THE DÉBUT OF BATTLING BILLSON
It difficult, I have found, as time goes by, to the exact in which one with this man or that; for as a thing I no to the of one of those hair-trigger memories which come from to the in the magazines. And yet I can without or that the as Battling Billson entered my life at half-past four on the of Saturday, September the tenth, two days after my twenty-seventh birthday. For there was that about my of him which has the event to on the of my mind when a yesterday has from its page. Not only was our meeting and startling, but it had in it something of the quality of the last straw, the final or of Fortune. It to put the on the of life.
Everything had been going with me for more than a week. I had been away, paying a visit to relatives in the country, and it had and and rained. There had been family prayers and after dinner. On the to London my had been full of babies, the train had stopped everywhere, and I had had nothing to eat but a of buns. And when I let myself into my in Ebury Street and the of my sitting-room, the thing I saw on opening the door was this red-headed man on the sofa.
He no move as I came in, for he was asleep; and I can best the I got of his by saying that I had no to wake him. The sofa was a small one, and he overflowed it in every direction. He had a nose, and his was the of a Wild West motion-picture star Determination. One hand was under his head; the other, to the floor, looked like a into stone. What he was doing in my sitting-room I did not know; but, as I to know, I not to first-hand information. There was something about him that to that he might be one of those men who are when they wake up. I out and to make of Bowles, my landlord.
“Sir?” said Bowles, in his ex-butler way, up from the by a rich of haddie.
“There’s someone in my room,” I whispered.
“That would be Mr. Ukridge, sir.”
“It wouldn’t be anything of the kind,” I replied, with asperity. I had the to Bowles, but this was so that I not let it pass. “It’s a red-headed man.”
“Mr. Ukridge’s friend, sir. He joined Mr. Ukridge here yesterday.”
“How do you mean, joined Mr. Ukridge here yesterday?”
“Mr. Ukridge came to your rooms in your absence, sir, on the night after your departure. I that he had your approval. He said, if I correctly, that ‘it would be all right.’”
For some or other which I had been able to explain, Bowles’s Ukridge from their meeting had been that of an father a son. He gave the now of me on having such a friend to and into my rooms when I away.
“Would there be anything further, sir?” Bowles, with a half-glance over his shoulder. He to tear himself away for long from the haddie.
“No,” I said. “Er—no. When do you Mr. Ukridge back?”
“Mr. Ukridge me that he would return for dinner, sir. Unless he has his plans, he is now at a matinée performance at the Gaiety Theatre.”
The audience was just to when I the Gaiety. I waited in the Strand, and presently was by the of a yellow its way through the crowd.
“Hallo, laddie!” said Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, genially. “When did you back? I say, I want you to this tune, so that you can me of it to-morrow, when I’ll be sure to have it. This is how it goes.” He himself flat-footedly in the of and, his and his chin, to in a loud and tenor. “Tumty-tumty-tumty-tum, tum tum,” he concluded. “And now, old horse, you may lead me across the to the Coal Hole for a snifter. What of a time have you had?”
“Never mind what of a time I’ve had. Who’s the you’ve in my rooms?
“Red-haired man?”
“Good Lord! Surely you wouldn’t more than one on me?”
Ukridge looked at me a little pained.
“I don’t like this tone,” he said, leading me the steps of the Coal Hole. “Upon my Sam, your manner me, old horse. I little that you would object to your best friend his on your pillow.”
“I don’t mind your head. At least I do, but I I’ve got to put up with it. But when it comes to your taking in lodgers——”
“Order two ports, laddie,” said Ukridge, “and I’ll all about that. I had an idea all along that you would want to know. It’s like this,” he proceeded, when the had arrived. “That bloke’s going to make my fortune.”
“Well, can’t he do it else in my sitting-room?”
