Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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'I tell you I ain't agoin' to eat fat,' he said, in a hoarse voice,
as if his throat was stuffed up with one of his own newspapers. 'I
want a special, I don't want a hordinary.'
'This are a special, I tells you,' retorted Spilsby,
ungrammatically, pushing a smoking pie towards the boy; 'what a
young wiper you are, Grattles, a-comin' and spoilin' my livin' by
cussin' my wictuals.'
'Look 'ere,' retorted Grattles, standing on the tips of his large
boots to look more imposing, 'my stumick's a bit orf when it comes
to fat, and I wants the vally of my penny; give us a muttony one,
with lots of gravy.'
''Ere y'are, then,' said Spilsby, quite out of temper with his
fastidious customer; ''ere's a pie as is all made of ram as 'adn't
got more fat on it than you 'ave.'
Grattles examined the article classed under this promising
description with a critical air, and then laid down his penny and
took the pie.
'It's a special, ain't it?' he asked, suspiciously smelling it.
'It's the specialest I've got, any'ow,' answered Spilsby, testily,
putting the penny in his pocket; 'you'd eat a 'ole sheep if you
could get it for a penny, you greedy young devil, you.'
Here Kitty, who was feeling faint and ill with so much walking, came
forward and asked for a cup of coffee.
'Certainly, dear,' said Spilsby, with a leer, pouring out the
coffee; 'I'm allays good to a pretty gal.'
'It's more nor your coffee is,' growled Grattles, who had finished
his special and was now licking his fingers, 'it's all grounds and
'ot water.'
'Go away, you wicious thing,' retorted Spilsby, mildly, giving Kitty
her coffee and change out of the money she handed him, 'or I'll set
the perlice on yer.'
'Oh, my eye!' shrieked Grattles, executing a grimace after the
fashion of a favourite comedian; 'he ain't a tart, oh, no--'es a
pie, 'e are, a special, a muttony special; 'e don't kill no kittings
and call 'em sheep, oh, no; 'e don't buy chicory and calls it
coffee, blest if 'e does; 'e's a corker, 'e are, and 'is name ain't
the same as 'is father's.'
'What d'ye mean,' asked Spilsby, fiercely--that is, as fiercely as
his meek appearance would let him; 'what do you know of my parents,
you bandy-legged little devil? who's your--progenitor, I'd like to
know?'
'A dook, in course,' said Grattles loftily; 'but we don't, in
consequence of 'er Nibs bein' mixed up with the old man's mother,
reweal the family skeletons to low piemen,' then, with a fresh
grimace, he darted along the street as quickly as his bandy legs
could carry him.
Spilsby took no notice of this, but, seeing some people coming round
the corner, commenced to sing out his praises of the specials.
' 'Ere yer are--all 'ot an' steamin',' he cried, in a kind of loud
bleat, which added still more to his sheep-like appearance:
'Spilsby's Specials--oh, lovely--ain't they nice; my eye, fine
muttin pies; who ses Spilsby's; 'ave one, miss?' to Kitty.
Thank you, no,' replied Kitty, with a faint smile as she put down
her empty cup; 'I'm going now.'
Spilsby was struck by the educated manner in which she spoke and by
the air of refinement about her.
'Go home, my dear,' he said, kindly, leaning forward; 'this ain't no
time for a young gal like you to be out.'
'I've got no home,' said Kitty, bitterly, 'but if you could direct
me--'
'Here, you,' cried a shrill female voice, as a woman dressed in a
flaunting blue gown rushed up to the stall, 'give us a pie quick;
I'm starvin'; I've got no time to wait.'
'No, nor manners either,' said Spilsby, with a remonstrating bleat,
pushing a pie towards her; 'who are you, a-shovin' your betters,
Portwine Annie?'
'My betters,' scoffed the lady in blue, looking Kitty up and down
with a disdainful smile on her painted face; 'where are they, I'd
like to know?'
''Ere, 'old your tongue,' bleated Spilsby, angrily, 'or I'll tell
the perlice at the corner.'
