Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle Read online

  CHAPTER XII

  BINDLE AGREES TO BECOME A MILLIONAIRE

  I

  As the intervals between Mr. Hearty's invitations for Sunday eveningslengthened, Bindle became a more frequent visitor at Dick Little'sflat, where he could always be sure of finding jovial kindred spirits.

  Both Mrs. Hearty and Millie missed Bindle, and broadly hinted the factto Mr. Hearty; but he enjoyed too well his Sunday evening hymns tosacrifice them on the altar of hospitality. Millie in particularresented the change. She disliked intensely the hymn-singing, and shewas greatly attached to "Uncle Joe."

  At Dick Little's flat Bindle found ample compensation for the loss ofMr. Hearty's very uncordial hospitality.

  "Mrs. Bindle ain't at 'er best Sunday evenin's," he had confided toDick Little. "'Er soul seems to sort of itch a bit an' 'er not able toscratch it."

  He was always assured of a welcome at Chelsea, and the shout thatinvariably greeted his entrance flattered him.

  "Different from ole 'Earty's 'Good-evenin', Joseph,'" he would remark."I'd like 'Earty to meet this little lot."

  One Sunday evening, about nine o'clock, Bindle made his way round tothe flat, and found Dick Little alone with his brother Tom, who wasspending the week-end in town. Bindle had not previously met TomLittle, who, however, greeted him warmly as an old friend.

  "P'r'aps I'd better be goin'," suggested Bindle tentatively, "seein' asyou're----"

  "Not a bit of it," broke in Dick Little; "sit down, mix yourself adrink; there are the cigars."

  Bindle did as he was bid.

  "We were talking about Gravy when you came in," remarked Tom Little.

  "An' very nice too, with a cut from the joint an' two vegs.," remarkedBindle pleasantly.

  Dick Little explained that "Gravy" was the nickname by which Mr.Reginald Graves was known to his fellow-undergraduates. "We're aboutfed up with him at Joe's," Tom Little added.

  "An' 'oo might Joe be, sir, when 'e's at 'ome, an' properly labelled?"enquired Bindle.

  "It's St. Joseph's College, Oxford, where my brother is," explainedDick Little.

  In the course of the next half-hour Bindle learned a great deal aboutMr. Reginald Graves, who had reached Oxford by means of scholarship,and considered that he had suffered loss of caste in consequence. Hisone object in life was to undo the mischief wrought by circumstances.He could not boast of a long line of ancestry; in fact, on one occasionwhen in a reminiscent mood he had remarked:

  "I had a grandfather----"

  "Had you?" was the scathing comment of another man. The story had beenretailed with great gusto among the men of St. Joseph's.

  Reginald Graves was a snob, which prompted him to believe that all menwere snobs. _Burke's Peerage_ and _Kelly's Landed Gentry_ were at oncehis inspiration and his cross. He used them constantly himself,looking up the ancestry of every man he met. He was convinced that hislack of "family" was responsible for his unpopularity.

  In his opinion, failing "blood" the next best thing to possess wasmoney, and he lost no opportunity of throwing out dark and covert hintsas to the enormous wealth possessed by the Graves and Williamsfamilies, Williams being his mother's maiden name.

  His favourite boast, however, was of an uncle in Australia. JosiahWilliams had, according to Graves, emigrated many years before.Fortune dogged his footsteps with almost embarrassing persistenceuntil, at the time that his nephew Reginald went up to Oxford, he was aman of almost incredible wealth. He owned mines that produced fabulousriches, and runs where the sheep were innumerable.

  Graves was purposely vague as to the exact location of his uncle'ssheep-stations, and on one occasion he spent an unhappy eveningundergoing cross-examination by an Australian Rhodes scholar. However,he persisted in his story, and Australia was a long way off, and it wasvery unlikely that anyone would be sufficiently interested to unearthand identify all its millionaires in order to prove that JosiahWilliams and his millions existed only in the imagination of hisalleged nephew.

  Graves was a thin, pale-faced young man with nondescript features andan incipient moustache. Furthermore, he had what is known as a narrowdental arch, which gave to his face a peevish expression. When hesmiled he bared two large front teeth that made him resemble a rabbit.His hair was as colourless as his personality. He was entirely devoidof imagination, or, as Tom Little phrased it, "What he lacked in divinefire, he made up for in damned cheek."

  He led a solitary life. When his fellow undergraduates deigned to callupon him it was invariably for the purpose of a "rag."