“You know me, old horse,” said Ukridge, luxuriously. “Keen, alert, far-sighted. Brain still. Always ideas—bing—like a flash. The other day I was in a Chelsea way having a of and cheese, and a came in with jewels. Smothered, I give you my word. Rings on his and a tie-pin you have your cigar at. I and that he was Tod Bingham’s manager.”
“Who’s Tod Bingham?”
“My dear old son, you must have of Tod Bingham. The new middle-weight champion. Beat Alf Palmer for the a of ago. And this bloke, as opulent-looking a as I saw, was his manager. I he about fifty cent. of Tod makes, and you know the of they give for big nowadays. And then there’s music-hall and the and all that. Well, I see no why, the thing at the figures, I shouldn’t in thousands. I got the idea two after they told me who this was. And what the thing almost as if it was meant to be was the that I should have only that that the Hyacinth was in.”
The man to me to be rambling. In my and his method of me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “What’s the Hyacinth? In where?”
“Pull together, old horse,” said Ukridge, with the air of one to be patient with a half-witted child. “You the Hyacinth, the I took that on a of years ago. Many’s the time I’ve told you all about the Hyacinth. She in the Port of London the night I met this bloke, and I had been meaning to go next day and have a with the lads. The you in your rooms is one of the trimmers. As a bird as you met. Not much conversation, but a of gold. And it came across me like a the moment they told me who the was that, if I only this man Billson to take up seriously, with me as his manager, my was made. Billson is the man who fighting.”
“He looks it.”
“Splendid chap—you’ll like him.”
“I I shall. I up my mind to like him the moment I saw him.”
“Never a quarrel, you understand—in fact, used to need the of a of he would give of his best; but once he started—golly! I’ve that man clean out a at Marseilles in a way that you. A to overflowing with A.B.’s and firemen, mind you, and all of with a blow. Six of them there were, and they Billson with all the and at their disposal, but he just let them off, and on with the in hand. The man’s a champion, laddie, nothing less. You couldn’t him with a hatchet, and every time he anyone all the in the place jump up and make for the body. And the of luck is that he was looking for a job ashore. It he’s in love with one of the at the Crown in Kennington. Not,” said Ukridge, so that all should be avoided, “the one with the squint. The other one. Flossie. The girl with yellow hair.”
“I don’t know the at the Crown in Kennington,” I said.
“Nice girls,” said Ukridge, paternally. “So it was all right, you see. Our were identical. Good old Billson isn’t what you’d call a very chap, but I managed to make him after an hour or so, and we up the contract. I’m to fifty cent. of in of him, up fights, and looking after him generally.”
“And looking after him him up on my sofa and him to sleep?”
Again that look came into Ukridge’s face. He at me as if I had him.
“You keep on that, laddie, and it isn’t the right spirit. Anyone would think that we had your room.”
“Well, you must admit that having this of yours in the home is going to make a crowded.”
“Don’t worry about that, my dear old man,” said Ukridge, reassuringly. “We move to the White Hart at Barnes to-morrow, to start training. I’ve got Billson an in one of the at Wonderland two from to-night.”
“No; really?” I said, by this enterprise. “How did you manage it?”
“I just took him along and him to the management. They jumped at him. You see, the old boy’s speaks for itself. Thank goodness, all this just when I had a away. By the good luck I ran into George Tupper at the very moment when he had had word that they were going to make him an under-secretary or something—I can’t the details, but it’s something they give these Foreign Office when they a of class—and Tuppy with a without a murmur. Seemed of dazed. I now I have had twenty if I’d had the presence of mind to ask for it. Still,” said Ukridge, with a which did him credit, “it can’t be helped now, and ten will see me through. The only thing that’s me at the moment is what to call Billson.”
“Yes, I should be what I called a man like that.”
“I mean, what name is he to under?”
“Why not his own?”
“His parents, them,” said Ukridge, moodily, “christened him Wilberforce. I ask you, can you see the at Wonderland having Wilberforce Billson to them?”
“Willie Billson,” I suggested. “Rather snappy.”
