Jimmy himself from the of the Duke of Devizes' house in Cleveland Row. His mission had been a failure. In answer to his to be permitted to see Lord Percy Whipple, the had that Lord Percy was to his and was nobody. He Jimmy, on his name, with an which he failed to conceal, for he too, like Bayliss, had read and Bill Blake's of the of last night which had appeared in the Daily Sun. Indeed, he had the report out and had been in pasting it in an when the rang.
In of this repulse, Jimmy's down. He was at a to know what to do next. He away from the Duke's door like an army that has an attack on an fortress. He his way in and search for Lord Percy.
He walked along Pall Mall, in thought. It was a day. The rain which had in the night and Mr. Crocker from the of had London up.
The sun was now from a sky. A from the south. Jimmy his way into Piccadilly, and that a-roar with happy and pedestrians. Their him. He their of life.
Jimmy's was not a nature that itself to introspection, but he was himself now through a self-examination which was all of in his character. He had been having too good a time for years past to have to that he any responsibilities. He had each day as it came in the of the Monks of Thelema. But his father's of the news of last night's and the he had said had him pause. Life had taken on of a a less aspect. Dimly, for he was not to along these lines, he the truth that we beings are as many pieces in a jig-saw puzzle and that our every movement the of some other piece. Just so, at and taking shape by degrees, must the of have come to Prehistoric Man. We are all till we wake up.
The of having done anything to make his father was to Jimmy Crocker. They had always been more like than father and son. Hard about himself through Jimmy's mind. With a to which it is possible that his he put the to himself. His father was to return to America—he, Jimmy, by his was in the way of that return—what was the answer? The answer, to Jimmy's way of thinking, was that all was not well with James Crocker, that, when all the was weighed, James Crocker would appear to be a fool, a worm, a selfish waster, and a hopeless, low-down skunk.
Having come to this conclusion, Jimmy himself so low in that the of Piccadilly was too much for him. He turned, and to his steps. Arriving in at the top of the Haymarket he hesitated, then it till he Cockspur Street. Here the Trans-Atlantic have their offices, and so it came about that Jimmy, to look up as he walked, him, on a a plate-glass window, the model of a vessel. He stopped, of a thrill. There is a in all of us. When an to fit in with a mood, to come as a direct on that mood, we are to accept it in of our pure as an omen. Jimmy to the window and the model narrowly. The of it had started a new train of thought. His to race. Hypnotic were at work on him.
Why not? Could there be a of the whole trouble?
Inside the office he would see a man with a ticket for New York. The of the him. All you had to do was to walk in, over the while the it with a pencil at the plate of the ship's organs, and hand over your money. A child do it, if in funds. At this his hand to his trouser-pocket. A of bank-notes from the depths. His had been paid to him only a while before, and, though a spender, he still a of it. He the notes again. There was in that pocket to three to New York. Should he? . . . Or, on the other hand—always look on of the question—should he not?
It would to be the best thing for all parties if he did the impulse. By in London he was everybody, himself included. . . . Well, there was no in making enquiries. Probably the was full up anyway. . . . He walked into the office.
"Have you anything left on the Atlantic this trip?"
The the was the of person for Jimmy to have had with in his present mood. What Jimmy needed was a grave, man who would have a hand on his and said "Do nothing rash, my boy!" The of this in every particular. He was about twenty-two, and he perfectly about the idea of Jimmy going to America. He at Jimmy.
"Plenty of room," he said. "Very people crossing. Give you excellent accommodation."
"When the sail?"
"Eight to-morrow from Liverpool. Boat-train Paddington six to-night."
Prudence came at the hour to check Jimmy. This was not a matter, he perceived, to be recklessly, on the of a impulse. Above all, it was not a to be lunch. An empty imagination. He had that he sail on the Atlantic if he to. The thing to do now was to go and and see how he about it after that. He thanked the clerk, and started to walk up the Haymarket, hard-headed and practical, yet with a that he was going to make a of himself just the same.
It was half-way up the Haymarket that he of the girl with the red hair.
Plunged in thought, he had not noticed her before. And yet she had been walking a in of him most of the way. She had come out of Panton Street, walking briskly, as one going to keep a appointment. She herself admirably, with a swing.
Having of this girl, Jimmy, a warm of the sex, to a over him. With came speculation. He who she was. He where she had that of tailor-made grey. He her back, and her face, if seen, would prove a disappointment. Thus musing, he near to the top of the Haymarket, where it to be a and a of traffic. And here the girl, having paused and looked over her shoulder, off the sidewalk. As she did so a taxi-cab the from the direction of Coventry Street.
The of the girl's as as her had Jimmy, so that he was up for the of presence-of-mind. He jumped and her arm, and her to one as the past, its driver hard to himself. The whole was an of seconds.
