People of Position

by Stanley Portal Hyatt

Jimmy got up in the morning with a certain sense of relief in his mind. He was rather glad now that Vera did know something of his past failings; it was better for her to understand, and to forgive, than for him to live with the fear of exposure ever in his thoughts. Their little quarrel, if quarrel it could be called, would serve a useful purpose in clearing the air; and now there would be no more trouble. He would soon reassure her by giving positive proofs of reformation. Moreover, he could write to Lalage that night, after making, his peace with Vera.

The morning postman brought nothing more interesting than a receipted laundry bill, which Jimmy tossed angrily on to the desk. He had been expecting a letter of congratulation from May, in fact, he had looked to receive it twenty-four hours previously, and its non-arrival worried him a little. He had been hoping that the news of his engagement would have led to a treaty of peace with his family, being, as it was, significant of his surrender to the Grierson ideals. Surely May would see that he had sown his wild oats, and was ready, eager even, to marry into a respectable family and live respectably.

His breakfast finished, Jimmy glanced through his newspapers, at the same time keeping a look-out for the second postman; but when the latter did come down the road he hurried by without even glancing at the cottage. Obviously, he had nothing to deliver. Jimmy got up abruptly, a frown on his face. They might have written to him, and have offered their congratulations. He had given in to their ideas completely now; his engagement was in itself tacit recognition of the code of the Griersons, and he could not understand why the family should still harbour bitterness against him. Surely he had suffered enough for his revolt. But May and Ida and Walter had always been the same, obstinate, self-satisfied, regarding everything he did as necessarily wrong. In the world of men who thought, Jimmy knew that he, himself, was quickly gaining a position, and that his wife would also have a position, through him; but his family gauged position by the standard of the pass-book, the only book it considered of any permanent importance. The successful business man was respectable by virtue of his success; it made little difference whether he had grown rich as a banker, a merchant, or a member of a County Council committee; but the man who lived by his brains it regarded with suspicion, as one who made an income without possessing capital.

Jimmy was in a bitter mood. The little matter of the delayed letter had brought out that alien streak in him again, and once more he saw the Griersons as he had seen them in the early days of his return, unsympathetic, prejudiced, almost smug. He had been striving hard to win their approval. He had given up Lalage; he had written only things of which they could approve; he had become engaged to a girl essentially of their world, and now——

A sharp knock on the door brought him to his feet, and he opened the latch to find the ragged little girl, who generally acted as telegraph boy, holding out a yellow envelope. "Any answer, sir?" she chanted.

Jimmy read the message through. It was from Canon Farlow, and had been despatched at the London terminus. "Meet me on the station at twelve-thirty. Most important," it said.

Jimmy crushed the paper up, and thrust it into his pocket. "No answer, thanks," he said, then he glanced at the clock. He had an hour and a half still to wait. For a moment he thought of going up to Drylands first, to see if Vera too had heard, but he put the idea aside immediately after. Already, he had scented trouble. There must be something very serious to have brought the Canon back from Switzerland in such a hurry, and he preferred to see it through alone, to keep Vera out of it, if possible.

He was on the station platform a little early, in fact, he had time for several drinks in the refreshment-room before the train came in; then, rather to his surprise, he found the Drylands' chauffeur also waiting at the barrier.

The Canon, a portly man, clean shaven, and obviously prosperous, emerged from a first-class carriage with a bag in one hand and a rug on the other arm. Perhaps for that reason, he did not offer to shake hands with Jimmy; but even when the chauffeur had hurried forward for his things, he had made no attempt to remedy the omission.

"Good morning, Mr. Grierson," he said. "I am glad to see you received my telegram. Yes, Jones," to the chauffeur, "put those in the motor-car, and kindly wait for me. I shall be going up shortly. And please put the hood up, if possible.