye fell on the watch again; it
stared up at her in the same vacant way as Johnny had done that day
when he wanted to sell it and his other things to help them out of
their justly earned, sordid difficulties. With shame she had prevented
that, feeling the cause unworthy of the sacrifice. But this sacrifice,
for a still more unworthy cause, she was too late to prevent. Johnny
had gone. She looked earnestly to see if he was among those who
loitered about the stairs, or those in the more distant street. But
she could not see him, he was gone clean from sight; there was only
the busy, unfamiliar life of the river around; yellow, sunlit water;
the crowded craft, and the great stately wonder of the Tower Bridge
silently raising and parting its solid roadway to let some boat go, as
she would soon go down to the sea.




CHAPTER IV

THE OWNER OF THE BLUE DAFFODIL


Vrouw Snieder, the notary's wife, sat by her window at work on a long
strip of red crochet lace. From her place she could see all who came
up the street, and, there being a piece of looking-glass set outside,
at right angles to the pane, also most who came down it. This, though
doubtless very informing, did not help the progress of the lace; but
that was of no consequence, Mevrouw always had some red lace in
making, and it might as well be one piece as another. With her, were
her two daughters, Denah and Anna, though Anna had no business there,
being supposed just then to be preparing vegetables for dinner. She
had only come into the room to fetch keys, but a remark from her
mother brought her to the window.

"There goes Vrouw Van Heigen's English miss," the old lady said, and
both her daughters looked at once.

"She has been marketing, I see; she seems a good housewife."

"She walks in the road," Denah observed critically; "It is so
conspicuous, I could not do it; besides, one might be run over."

"The English always walk in the road," her sister answered; "they
think everything will get out of their way, and they do not at all
mind being conspicuous."

"The English miss should mind," Denah said, "for she is not pretty; no
one looks at her to admire; besides she is poor and has to work
hard."

"Yes, yes," her mother agreed placidly; "she is a fine worker. Vrouw
Van Heigen is full of her praises; such a cook--she has twenty new
dishes, and everything is done quickly, one cannot tell how; it is
like having a magician in the house, so she says. Ah, there is Herr
Van de Greutz's Marthe going into the apothecary's. I wonder now--"

But her daughters were not interested in Marthe; the English girl at
the Van Heigens' interested them a great deal more. They continued to
talk about her a great deal afterwards, Denah going back with her
sister to the kitchen and the vegetables, so as to be able to do so
undisturbed.

"I will help you with these," she said; "then we can go out."

She sat down and took up a knife. "It is strange how much Vrouw Van
Heigen thinks of that girl," she said. "She has been there but one
month and already there is no one like her. She does not keep her in
her place very well; were she a daughter more could not be said. I
wonder how Mijnheer likes it."

"It was Mijnheer who engaged her," Anna said. "It is not likely that
he regrets. I hear that she has written some English letters for him
since one of the clerks has been ill. My father says she can cook like
a Frenchwoman, and that is something. As for Joost, it is surely of
little importance to him, he is too quiet to say anything to her; she
talks little; she must be shy."

Denah had nothing to say to this, although, seeing in which person her
own interest in the Van Heigens lay, she possibly found some comfort
in the assurance. After a little she remarked, "That girl has no
accomplishments; she is as old-fashioned as our Aunt Barje, a
_huisvrouw_, no more. It is strange, for the English women make fun
of us for this, and pretend that they are educated and advanced above
us; she is not, she can do nothing but speak a few languages; she
cannot sing nor play, she has read no science, she cannot draw, nor
model in wax, nor make paper flowers, nor do bead work; she could not
even crochet till I showed her how. I wonder if she has made any
progress with the pattern I gave her. Shall we go and see by and by? I
might set her right if she is in a difficulty, and we could at the
same time inquire after Mevrouw's throat; she had a weakness, I
noticed, on Tuesday."

Anna agreed; she was a most obliging sister, and a while later they
set out together for the Van Heigens' house. They did not walk in the
wide, clean road, but were careful to keep to the path, pausing a
moment to consult before starting for the other side when it was
necessary to cross over.

The Van Heigens' house stood on the outskirts of the town, a long way
back from the road. The bulb garden lay all round it, though
immediately in front was a lawn so soft and green that no one ever
walked on it. The house was of wood, painted white, and had a
high-pitched roof of strange, dark-coloured tiles; a canal lay on two
sides, which ought to have made it damp, but did not.

Vrouw Van Heigen was pleased to see the girls, and received them with
an effusiveness which might have suggested that a longer time than
four days had elapsed since they last met. She kissed them on both
cheeks, and led them in by the hand; she asked particularly how they
were, and how their mother was, and how their father was, and if they
were not very tired with their walk, and would they not have
lemonade--yes, they must have lemonade. "Julia, Julia," she called,
"bring lemonade, bring glasses and the lemonade."