  Trade was the iron that had entered his soul; he could never forgetthat his father was a grocer and provision merchant in a midland town.His one stroke of good luck, that is as he regarded it, was that no oneat St. Joseph's was aware of the fact. Had he possessed the least ideathat the story of his forebears was well known at St. Joseph's it wouldhave been to him an intolerable humiliation.

  Subservient, almost fawning with his betters, he was overbearing andinsulting to his equals and inferiors: since his arrival at St.Joseph's his "scout" had developed a pronounced profanity. Rumour hadit that Graves was not even above the anonymous letter; but there wasno definite evidence that those received by certain men at St. Joseph'sfound their inspiration in the brain of Reginald Graves.

  Nothing would have happened, beyond increased unpopularity for Graves,had it not been for an episode out of which Graves had come withanything but flying colours, and which had procured for him a thrashingas anonymous as the letters he was suspected of writing.

  He was a favourite with Dr. Peter, the Master of St. Joseph's, andthis, coupled with the fact that the Master was always extremelywell-informed as to the things that the undergraduates would havepreferred he should not know, aroused suspicion.

  One day Travers asked Graves to dinner, and over a bottle of wineconfided to him the entirely fictitious information that he was mixedup in a divorce case that would make the whole of Oxford "sit up."Next day he was sent for by Dr. Peter, who had heard "a most disturbingrumour," etc. Travers had taken the precaution of confiding in no oneas to his intentions. Thus the source of Dr. Peter's information wasobvious.

  The men of St. Joseph's were normal men, broad of mind and brawny ofmuscle; they had, however, their code, and it was this code that Graveshad violated. Tom Little had expressed the general view of the collegewhen he said that Graves ought to be soundly kicked and sent down.

  "Now, Bindle," remarked Dick Little, "you're a man of ideas: what's tobe done with Gravy?"

  "Well, sir, that depends on exes. It costs money to do most things inthis world, and it'll cost money to make Mr. Gravy stew in his ownjuice."

  "How much?"

  "Might cost"--Bindle paused to think--"might cost a matter of twenty orthirty quid to do it in style."

  "Right-oh! Out with it, my merry Bindle," cried Tom Little. "Traversand Guggers alone would pay up for a good rag, but it must be top-hole,mind."

  "Yes," said Bindle, with a grin; "it 'ud be top-'ole right enough."And Bindle's grin expanded.

  "Out with it, man," cried Dick Little. "Don't you see we're aching tohear?"

  "Well," said Bindle, "if the exes was all right I might sort o' go downan' see 'ow my nephew, Mr. Gravy, was gettin' on at----"

  With a whoop of delight Tom Little sprang up, seized Bindle round thewaist, and waltzed him round the room, upsetting three chairs and asmall table, and finally depositing him breathless in his chair.

  "You're a genius, O Bindle! Dick, we're out of it with theincomparable Bindle."

  Dick Little leaned back in his easy chair and gazed admiringly atBindle, as he pulled with obvious enjoyment at his cigar.

  "Course I never been a millionaire, but I dessay I'd get throughwithout disgracin' meself. The only thing that 'ud worry me 'ud be'avin' about 'alf a gross o' knives an' forks for every meal, an' adozen glasses. But I'm open to consider anythink that's goin'."

  "The only drawback," remarked Little, "would be the absence of them
illions."

  "That would sort o' be a obstacle," admitted Bindle.

  After a pause Dick Little continued, "If you were to have your expensespaid, with a new rig-out and, say, five pounds for yourself, do youthink that for three or four days you could manage to be a millionaire?"

  "Don't you worry," was Bindle's response.

  "What about the real Josiah Williams?" Dick Little had enquired.

  "All fudge, at least the millions are," his brother replied. "Theunspeakable Reggie could not repudiate the relationship without givingthe whole show away. It's immense!" He mixed himself anotherwhisky-and-soda. "I'll talk it over with Travers and Guggers and wireyou on Wednesday. Good-bye, Bindle." And he was gone.

  That night Bindle stayed late at Little's flat, and talked long andearnestly. As he came away he remarked:

  "Of course you'll remember, sir, that millionaires is rather inclinedto be a bit dressy, and I'd like to do the thing properly. Maybe, withsome paper inside, I might even be able to wear a top 'at."

  II

  One Tuesday afternoon, when Reginald Graves entered his rooms, he foundawaiting him a copy of _The Oxford Mail_, evidently sent from theoffice; on the outside was marked, "See page 3."