'And much I care,' retorted the shrill-voiced female, 'seeing he's a
particular friend of mine.'
'For God's sake tell me where I can find a place to stop in,'
whispered Kitty to the coffee-stall keeper.
'Come with me, dear,' said Portwine Annie, eagerly, having overheard
what was said, but Kitty shrank back, and then gathering her cloak
around her ran down the street.
'What do you do that for, you jade?' said Spilsby, in a vexed tone;
'don't you see the girl's a lady.'
'Of course she is,' retorted the other, finishing her pie; 'we're
all ladies; look at our dresses, ain't they fine enough? Look at our
houses, aren't they swell enough?'
'Yes, and yer morals, ain't they bad enough?' said Spilsby, washing
up the dirty plate.
'They're quite as good as many ladies in society, at all events,'
replied Portwine Annie, with a toss of her head as she walked off.
'Oh, it's a wicked world,' bleated Spilsby, in a soft voice, looking
after the retreating figure. 'I'm sorry for that poor gal--I am
indeed--but this ain't business,' and once more raising his voice he
cried up his wares, 'Oh, lovely; ain't they muttony? Spilsby's
specials, all 'ot; one penny.'
Meanwhile Kitty was walking quickly down Elizabeth Street, and
turning round the corner ran right up against a woman.
'Hullo!' said the woman, catching her wrist, 'where are you off to?'
'Let me go,' cried Kitty, in a panting voice.
The woman was tall and handsome, but her face had a kindly
expression on it, and she seemed touched with the terrified tone of
the girl.
'My poor child,' she said, half contemptuously, releasing her, 'I
won't hurt you. Go if you like. What are you doing out at this time
of the night?'
'Nothing,' faltered Kitty, with quivering lips, lifting her face up
to the pale moon. The other saw it in the full light and marked how
pure and innocent it was.
'Go home, dear,' she said, in a soft tone, touching the girl kindly
on the shoulder, 'it's not fit for you to be out at this hour. You
are not one of us.'
'My God! no,' cried Kitty, shrinking away from her.
The other smiled bitterly.
'Ah! you draw away from me now,' she said, with a sneer; 'but what
are you, so pure and virtuous, doing on the streets at this hour? Go
home in time, child, or you will become like me.'
'I have no home,' said Kitty, turning to go.
'No home!' echoed the other, in a softer tone; 'poor child! I cannot
take you with me--God help me; but here is some money,' forcing a
shilling into the girl's hand, 'go to Mrs Rawlins at Victoria
Parade, Fitzroy--anyone will tell you where it is--and she will take
you in.'
'What kind of a place is it?' said Kitty.
'A home for fallen women, dear,' answered the other, kindly.
'I'm not a fallen woman!' cried the girl, wildly, 'I have left my
home, but I will go back to it--anything better than this horrible
life on the streets.'
'Yes, dear,' said the woman, softly, 'go home; go home, for God's
sake, and if you have a father and mother to shield you from harm,
thank heaven for that. Let me kiss you once,' she added, bending
forward, 'it is so long since I felt a good woman's kiss on my lips.
Good-bye.'
'Good-bye,' sobbed Kitty, raising her face, and the other bent down
and kissed the child-like face, then with a stifled cry, fled away
through the moonlit night.
Kitty turned away slowly and walked up the street. She knew there
was a cab starting opposite the Town Hall which went to Richmond,
and determined to go home. After all, hard though her life might be
in the future, it would be better than this cruel harshness of the
streets.
At the top of the block, just as she was about to cross Swanston
Street, a party of young men in evening dress came round the corner
singing, and evidently were much exhilarated with wine. These were
none other than Mr Jarper and his friends, who, having imbibed a
good deal more than was good for them, were now ripe for any
mischief. Bellthorp and Jarper, both quite intoxicated, were walking
arm-in-arm, each trying to keep the other up, so that their walking
mostly consisted of wild lurches forward, and required a good deal
of balancing.
'Hullo!' cried Bellthorp solemnly--he was always solemn when
intoxicated--'girl--pretty--eh!'
'Go 'way,' said Barty, staggering back against the wall, 'we're
Christian young men.'