Ukridge the seriously, with brows, as a manager.
“Too frivolous,” he at length. “Might be all right for a bantam, but—no, I don’t like it. I was of something like Hurricane Hicks or Rock-Crusher Riggs.”
“Don’t do it,” I urged, “or you’ll kill his career right from the start. You a with one of these names. Bob Fitzsimmons, Jack Johnson, James J. Corbett, James J. Jeffries——”
“James J. Billson?”
“Rotten.”
“You don’t think,” said Ukridge, almost with timidity, “that Wildcat Wix might do?”
“No with an in of his name in anything a three-round preliminary.”
“How about Battling Billson?”
I him on the shoulder.
“Go no farther,” I said. “The thing is settled. Battling Billson is the name.”
“Laddie,” said Ukridge in a voice, across the table and my hand, “this is genius. Sheer genius. Order another of ports, old man.”
I did so, and we to the Battler’s success.
My to my took place on our return to Ebury Street, and—great as had been my respect for the man before—it left me with a of the for him in his profession. He was by this time and moving about the sitting-room, and he looked more than he had appeared when down. At our meeting, moreover, his had been closed in sleep; they were now open, green in colour, and of a which them, as we hands, to to be my person for good to hit. What was to be the that appeared to me a and of the lip. Take him for all in all, I had met a man so calculated to the most to at a glance; and when I Ukridge’s of the little at Marseilles and that a of a dozen able-bodied had had the to this in personal conflict, it gave me a of pride. There must be good in the British Merchant Marine, I felt. Hearts of oak.
Dinner, which the introduction, the Battler as a than as a conversationalist. His long him to salt, potatoes, pepper, and other without the of for them; and on other he to no views which he of exploitation. A strong, man.
That there was a to his was, however, clear to me when, after one of my and talking for of this and that, Ukridge out on one of those of his which were always him at all hours and left my guest and myself alone together. After a half-hour’s silence, only by the of his pipe, the an at me and spoke.
“You been in love, mister?”
I was and flattered. Something in my appearance, I told myself, some something that me a man of and sympathy, had to this man, and he was about to out his in confession. I said yes, I had been in love many times. I on to speak of love as a of which no man need be ashamed. I spoke at length and with fervour.
“R!” said Battling Billson.
Then, as if aware that he had been in an manner to a stranger, he into the again and did not till it was time to go to bed, when he said “Good night, mister,” and disappeared. It was disappointing. Significant, perhaps, the had been, but I had been for something which have been up into a document, “The Soul of the Abysmal Brute,” and to some for that money which was always so needed in the home.
Ukridge and his protégé left next for Barnes, and, as that was off my beat, I saw no more of the Battler until the night at Wonderland. From time to time Ukridge would in at my rooms to and socks, and on these occasions he always spoke with the of his man’s prospects. At first, it seemed, there had been a little to the other’s idea that tobacco was an to training: but the end of the week the of had and he had to until after his début. By this the issue to Ukridge to have been sealed as a certainty, and he was in sunny mood as he the money from me to pay our to the Underground station at which the who to visit that Mecca of East-end boxing, Wonderland.
The Battler had us, and when we was in the dressing-room, to a breath-taking semi-nudity. I had not that it was possible for a man to be larger than was Mr. Billson when for the street, but in and shoes he looked like his big brother. Muscles the of an Atlantic his arms and along his shoulders. He to the by no means who passed out of the room as we came in.
“That’s the bloke,” Mr. Billson, his red after this person.
We him to that the other was his opponent, and the of which had us considerably. Where six of the of the Merchant Marine had failed, this to succeed.
“I been talkin’ to ’im,” said Battling Billson.
I took this to be to a natural at such a moment.
“’E’s ’ad a of trouble, that bloke,” said the Battler.