  He picked up the packet, examined it carefully, and replaced it uponthe table. He was in all things studied, having conceived the ideathat to simulate a species of superior boredom was to evidencegood-breeding. Although alone, he would not allow any unseemly hasteto suggest curiosity. Having removed his hat and coat and donned asmoking-jacket and Turkish fez--he felt that this gave him the righttouch of undergraduate bohemianism--he picked up the paper, once moreread the address, and, with studied indifference, removed, it could notbe said that he tore off, the wrapper. He smoothed out the paper andturned to the page indicated, where he saw a paragraph heavily markedin blue pencil that momentarily stripped him of his languorousself-control. He read and re-read it, looked round the room as ifexpecting to find some explanation, and then read it again. Theparagraph ran:

  "A DISTINGUISHED VISITOR

  "Australia has been brought very closely into touch with this ancientcity by the munificence of the late Mr. Cecil Rhodes and his scheme ofScholarships, which each year brings to our colleges gifted scholars,and to the playing-fields and boats magnificent athletes. It isinteresting to note that we are shortly to have a visit from Mr. JosiahWilliams, the Australian millionaire and philanthropist, whose wealthis said to be almost fabulous, and whose sheep-runs are famousthroughout the Antipodes.

  "It would appear that we have often eaten of his mutton--that is, ofthe sheep that he has reared to feed the Empire--and now we are to havethe privilege of welcoming him to Oxford.

  "We understand that Mr. Williams is to remain in our city for only afew days, and that his main purpose in coming is to visit his nephewMr. Reginald Graves, of St. Joseph's College. Mr. Williams is, wegather, to be entertained by his nephew's fellow-undergraduates atBungem's, so famous for its dinners and suppers, and it is mooted thatthe Corporation may extend its hospitality to so distinguished acitizen of the Empire. Thus are the bonds of Empire cemented.

  "It would appear that Mr. Josiah Williams has engaged a suite of roomsat the Sceptre, where he will experience the traditional hospitality ofthat ancient English hostelry.

  "Mr. Williams arrives to-morrow, Wednesday, and we wish him a pleasantstay."

  Reginald Graves gasped. It was his rule never to show emotion, and inhis more studied moments he would have characterised his presentattitude as ill-bred.

  "Damn!" It was not his wont to swear. His pose was one of perfectself-control. He was as self-contained as a modern flat, and about assmall in his intellectual outlook. He was just on the point of readingthe paragraph for the fifth time when the door of his room burst open,admitting Tom Little, Dick Travers, and Guggers.

  "Congrats., Gravy. So the old boy's turned up," cried Little, waving acopy of _The Oxford Mail_ in Graves's face.

  "Joe's is going to do him proud," broke in Travers. "You've seen the_Mail_? We'll give him the time of his life."

  "Gug-gug-good egg!" broke in Guggers, so named because of his inabilityto pronounce a "g" without a preliminary "gug-gug" accompanied byinconvenient splashings. It had become customary at St. Joseph's togive Guggers plenty of space in front, whenever he approached a "g."Tom Little called it "Groom."

  "We're gug-gug-going to give him a gug-gug-gorgeous time."

  "We'll have him drunk from morn till dewy eve," cried Tom Little, "andextra drunk at night. Oh, my prophetic soul!"

  "Gravy, where's your sense of hospitality?" cried Travers. Reggiereluctantly produced whisky, a syphon, and some glasses.

  "By gug-gug-gosh!" cried Guggers, semi-vapourising the remains of amouthful of whisky and soda, "won't it be a rag! Bless you,Gug-Gug-Gravy for having an uncle."

  Tom Little explained that they had been to the Sceptre and discoveredthat Mr. Josiah Williams would arrive by the 3.3 train, and that St.Joseph's was going down in a body to meet him. Graves, of course,would be there.

  "I have heard nothing," said Graves. "I--I don't understand. If hewrites of course I'll go."

  "You'll jolly well gug-gug-go, any old how, or we'll carry you down,"cried Guggers in a menacing voice, looking down at Graves from hissix-foot-three of muscle and bone.

  Graves looked round him helplessly. What was he to do? Could hedisown this uncle? Should he explain that the whole thing was aninvention, and that he had never possessed a rich uncle in Australia?Was it possible that by some curious trick there really was a JosiahWilliams, Australian millionaire and philanthropist? If these menwould only go and leave him alone to think!

  Then suddenly there presented itself to his mind the other question:what would Josiah Williams be like? Would he be hopelesslyunpresentable? Would he humiliate him, Reginald Graves, and render hissubsequent years at St. Joseph's intolerable? How he wished thesefellows would go!