Kitty tried to get away from this inebriated crew, but they all
closed round her, and she wrung her hands in despair. 'If you are
gentlemen you will let me go,' she cried, trying to push past.
'Give us kiss first,' said a handsome young fellow, with his hat
very much on one side, putting his arm round her waist, 'pay toll,
dear.'
She felt his hot breath on her cheek and shrieked out wildly, trying
to push him away with all her force. The young man, however, paid no
attention to her cries, but was about to kiss her when he was taken
by the back of the neck and thrown into the gutter.
'Gentlemen!' said a rich rolling voice, which proceeded from a
portly man who had just appeared on the scene. 'I am astonished,'
with the emphasis on the first person singular, as if he were a man
of great note.
'Old boy,' translated Bellthorp to the others, 'is 'tonished.'
'You have,' said the stranger, with an airy wave of his hand, 'the
appearance of gentlemen, but, alas! you are but whited sepulchres,
fair to look upon, but full of dead men's bones within.'
'Jarper,' said Bellthorp, solemnly, taking Barty's arm, 'you're a
tombstone with skeleton inside--come along--old boy is right--set of
cads 'suiting an unprotected gal--good night, sir.'
The others picked up their companion out of the gutter, and the
whole lot rolled merrily down the street.
'And this,' said the gentleman, lifting up his face to the sky in
mute appeal to heaven, 'this is the generation which is to carry on
Australia. Oh, Father Adam, what a dissipated family you have got--
ah!--good for a comedy, I think.'
'Oh!' cried Kitty, recognising a familiar remark, 'it's Mr Wopples.'
'The same,' said the airy Theodore, laying his hand on his heart,
'and you, my dear--why, bless me,' looking closely at her, 'it is
the pretty girl I met in Ballarat--dear, dear--surely you have not
come to this.'
'No, no,' said Kitty, quickly, laying her hand on his arm, 'I will
tell you all about it, Mr Wopples; but you must be a friend to me,
for I sadly need one.'
'I will be your friend,' said the actor, emphatically, taking her
arm and walking slowly down the street; 'tell me how I find you
thus.'
'You won't tell anyone if I do?' said Kitty, imploringly.
'On the honour of a gentleman,' answered Wopples, with grave
dignity.
Kitty told him how she had left Ballarat, but suppressed the name of
her lover, as she did not want any blame to fall on him. But all the
rest she told freely, and when Mr Wopples heard how on that night
she had left the man who had ruined her, he swore a mighty oath.
'Oh, vile human nature,' he said, in a sonorous tone, 'to thus
betray a confiding infant! Where,' he continued, looking inquiringly
at the serene sky, 'where are the thunderbolts of Heaven that they
fall not on such?'
No thunderbolt making its appearance to answer the question, Mr
Wopples told Kitty he would take her home to the family, and as they
were just starting out on tour again, she could come with them.
'But will Mrs Wopples receive me?' asked Kitty, timidly.
'My dear,' said the actor, gravely, 'my wife is a good woman, and a
mother herself, so she can feel for a poor child like you, who has
been betrayed through sheer innocence.'
'You do not despise me?' said Kitty, in a low voice.
'My dear,' answered Wopples, quietly, 'am I so pure myself that I
can judge others? Who am I,' with an oratorical wave of the hand,
'that I should cast the first stone?--ahem!--from Holy Writ. In
future I will be your father; Mrs Wopples, your mother, and you will
have ten brothers and sisters--all star artistes.'
'How kind you are,' sobbed Kitty, clinging trustfully to him as they
went along.
'I only do unto others as I would be done by,' said Mr Wopples,
solemnly. 'That sentiment,' continued the actor, taking off his hat,
'was uttered by One who, tho' we may believe or disbelieve in His
divinity as a God, will always remain the sublimest type of perfect
manhood the world has ever seen.'
Kitty did not answer, and they walked quickly along; and surely this
one good deed more than compensated for the rest of the actor's
failings.