"Thank you," said the girl.
She the arm which he had with a expression. She was a little white, and her came quickly.
"I I didn't you," said Jimmy.
"You did. Very much. But the taxi would have me more."
She laughed. She looked very when she laughed. She had a small, piquant, face. Jimmy, as he looked at it, had an odd that he had her before—when and where he did not know. That of red-gold familiar. Somewhere in the of his mind there a memory, but he not it into the open. As for the girl, if she had met him before, she no of it. Jimmy that, if he had her, it must have been in his days. She was an American, and he occasionally had the that he had every one in America when he had for the Chronicle.
"That's right," he said approvingly. "Always look on the side."
"I only in London yesterday," said the girl, "and I haven't got used to your keeping-to-the-left rules. I don't I shall to New York alive. Perhaps, as you have saved my life, you wouldn't mind doing me another service. Can you tell me which is the nearest and way to a restaurant called the Regent Grill?"
"It's just over there, at the of Regent Street. As to the way, if I were you I should over at the top of the there and then work westward. Otherwise you will have to Piccadilly Circus."
"I to try to Piccadilly Circus. Thank you very much. I will your advice. I I shall there. It doesn't at all likely."
She gave him a little nod, and moved away. Jimmy into that drug-store at the top of the Haymarket at which so many Londoners have and on the after, and the pink drink for which his had been since he rose from bed. He why, as he it, he should and guilty.
A minutes later he himself, with mild surprise, going the steps of the Regent Grill. It was the last place he had had in his mind when he had left the company's offices in of lunch. He had to out some quiet, where he be alone with his thoughts. If had told him then that five minutes later he would be himself of his own free will the range of a restaurant playing "My Little Grey Home in the West"—and the at the Regent played little else—he would not have him.
Restaurants in all large have their and downs. At this time the Regent Grill was one of those of for which pray to gods they worship. The more of London's Bohemia to it daily. When Jimmy had deposited his with the robber-band who had their just the main entrance and had entered the grill-room, he it congested. There did not appear to be a single table.
From where he he see the girl of the red-gold hair. Her was him, and she was at a table against one of the with a little man with eye-glasses, a woman in the forties, and a small boy who was with the olives. As Jimmy hesitated, the head-waiter, who him well, him, and up.
"In one moment, Mister Crockaire!" he said, and to among the underlings. "I will place a table for you in the aisle."
"Next to that pillar, please," said Jimmy.
The had produced a small table—apparently from up their sleeves, and were it in a cloth. Jimmy sat and gave his order. Ordering was going on at the other table. The little man at the that on the and soft-shelled were not to be obtained, and his wife's of the news that were not in the Regent's bill-of-fare was so that one would have said that she the as that Great Britain was going to pieces and would her place as a world power.
A selection having been upon, the up "My Little Grey Home in the West," and no attempt was to with it. When the last had died away and the violinist-leader, having out the in his person which the of the failed to produce, had for the last time, a clear, voice spoke from the other of the pillar.
"Jimmy Crocker is a WORM!"
Jimmy his cocktail. It might have been the voice of Conscience.
"I him more than any one on earth. I to think that he's an American."
Jimmy the that in his glass, to make sure of them, as a restorative. It is an thing to be by a red-haired girl life you have just saved. To Jimmy it was not only unnerving; it was uncanny. This girl had not him when they met on the a moments before. How then was she able to such with his now as to him—justly enough—as a worm? Mingled with the of the thing was its pathos. The that a girl be as as this one and yet him so much was one of the Jimmy had come across. It was like one of those Things Which Make Me Weep In This Great City so dear to the of the sob-writers of his late newspaper.
A waiter up with a high-ball. Jimmy thanked him with his eyes. He needed it. He it to his lips.
"He's always drinking—"
He set it hurriedly.
"—and making a of himself in public! I always think Jimmy Crocker—"
Jimmy to wish that somebody would stop this girl. Why couldn't the little man the to the weather, or that child start about some topic? Surely a boy of that age, newly in London, must have all of to about? But the little man was with a cutlet, while the boy, silent, fish-pie in the manner of a python. As for the woman, she to be with thoughts, speech.
"—I always think that Jimmy Crocker is the case I know of the of American man who all his time in Europe and to an Englishman. Most of them are the any country would be to of, but he used to work once, so you can't him on the ground that he hasn't the to know what he's doing. He's to about London and make a of himself. He to pieces with his open. He's a perfect, utter, WORM!"
Jimmy had been very of the at the Regent Grill, the view that it with and for an of mastication; but he was to it now for into La Boheme, the item in its repertory. Under of that he was able to toy with a dish which his waiter had brought. Probably that girl was saying all of about him still but he not them.
The music died away. For a moment the air in silence; then the girl's voice spoke again. She had, however, another of conversation.