The reply was that he was now going to have a more, but either of us make it a voice that Squiffy and the Toff had their three-round and that the stage now waited for our nominee. We to our seats. The of taking a look at our man in his dressing-room had us of the of the passage of arms Squiffy and the Toff, but I that it must have been and full of entertainment, for the audience in excellent humour. All those who were not too were or their to friends in parts of the hall. As Mr. Billson into the ring in all the of his red and jumping muscles, the rose to a roar. It was plain that Wonderland had our Battler with its on sight.
The which support Wonderland are not of science. Neat their commendation, and a of the is with applause. But what they most is the punch. And one of Battling Billson to tell them that here was the Punch personified. They sent the off to a of ecstasy, and settled in their seats to the pure of two of their fellow-men each other very hard and often.
The died away.
I looked at Ukridge with concern. Was this the hero of Marseilles, the man who out bar-rooms and on fawned? Diffident was the only word to our Battler’s in that opening round. He at his antagonist. He him like a brother. He about the ring, innocuous.
“What’s the with him?” I asked.
“He always slow,” said Ukridge, but his was manifest. He at the of his mackintosh. The was Battling Billson, He was speaking to him like a father. In the and parts of the house citizens were “Comrades.” Everywhere a had on the house. That fresh had died away, and the of the for the end of the was with cat-calls. As Mr. Billson to his corner, was on all sides.
With the opening of the second more was into the affair. The same still our Battler in its grip, but his was another man. During one he had a little and apprehensive. He had as if he it not to Mr. Billson. But now this for direct action had left him. There was in his as he moved to the centre of the ring; and, having it, he a long left and Mr. Billson on the nose. Twice he him, and twice Mr. Billson like one who has had news from home. The man who had had a of trouble and his right against the Battler’s ear.
All was and forgiven. A moment the audience had been anti-Billson. Now they were as pro. For these blows, while they appeared to have him not at all physically, to have Mr. Billson’s as if somebody had on a tap. They had in Mr. Billson’s that for which had been so sadly to in one. For an after the receipt of that on the ear the Battler on his feet, in thought. Then, with the air of one who has an appointment, he forward. Like an he himself upon the of troubles. He him here, he him there. He upon his person. He did to him that a man can do who is with boxing-gloves, until presently the one was against the ropes, his dazedly, his whole that of a man who would just as soon let the drop. It only for the Battler to drive home the final punch, and a hundred enthusiasts, to their feet, were pointing out to him for it.
But once more that had upon our representative. While every other man in the to know the and was sketching it out in English, Mr. Billson appeared the of doubt. He looked at his and at the referee.
The referee, a man of sensibilities, was unresponsive. Do It Now was his slogan. He was a man, and he wanted his to good value for their money. He was Mr. Billson to make a job of it. And Mr. Billson approached his man and his right arm. Having done this, he looked over his once more at the referee.
It was a blunder. The man who had had a of trouble may have been in shape, but, like most of his profession, he retained, despite his misadventures, a store of energy. Even as Mr. Billson his head, he to the with his right hand, then, with a final effort, it up in a against the of the other’s jaw. And then, as the audience, with of sympathy, him on, he his left in Mr. Billson’s on the exact spot where the well-dressed man the third of his waistcoat.
Of all this of being in this is the least agreeable. Battling Billson like a flower, settled slowly down, and spread himself out. He peacefully on his with arms like a man in water. His day’s work was done.
A rose above the of of sport to to their how it had all happened. It was the voice of Ukridge over his dead.
At half-past eleven that night, as I was preparing for bed, a entered my room. I mixed a silent, Scotch and soda, and for no word was spoken.
“How is the fellow?” I asked at length.
“He’s all right,” said Ukridge, listlessly. “I left him fish and at a coffee-stall.”
“Bad luck his on the post like that.”
“Bad luck!” Ukridge, off his with a that spoke of anguish. “What do you mean, luck? It was just dam’ bone-headedness. Upon my Sam, it’s a little hard. I in this man, I support him in luxury for two weeks, nothing of him in return to sail in and somebody’s off, which he have done in two minutes if he had liked, and he lets me purely and the other told him that he had been up all night looking after his wife who had her hand at the factory. Inferanal sentimentalism!”