CHAPTER VI
ON CHANGE
Young Australia has a wonderful love for the excitement of gambling-
-take him away from the betting ring and he goes straight to the
share market to dabble in gold and silver shares. The Great Humbug
Gold Mining Company is floated on the Melbourne market--a perfect
fortune in itself, which influential men are floating in a kind of
semi-philanthropic manner to benefit mankind at large, and
themselves in particular. Report by competent geologists; rich
specimens of the reef exhibited to the confiding public; company of
fifty thousand shares at a pound each; two shillings on application;
two shillings on allotment; the balance in calls which influential
men solemnly assure confiding public will never be needed. Young
Australia sees a chance of making thousands in a week; buys one
thousand shares at four shillings--only two hundred pounds; shares
will rise and Young Australia hopefully looks forward to pocketing
two or three thousand by his modest venture of two hundred; company
floated, shares rising slowly. Young Australia will not sell at a
profit, still dazzled by his chimerical thousands. Calls must be
made to put up machinery; shares have a downward tendency. Never
mind, there will only be one or two calls, so stick to shares as
parents of possible thousands. Machinery erected; now crushing; two
or three ounces to ton a certainty. Shares have an upward tendency;
washing up takes place--two pennyweights to ton. Despair! Shares run
down to nothing, and Young Australia sees his thousands disappear
like snow in the sun. The Great Humbug Reef proves itself worthy of
its name, and the company collapses amid the groans of confiding
public and secret joy of influential men, who have sold at the top
price.
Vandeloup knew all about this sort of thing, for he had seen it
occur over and over again in Ballarat and Melbourne. So many came to
the web and never got out alive, yet fresh flies were always to be
found. Vandeloup was of a speculative nature himself, and had he
been possessed of any surplus cash would, no doubt, have risked it
in the jugglery of the share market, but as he had none to spare he
stood back and amused himself with looking at the 'spider and the
fly' business which was constantly going on. Sometimes, indeed, the
fly got the better of spider number one, but was unable to keep away
from the web, and was sure to fall into the web of spider number
two.
M. Vandeloup, therefore, considered the whole affair as too risky to
be gone into without unlimited cash; but now he had a chance of
making money, he determined to try his hand at the business. True,
he knew that he was in for a swindle, but then he was behind the
scenes, and would benefit by the knowledge he had gained. If the
question at issue had really been that of getting gold out of the
reef and paying dividends with the profits, Gaston would have
snapped his fingers scornfully, and held aloof; but this was simply
a running up of shares by means of a rich reef being struck. He
intended to buy at the present market value, which was four
shillings, and sell as soon as he could make a good profit--say, at
one pound--so there was not much chance of him losing his money. The
shares would probably drop again when the pocket of gold was worked
out, but then that would be none of his affair, as he would by that
time have sold out and made his pile. M. Vandeloup was a fly who was
going straight into the webs of stockbroking spiders, but then he
knew as much about this particular web as the spiders themselves.
Full of his scheme to make money, Vandeloup started for town to see
a broker--first, however, having settled with Mrs Pulchop over
Kitty's disappearance. He had found a letter from Kitty in the
bedroom, in which she had bidden him good-bye for ever, but this he
did not show to Mrs Pulchop, merely stating to that worthy lady that
his 'wife' had left him.
'And it ain't to be wondered at, the outraged angel,' she said to
Gaston, as he stood at the door, faultlessly dressed, ready to go
into town; 'the way you treated her were shameful.'
Gaston shrugged his shoulders, lit a cigarette, and smiled at Mrs
Pulchop.
'My dear lady,' he said, blandly, 'pray attend to your medicine
bottles and leave my domestic affairs alone; you certainly
understand the one, but I doubt your ability to come to any
conclusion regarding the other.'
'Fine words don't butter no parsnips,' retorted Mrs Pulchop,
viciously; 'and if Pulchop weren't an Apoller, he had a kind heart.'
'Spare me these domestic stories, please,' said Vandeloup, coldly,
'they do not interest me in the least; since my "wife",' with a
sneer, 'has gone, I will leave your hospitable roof. I will send for
all my property either today or to-morrow, and if you make out your
account in the meantime, my messenger will pay it. Good day!' and
without another word Vandeloup walked slowly off down the path,
leaving Mrs Pulchop speechless with indignation.