"I've all I want to of England," she said, "I've Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament and His Majesty's Theatre and the Savoy and the Cheshire Cheese, and I've a home-sickness. Why shouldn't we go to-morrow?"
For the time in the the woman spoke. She her of long to say "Yes," then it her again. The little man, who had been waiting for her vote his own, said that the sooner he was on a New York-bound the he would be pleased. The boy said nothing. He had his fish-pie, and was now roll with a of resolution.
"There's to be a boat," said the girl. "There always is. You've got to say that for England—it's an easy place to to America from." She paused. "What I can't is how, after having been in America and what it was like, Jimmy Crocker . . ."
The waiter had come to Jimmy's side, cheese; but Jimmy looked at it with and his in negation. He was about to from this place. His for home-truths about himself was exhausted. He a noiseless on the table, the waiter's eye, registered renunciation, and soft-footed the aisle. The waiter, a man who had been able to himself to in miracles, the views of a life-time. He looked at the sovereign, then at Jimmy, then at the again. Then he took up the coin and it furtively.
A minutes later, a hat-check boy, for the time in his career, was at Jimmy with equal intensity, but with different feelings. Speechless was on his face.
The at the Piccadilly entrance of the restaurant touched his ingratiatingly, with the of a man who is to a time for doing it.
"Taxi, Mr. Crocker?"
"A worm," said Jimmy.
"Beg pardon, sir?"
"Always drinking," Jimmy, "and making a of himself."
He passed on. The after him as as the waiter and the hat-check boy. He had sometimes Mr. Crocker like this after supper, but the hour.
Jimmy his way to his in Northumberland Avenue. For an hour he sat in a condition of in the smoking-room; then, his mind up, he to one of the writing-tables. He sat for some minutes, then to write.
The he was to his father:
Dear Dad:
I have been over what we talked about this morning, and it to me the best thing I can do is to out of for a space. If I on in London, I am likely at any moment to some like last night's which will the for you once more. The least I can do for you is to give you a clear and not interfere, so I am off to New York by to-night's boat.
I to Percy's to try to in the him, but he wouldn't see me. It's no good in the of the steps for the of a man who's in on the second floor, so I in more or less good order. I then got the present idea. Mark how all work together for good. When they come to you and say "No title for you. Your son our Percy," all you have to do is to come at them with "I know my son Percy, and me I didn't do a thing to him! I packed him off to America twenty-four hours. Get me right, boys! I'm anti-Jimmy and pro-Percy." To which their reply will be "Oh, well, in that case arise, Lord Crocker!" or they say when a title to a guy. So you will see that by making this I am doing the best I can to put straight. I shall give this to Bayliss to give to you. I am going to call him up on the phone in a minute to have him pack a tooth-brushes and so on for me. On landing in New York, I shall to the Polo Grounds to watch a game of Rounders, and will you the full score. Well. I think that's about all. So good-bye—or farewell—for the present.
J.
P.S. I know you'll understand, dad. I'm doing what to me the only possible thing. Don't worry about me. I shall be all right. I'll my old job and be a success all round. You go ahead and that title and then meet me at the entrance of the Polo Grounds. I'll be looking for you.
P.P.S. I'm a worm.
The at the offices appeared to see Jimmy once more. With a sunny he a pencil from his ear and it into the of the Atlantic.
"How about E. a hundred and eight?"
"Suits me."
"You're too late to go in the passenger-list, of course."
Jimmy did not reply. He was at a girl who had just come in, a girl with red and a smile.
"So you're on the Atlantic, too!" she said, with a at the on the counter. "How odd! We have just to go on her too. There's nothing to keep us here and we're all homesick. Well, you see I wasn't over after I left you."
A Jimmy's brain, as the and air. The that he was going left him, as the of his came to him. This girl must have of him in New York—perhaps she people he and it was on hearsay, not on personal acquaintance, that she that of him which she had with such and so a while at the Regent Grill. She did not know who he was!
Into this of cut the voice of the clerk.
"What name, please?"
Jimmy's mind again. Why were these to him to-day of all days, when he needed the treatment, when he had a already?
The was him expectantly. He had his pencil and was a pen. Jimmy gulped. Every name in the English language had passed from his mind. And then from out of the dark came inspiration.
"Bayliss," he croaked.
The girl out her hand.
"Then we can ourselves at last. My name is Ann Chester. How do you do, Mr. Bayliss?"
"How do you do, Miss Chester?"
The had the ticket, and was pressing and a pink paper on him. The paper, he dully, was a and had to be up. He it, and it to be a document. Some of its questions be answered off-hand, others thought.
"Height?" Simple. Five eleven.
"Hair?" Simple. Brown.
"Eyes?" Simple again. Blue.
Next, of a more kind.
"Are you a polygamist?"