“Does him credit,” I argued.
“Bah!”
“Kind hearts,” I urged, “are more than coronets.”
“Who the wants a to have a heart? What’s the use of this man Billson being able to out an elephant if he’s with this mushiness? Who of a pugilist? It’s the spirit. It doesn’t make for success.”
“It’s a handicap, of course,” I admitted.
“What have I,” Ukridge, “that if I go to trouble and him another match, he won’t turn and away a tear in the he’s that the blighter’s wife has got an toenail?”
“You match him only against bachelors.”
“Yes, and the he met would him into a and tell him his aunt was with whooping-cough, and the would a and his out to be walloped. A fellow’s got no to have red if he isn’t going to live up to it. And yet,” said Ukridge, wistfully, “I’ve that man—it was in a dance-hall at Naples—I’ve him take on at least eleven Italians simultaneously. But then, one of them had a knife about three into his leg. He to need something like that to give him ambition.”
“I don’t see how you are going to to have him just each fight.”
“No,” said Ukridge, mournfully.
“What are you going to do about his future? Have you any plans?”
“Nothing definite. My aunt was looking for a to to her and take of the last time I saw her. I might try to the job for him.”
And with a horrid, laugh Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge five and passed out into the night.
I did not see Ukridge for the next days, but I had news of him from our friend George Tupper, I met in mood Whitehall.
“I say,” said George Tupper without preamble, and with a of fervour, “they’ve me an under-secretaryship.”
I pressed his hand. I would have him on the back, but one not the of Foreign Office officials in Whitehall in daylight, if one has been at with them.
“Congratulations,” I said. “There is no one I would more see under-secretarying. I of this from Ukridge.”
“Oh, yes, I I told him it might be off. Good old Ukridge! I met him just now and told him the news, and he was delighted.”
“How much did he touch you for?”
“Eh? Oh, only five pounds. Till Saturday. He to have a of money by then.”
“Did you know the time when Ukridge didn’t to have a of money?”
“I want you and Ukridge to come and have a of dinner with me to celebrate. How would Wednesday you?”
“Splendidly.”
“Seven-thirty at the Regent Grill, then. Will you tell Ukridge?”
“I don’t know where he’s got to. I haven’t him for nearly a week. Did he tell you where he was?”
“Out at some place at Barnes. What was the name of it?”
“The White Hart?”
“That’s it.”
“Tell me,” I said, “how did he seem? Cheerful?”
“Very. Why?”
“The last time I saw him he was of up the struggle. He had had reverses.”
I to the White Hart after lunch. The that Ukridge was still at that and had his sunny on life to point to the that the clouds the of Mr. Billson had away, and that the latter’s was still in the ring. That this was so was clear to me directly I arrived. Enquiring for my old friend, I was to an upper room, from which, as I approached, there came a noise. It was caused, as I on opening the door, by Mr. Billson. Clad in and a sweater, he was a large leather object from a platform. His manager, seated on a soap-box in a corner, him the while with proprietorship.
“Hallo, old horse!” said Ukridge, as I entered. “Glad to see you.”
The of Mr. Billson’s bag-punching, from which my had not him to desist, was such as to difficult. We moved to the of the downstairs, where I Ukridge of the under-secretary’s invitation.
“I’ll be there,” said Ukridge. “There’s one thing about good old Billson, you can trust him not to if you take your off him. And, of course, he that this is a big thing. It’ll be the making of him.”
“Your aunt is him, then?”
“My aunt? What on earth are you talking about? Collect yourself, laddie.”
“When you left me you were going to try to him the job of looking after your aunt’s canary.”
“Oh, I was then. That’s all over. I had an talk with the zimp, and he means from now on. And so he ought to, it, with a opportunity like this.”
“Like what?”