He went into town first, to the City of Melbourne Bank, and cashed
Meddlechip's cheque for six hundred pounds, then, calling a hansom,
he drove along to the Hibernian Bank, where he had an account, and
paid it into his credit, reserving ten pounds for his immediate use.
Then he reentered his hansom, and went along to the office of a
stockbroker, called Polglaze, who was a member of 'The Bachelors',
and in whose hands Vandeloup intended to place his business.
Polglaze was a short, stout man, scrupulously neatly dressed, with
iron grey hair standing straight up, and a habit of dropping out his
words one at a time, so that the listener had to construct quite a
little history between each, in order to arrive at their meaning,
and the connection they had with one another.
'Morning!' said Polglaze, letting the salutation fly out of his
mouth rapidly, and then closing it again in case any other word
might be waiting ready to pop out unknown to him.
Vandeloup sat down and stated his business briefly.
'I want you to buy me some Magpie Reef shares,' he said, leaning on
the table.
'Many?' dropped out of Polglaze's mouth, and then it shut again with
a snap. 'Depends on the price,' replied Vandeloup, with a shrug; 'I
see in the papers they are four shillings.'
Mr Polglaze took up his share book, and rapidly turned over the
leaves--found what he wanted, and nodded.
'Oh!' said Vandeloup, making a rapid mental calculation, 'then buy
me two thousand five hundred. That will be about five hundred
pounds' worth.'
Mr Polglaze nodded; then whistled.
'Your commission, I presume,' said Vandeloup, making another
calculation, 'will be threepence?'
'Sixpence,' interrupted the stockbroker.
'Oh, I thought it was threepence,' answered Vandeloup, quietly;
'however, that does not make any difference to me. Your commission
at that rate will be twelve pounds ten shillings?'
Polglaze nodded again, and sat looking at Vandeloup like a stony
mercantile sphinx.
'If you will, then, buy me these shares,' said Vandeloup, rising,
and taking up his gloves and hat, 'when am I to come along and see
you?'
'Four,' said Polglaze.
Today?' inquired Vandeloup.
A nod from the stockbroker.
'Very well,' said Vandeloup, quietly, 'I'll give you a cheque for
the amount, then. There's nothing more to be said, I believe?' and
he walked over to the door.
'Say!' from Polglaze.
'Yes,' replied Gaston, indolently, swinging his stick to and fro.
'New?' inquired the stockbroker.
'You mean to this sort of thing?' said Vandeloup, looking at him,
and receiving a nod in token of acquiescence, added, 'entirely.'
'Risky,' dropped from the Polglaze mouth. 'I never knew a gold mine
that wasn't,' retorted Vandeloup, dryly.
'Bad,' in an assertive tone, from Polglaze.
'This particular mine, I suppose you mean?' said Gaston, with a
yawn, 'very likely it is. However, I'm willing to take the risk.
Good day! See you at four,' and with a careless nod, M. Vandeloup
lounged out of the office.
He walked along Collins Street, met a few friends, and kept a look-
out for Kitty. He, however, did not see her, but there was a
surprise in store for him, for turning round into Swanston Street,
he came across Archie McIntosh. Yes, there he was, with his grim,
severe Scotch face, with the white frill round it, and Gaston smiled
as he saw the old man, dressed in rigid broadcloth, casting
disproving looks on the pretty girls walking along.
'A set o' hizzies,' growled the amiable Archie to himself, 'prancin'
alang wi' their gew-gaws an' fine claes, like war horses--the
daughters o' Zion that walk wi' mincin' steps an' tinklin'
ornaments.'
'How do you do?' said Vandeloup, touching the broadcloth shoulder;
upon which McIntosh turned.
'Lord save us!' he ejaculated, grimly, 'it's yon French body. An'
hoo's a' wi' ye, laddie? Eh, but ye're brawly dressed, my young
man,' with a disproving look; 'I'm hopin' they duds are paid for.'