He answer that. Decidedly no. One wife would be ample—provided she had red-gold hair, brown-gold eyes, the right of mouth, and a dimple. Whatever there might be in his mind on other points, on that one he had none whatever.
"Have you been in prison?"
Not yet.
And then a very difficult one. "Are you a lunatic?"
Jimmy hesitated. The on his pen. He was wondering.
* * *
In the of Paddington Station the boat-train impatiently, the with an occasional shriek. The hands of the station clock pointed to ten minutes to six. The was a of travellers, porters, baggage, trucks, boys with and fruits, boys with magazines, friends, relatives, and Bayliss the butler, like a a large suitcase. To the that and about him he paid no attention. He was looking for the master.
Jimmy the like a one-man flying-wedge. Two fruit and boys who his passage away like on an Autumn gale.
"Good man!" He himself of the suitcase. "I was you might not be able to here."
"The is out, Mr. James. I was able to the house."
"Have you packed I shall want?"
"Within the scope of a suitcase, yes, sir."
"Splendid! Oh, by the way, give this to my father, will you?"
"Very good, sir."
"I'm you were able to manage. I your voice over the phone."
"I was a good taken aback, Mr. James. Your to was so sudden."
"So was Columbus'. You know about him? He saw an egg on its and off like a jack-rabbit."
"If you will the liberty, Mr. James, is it not a little rash—?"
"Don't take the out of life, Bayliss. I may be a chump, but try to it. Use your willpower."
"Good evening, Mr. Bayliss," said a voice them. They turned. The was at a in a tailor-made suit.
"Good evening, miss," he said doubtfully.
Ann looked at him in astonishment, then into a smile.
"How of me! I meant this Mr. Bayliss. Your son! We met at the offices. And that he saved my life. So we are old friends."
Bayliss, and to the pressure of the conversation, was to a on the of his Mr. James. Jimmy had not this thing, but he had a quick mind and was equal to it.
"How are you, Miss Chester? My father has come to see me off. This is Miss Chester, dad."
A British is not easily of his poise, but Bayliss was to the on his presence of mind. He his an or two, but spoke no word.
"Dad's a little at my going," Jimmy confidentially. "He's not himself."
Ann was a girl not only of but of a heart. She had up Mr. Bayliss at a glance. Every line of him him a upper servant. No girl on earth have been than she of prejudice, but she not check a of and at the of Jimmy's origin. She everything, and there were in her as she away to avoid on the last moments of the of father and son.
"I'll see you on the boat, Mr. Bayliss," she said.
"Eh?" said Bayliss.
"Yes, yes," said Jimmy. "Good-bye till then."
Ann walked on to her compartment. She as if she had just read a whole long novel, one of those younger-English-novelist things. She the whole as well as if it had been told to her in detail. She see the father, the butler, his life with but one aim, to make a of his only son. Year by year he had saved. Probably he had sent the son to college. And now, with a father's and the of a father's savings, the boy was setting out for the New World, where dollar-bills on trees and no one asked or who any one else's father might be.
There was a in her throat. Bayliss would have been if he have what a of he to her. And then her to Jimmy, and she was aware of a of him. His father had succeeded in his life's ambition. He had produced a gentleman! How easily and simply, without a of shame, the man had his father. There was the right in him. He was not of the man who had him his in life. She herself Jimmy . . .
The hands of the clock pointed to three minutes to the hour. Porters to and like water-beetles.
"I can't explain," said Jimmy. "It wasn't temporary insanity; it was necessity."
"Very good, Mr. James. I think you had be taking your seat now."
"Quite right, I had. It would the whole thing if they left me behind. Bayliss, did you see such eyes? Such hair! Look after my father while I am away. Don't let the worry him. Oh, and, Bayliss"—Jimmy his hand from his pocket—"as one to another—"
Bayliss looked at the piece of paper.
"I couldn't, Mr. James, I couldn't! A five-pound note! I couldn't!"
"Nonsense! Be a sport!"
"Begging your pardon, Mr. James, I couldn't. You cannot to away your money like this. You cannot have a great of it, if you will me for saying so."
"I won't do anything of the sort. Grab it! Oh, Lord, the train's starting! Good-bye, Bayliss!"
The engine gave a final of farewell. The train to along the platform, to the last by boys for sale. It speed. Jimmy, out the window, was at a so as to amount to a modern miracle—the Bayliss running. The was not in the pink of condition, but he was out gallantly. He the door of Jimmy's compartment, and his hand.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. James," he panted, "for taking the liberty, but I couldn't!"
He up and something into Jimmy's hand, something and crackling. Then, his mission performed, and a handkerchief. The train into the tunnel.
Jimmy at the five-pound note. He was aware, like Ann along the train, of a in his throat. He put the note slowly into his pocket.
The train moved on.