“We’re on to a big thing now, laddie, the of a big thing.”
“I you’ve sure the other man’s a bachelor. Who is he?”
“Tod Bingham.”
“Tod Bingham?” I in my memory. “You don’t the middle-weight champion?”
“That’s the fellow.”
“You don’t me to that you’ve got a match on with a already?”
“It isn’t a match. It’s like this. Tod Bingham is going the East-end two hundred to anyone who’ll four with him. Advertisement stuff. Good old Billson is going to himself at the Shoreditch Empire next Saturday.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to four rounds?”
“Stay four rounds!” Ukridge. “Why, he four with a with a Gatling-gun and a of pickaxes. That money’s as good as in our pockets, laddie. And once we’re through with this job, there isn’t a boxing-place in England that won’t jump at us. I don’t mind telling you in confidence, old horse, that in a year from now I to be in hundreds a week. Clean up a here first, you know, and then over to America and make an fortune. Damme, I shan’t know how to the money!”
“Why not some socks? I’m a of them.”
“Now, laddie, laddie,” said Ukridge, reprovingly, “need we a note? Is this the moment to your in an old friend’s face? A broader-minded is what I would like to see.”
I was ten minutes late in at the Regent Grill on the Wednesday of George Tupper’s invitation, and the of George in person bare-headed at the Piccadilly entrance me with remorse. George was the best in the world, but the of the Foreign Office had the he had always had from to a of fussiness, and it him if his did not on schedule. The that my should have this great sent me him full of apologies.
“Oh, there you are,” said George Tupper. “I say, it’s too bad——”
“I’m sorry. My watch——”
“Ukridge!” George Tupper, and I that it was not I who had his concern.
“Isn’t he coming?” I asked, amazed. The idea of Ukridge a free was one of those that to make the solid of the world rock.
“He’s come. And he’s a girl with him!”
“A girl!”
“In pink, with yellow hair,” George Tupper. “What am I to do?”
I the point.
“It’s a thing for Ukridge to have done,” I said, “but I you’ll have to give her dinner.”
“But the place is full of people I know, and this girl’s so—so spectacular.”
I for him deeply, but I see no way out of it.
“You don’t think I say I had been taken ill?”
“It would Ukridge’s feelings.”
“I should Ukridge’s feelings, him!” said George Tupper, fervently.
“And it would be an for the girl, she is.”
George Tupper sighed. His was a nature. He himself up as if himself for a ordeal.
“Oh, well, I there’s nothing to do,” he said. “Come along. I left them in the lounge.”
George had not in Ukridge’s to the as spectacular. Flamboyant would have been a word. As she us the long dining-room, her arm in George Tupper’s—she to have taken a to George—I had opportunity for studying her, from her patent-leather shoes to the of her picture-hat. She had a loud, clear voice, and she was telling George Tupper the of an which had an aunt of hers. If George had been the family physician, she not have been franker; and I see a over his ears.
Perhaps Ukridge saw it, too, for he to a of conscience.
“I have an idea, laddie,” he whispered, “that old Tuppy is a at my Flossie along. If you a chance, you might just to him that it was necessity.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“I told you about her. Flossie, the at the Crown in Kennington. Billson’s fiancée.”
I looked at him in amazement.
“Do you to tell me that you’re death by with Battling Billson’s girl?”
“My dear old man, nothing like that,” said Ukridge, shocked. “The whole thing is, I’ve got a particular to ask of her—rather a request—and it was no good it on her in cold blood. There had to be a amount of in advance, and my won’t to champagne. I’m taking her on to the Alhambra after dinner. I’ll look you up to-night and tell you all about it.”
We then to dine. It was not one of the of my experience. The Mrs. Billson throughout, and Ukridge her in the alive; but the of George Tupper would have taken the out of any banquet. From time to time he himself together and to play the host, but for the most part he a and silence; and it was a when Ukridge and his rose to leave.