'Of course they are,' replied Vandeloup, gaily, 'do you think I
stole them?'
'Weel, I'll no gae sa far as that,' remarked Archie, cautiously;
'maybe ye have dwelt by the side o' mony waters, an' flourished. If
he ken the Screepture ye'll see God helps those wha help
themselves.'
'That means you do all the work and give God the credit,' retorted
Gaston, with a sneer; 'I know all about that.'
'Ah, ye'll gang tae the pit o' Tophet when ye dee,' said Mr
McIntosh, who had heard this remark with horror; 'an' ye'll no be
sae ready wi' your tongue there, I'm thinkin'; but ye are not
speerin aboot Mistress Villiers.'
'Why, is she in town?' asked Vandeloup, eagerly.
'Ay, and Seliny wi' her,' answered Archie, fondling his frill;
'she's varra rich noo, as ye've nae doot heard. Ay, ay,' he went on,
'she's gotten a braw hoose doon at St Kilda, and she's going to set
up a carriage, ye ken. She tauld me,' pursued Mr McIntosh, sourly,
looking at Vandeloup, 'if I saw ye I was to be sure to tell ye to
come an' see her.'
'Present my compliments to Madame,' said Vandeloup, quickly, 'and I
will wait on her as soon as possible.'
'Losh save us, laddie,' said McIntosh, irritably, 'you're as fu' o'
fine wards as a play-actor. Have ye seen onything doon in this pit
o' Tophet o' the bairn that rin away?'
'Oh, Miss Marchurst!' said Vandeloup, smoothly, ready with a lie at
once. 'No, I'm sorry to say I've never set eyes on her.'
'The mistress is joost daft aboot her,' observed McIntosh,
querulously; 'and she's ganging tae look all thro' the toun tae find
the puir wee thing.'
'I hope she will!' said M. Vandeloup, who devoutly hoped she
wouldn't. 'Will you come and have a glass of wine, Mr McIntosh?'
Til hae a wee drappy o' whusky if ye've got it gude,' said McIntosh,
cautiously, 'but I dinna care for they wines that sour on a body's
stomach.'
McIntosh having thus graciously assented, Vandeloup took him up to
the Club, and introduced him all round as the manager of the famous
Pactolus. All the young men were wonderfully taken up with Archie
and his plain speaking, and had Mr McIntosh desired he could have
drunk oceans of his favourite beverage. However, being a Scotchman
and cautious, he took very little, and left Vandeloup to go down to
Madame Midas at St Kilda, and bearing a message from the Frenchman
that he would call there the next day.
Archie having departed, Vandeloup got through the rest of the day as
he best could. He met Mr Wopples in the street, who told him how he
had found Kitty, quite unaware that the young man before him was the
villain who had betrayed the girl. Vandeloup was delighted to think
that Kitty had not mentioned his name, and quite approved of Mr
Wopples' intention to take the girl on tour. Having thus arranged
for Kitty's future, Gaston went along to his broker, and found that
the astute Polglaze had got him his shares.
'Going up,' said Polglaze, as he handed the scrip to Vandeloup and
got a cheque in exchange.
'Oh, indeed!' said Vandeloup, with a smile. 'I suppose my two
friends have begun their little game already,' he thought, as he
slipped the scrip into his breast pocket.
'Information?' asked Polglaze, as Vandeloup was going.
'Oh! you'd like to know where I got it,' said M. Vandeloup, amiably.
'Very sorry I can't tell you; but you see, my dear sir, I am not a
woman, and can keep a secret.'
Vandeloup walked out, and Polglaze looked after him with a puzzled
look, then summed up his opinion in one word, sharp, incisive, and
to the point--
'Clever!' said Polglaze, and put the cheque in his safe.
Vandeloup strolled along the street thinking.
'Bebe is out of my way,' he thought, with a smile; 'I have a small
fortune in my pocket, and,' he continued, thoughtfully, 'Madame
Midas is in Melbourne. I think now,' said M. Vandeloup, with another
smile, 'that I have conquered the blind goddess.'
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