Julia came from a little room which led off the sitting-room, carrying
the things required on a papier-mache tray. She wore a large,
blue-print apron, for she had been shelling shrimps when she was
called, and though she stayed to wash her hands, she did not think it
necessary to remove her apron. She had observed it to be the custom
hereabouts to wear an apron of some sort all day long, and she did not
differentiate between the grades of aprons as Denah and Anna did. She
set down the tray and shook hands ceremoniously with the sisters and
made all the proper inquiries in the properest way; she had also
observed that to be the custom of the place. Then she poured out the
lemonade and handed it round, and was afterwards sent to fetch a glass
for herself and a little round tray to set it on--every one had a
little tray for fear of spoiling the crimson plush table-cover. Julia
cannot be said to have been anxious for lemonade; Vrouw Van Heigen's
growing affection for her often found expression in drinks at odd
times, a good deal more often than she appreciated. On this occasion,
since she was doing the pouring out herself, she was able to get off
with half a glass.

They all sat round the table and talked; Julia talked a great deal the
least, but that did not matter, the others had so much to say. She
listened, admiring the way in which one little incident--a dog running
on the tram line and being called off just in time by its
owner--served them for a quarter of an hour. What economy of ideas it
was, and how little strain to make conversation! Then came Mevrouw's
throat, the little hoarseness Denah had noticed on Tuesday. It was
nothing, the good lady declared, she had not felt it. Oh, if they
insisted on noticing it, she would own to a weakness but no more than
was usual to her when the dust was about, and truly the dust was
terrible now, she could not remember when it had been so bad so early
in June. And so on, and so on, until they somehow came round to
crochet lace, when Julia was obliged to confess that she had not made
much progress with the pattern. She exhibited a very small piece with
several mistakes in it.

"Why," cried Denah, "I have done already almost half a metre of the
piece I began at the same time. Is it difficult for you?"

Julia said it was, and Vrouw Van Heigen added by way of apology for
her, that she had been busy making a cool morning dress.

"For yourself?" Anna asked. "Do you make your dresses?"

"This is for Mevrouw," Julia answered; "but I can make my own."

The Polkingtons had had to, and also to put an immense amount of
thought and work into it, because they were bound to get a fine effect
for a small expense, and that is not possible without a large outlay
of time and consideration. Julia did not explain this to the present
company, it would have been rather incomprehensible to them.

Anna was at once fired with a desire to make herself a cool morning
dress, and asked a dozen questions as to how, while Denah's busy
fingers undid the faulty crochet work, and her tongue explained the
mistakes. Mevrouw did not listen much to either, but noticing the
glasses were empty, pressed the visitors in vain to have more
lemonade. They refused, and finding them quite obdurate she toddled
into the little room where Julia had been doing the shrimps, to come
back again, bearing a large bladder-covered bottle of peach-brandy.
The girls declined this very firmly, but Julia was sent for more
glasses, and soon they were all sipping the rich flavoured liqueur
without protestation.

It was over this that they planned an expedition to the wood. No one
knew quite who suggested it; when people all talk at once it is not
easy to say who originates an idea; anyhow, it was agreed that the
weather was so dry and the trees so lovely and Mevrouw so seldom went
out. She really felt--did she not?--that she would enjoy making a
small excursion, she was so wonderfully well--for her. What did Anna
think her mother would say? Perhaps they might join together for a
drive?

Anna thought her mother would be delighted; indeed, she often spoke of
the charms of a country excursion; Denah was called upon to
corroborate, and did so volubly. Where should they go? Half-a-dozen
different places were suggested; why not go here, or there, or to the
wood? Yes, the wood, that would be lovely. They could take their tea
out; if they were well wrapped up, of course, protected from the damp
and the wind, might it not be possible?

So by degrees the plan was brought to the first stage. Denah and Anna
were to talk it over with their mother, and if she thought favourably
of it, then "we must see." By that time Denah had set the crochet work
quite straight, and with kisses and hand-shakings the visitors
departed. Julia went back to the little room where first she washed
the glasses that had been used, afterwards she finished the shrimps
and washed them and put them ready for supper in a china dish like a
large soap dish on three feet. When that was done, it was necessary to
lay the table for dinner and superintend the getting of that meal.

The Van Heigens dined at four. It had taken Julia all the month she
had been with them to in any way get used to that time. Mijnheer and
the only son, Joost, came in from the office for two hours then. The
office joined the house and the great dim orderly bulb barns joined
the office, so the father and son had not far to come in whichever
place they might be. Julia and Mevrouw fetched the food from the
kitchen and cleared the table, as well as getting their own meal; but
that was nothing when you were used to it, any more than was the
curious butter and nutmeg sauce that always seemed to play a part at
dinner.

Mijnheer had a good deal to say to Julia, principally about his
business. The letters she had written for him during the illness of
the clerk who usually did his English correspondence, had given her
some little insight into it. This she had profited by, being in the
first instance really interested, and, in the second, not slow to see
that the old man, far from resenting it, had been pleased. He talked a
good deal about his affairs now, giving her little bits of information
and explaining rather proudly his method of doing business, and his
father's and his grandfather's before him. Joost, as usual, said
little or nothing; he must have been five or six and twenty, but he
had hardly ever left the parental roof, and was usually so hard at
work that he had little time or inclination for frivolity. He had
earnest child-like blue eyes that Julia did not care to look at, any
more than she did the round yellow face of Mr. Gillat's watch. This
was rather a pity as she could not always avoid it, and certainly he
looked at her a good deal, in fact whenever he thought he was not
observed. Of course he always was observed, by her at least; that was
a foregone conclusion; the observation gave her some uneasiness.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.