“Well!——” George Tupper in a voice, as they moved away the aisle.
I a cigar and sat to listen.
Ukridge in my rooms at midnight, his through their pince-nez with a light. His manner was exuberant.
“It’s all right,” he said.
“I’m you think so.”
“Did you to Tuppy?”
“I didn’t a chance. He was talking too hard.”
“About me?”
“Yes. He said I’ve always about you, only far, than I have put it.”
Ukridge’s for a moment, but returned.
“Oh, well, it can’t be helped. He’ll in a day or two. It had to be done, laddie. Life and death matter. And it’s all right. Read this.”
I took the he me. It was in a hand.
“What’s this?”
“Read it, laddie. I think it will meet the case.” I read.
“‘Wilberforce.’”
“Who on earth’s Wilberforce?”
“I told you that was Billson’s name.”
“Oh, yes.”
I returned to the letter.
“Wilberforce,—
“I take my pen in hand to tell you that I can be yours. You will no be to that I love another and a man, so that it can be. He loves me, and he is a man than you.
“Hoping this you in the pink as it me at present,
“Yours faithfully,
“Florence Burns.”
“I told her to keep it snappy,” said Ukridge.
“Well, she’s done it,” I replied, the letter. “I’m sorry. From the little I saw of her, I her a girl—for Billson. Do you to know the other man’s address? Because it would be a act to send him a post card him to England for a year or two.”
“The Shoreditch Empire will him this week.”
“What!”
“The other man is Tod Bingham.”
“Tod Bingham!” The of the moved me. “Do you to say that Tod Bingham is in love with Battling Billson’s girl?”
“No. He’s her!”
“What do you mean?”
Ukridge sat on the sofa. He my with and violence.
“Laddie,” said Ukridge, “I will tell you all. Yesterday I old Billson reading a copy of the Daily Sportsman. He isn’t much of a reader as a rule, so I was to know what had him. And do you know what it was, old horse?”
“I do not.”
“It was an article about Tod Bingham. One of those they print about nowadays, saying what a good he was in private life and how he always sent a to his old mother after each and gave her the purse. Damme, there ought to be a of the Press. These don’t mind what they print. I don’t Tod Bingham has got an old mother, and if he has I’ll he doesn’t give her a bob. There were in that Billson’s as he me the article. Salt tears, laddie! ‘Must be a feller!’ he said. Well, I ask you! I to say, it’s a thick when the man you’ve been out money for and over like a sister sorry for a three days he’s to him. A champion, mark you! It was his about that at Wonderland, but when it came to being soft-hearted over Tod Bingham something had to be done. Well, you know me. Brain like a buzz-saw. I saw the only way of this was to him so with Tod Bingham that he would all about his old mother, so I thought: Why not Flossie to that Bingham had cut him out with her? Well, it’s not the of thing you can ask a girl to do without preparing the ground a bit, so I her along to Tuppy’s dinner. It was a master-stroke, laddie. There’s nothing the delicately-nurtured like a good dinner, and there’s no that old Tuppy did us well. She the moment I put the thing to her, and sat and that without a blink. I think she thinks it’s all a practical joke. She’s a light-hearted girl.”
“Must be.”
“It’ll give old Billson a of a for the time being, I suppose, but it’ll make him spread himself on Saturday night, and he’ll be perfectly happy on Sunday when she tells him she didn’t it and he that he’s got a hundred of Tod Bingham’s in his pocket.”
“I you said it was two hundred that Bingham was offering.”
“I a hundred,” said Ukridge, dreamily.
“The only is, the doesn’t give the other man’s name. How is Billson to know it’s Tod Bingham?”
“Why, damme, laddie, do use your intelligence. Billson isn’t going to and when he that letter. He’ll to Kennington and ask Flossie.”
“And then she will give the whole thing away.”
“No, she won’t. I her a of to promise she wouldn’t. And that me, old man, it has left me a short, so if you possibly manage——”
“Good night,” I said.
“But, laddie——”
“And God you,” I added, firmly.
The Shoreditch Empire is a house, but it was to the doors when I it on the Saturday night. In normal I there would always have been a large audience on a Saturday, and this the of Tod Bingham’s personal had more than capacity. In return for my I was the of against the at the back, a position from which I not see a great of the performance.
From the occasional which I got of the stage the of my neighbours, however, and from the and of the audience I that I was not missing much. The programme of the Shoreditch Empire that week was a one-man affair. The had the air of the as that them and the head-liner. It was Tod Bingham they had come to see, and they were not to the serio-comics, cyclists, jugglers, acrobats, and singers who themselves the part of the evening. The that as the on a sketch came from the heart, for the next number on the programme was that of the star.
A man in dress with a red his shirt-front out from the wings.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
“’Ush!” the audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
A Voice: “Good Tod!” (“Cheese it!”)
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the for the third time. He the house apprehensively. “Deeply have to announce. Tod Bingham unable to appear you to-night.”
A like the of of their or of an full of Roman citizens on receipt of the news that the supply of lions had out these words. We at each other with a wild surmise. Could this thing be, or was it not too thick for belief?
“Wot’s the with ’im?” the gallery, hoarsely.
“Yus, wot’s the with ’im?” we of the on the floor.
The the entrance. He aware that he was not a popular favourite.
“’E ’as ’ad an accident,” he declared, to away his wholesale. “On ’is way ’ere to this ’all ’e was into by a truck, and which ’im unable to appear you to-night. I to that ’is place will be taken by Professor Devine, who will ’is of and familiar animals. Ladies and gentlemen,” the ambassador, off the stage, “I thank you one and all.”
The rose and a with a on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my will be of that well-known songster, the common thrust—better to some of you per’aps as the throstle. And in with my performance I wish to that I ’ave nothing in my mouth. The which I produce——”
I withdrew, and two-thirds of the audience started to do the same. From us, away as the doors closed, came the note of the common with that other and bird which those places of where are and to take offence.
Out in the a of Shoreditch’s set were on the of an in a and which had been for a larger man. Some which he was telling them spell-bound. Words came through the noise of the traffic.
“——like this. Then ’e ’its ’im another like that. Then they start—on the of the jor——”
“Pass along, there,” an official voice. “Come on, there, pass along.”
The and itself into its elements. I myself moving the in company with the of the hat. Though we had not been introduced, he to me a for his tale. He me at once as a for a fresh audience.
“’E comes up, this does, just as Tod is goin’ in at the stage-door——”
“Tod?” I queried.
“Tod Bingham. ’E comes up just as ’e’s goin’ in at the stage-door, and ’e says ‘’Ere!’ and Tod says ‘Yus?’ and this ’e says ‘Put ’em up!’ and Tod says ‘Put up?’ and this says ‘Yer ’ands,’ and Tod says ‘Wot, me?’—sort of surprised. An’ the next minute they’re fightin’ all over the shop.”
“But surely Tod Bingham was over by a truck?”
The man in the me with the and which the on those of views.
“Truck! ’E wasn’t over by no truck. Wot ’e was over by a truck? Wot ’ud ’e be doin’ bein’ over by a truck? ’E ’ad it put across ’im by this red-’eaded bloke, same as I’m tellin’ yer.”
A great light upon me.
“Red-headed?” I cried.
“Yus.”
“A big man?”
“Yus.”
“And he put it across Tod Bingham?”
“Put it across ’im proper. ’Ad to go ’ome in a keb, Tod did. Funny a that like that ’adn’t the to go and do it on the and some money for it. That’s I think.”
Across the an arc-lamp its cold rays. And into its there a man in a yellow mackintosh. The light on his pince-nez and a to his set face. It was Ukridge from Moscow.
“Others,” I said, “are the same.”
And I across the road to what I might. There are moments when a needs a friend.