People of Position

by Stanley Portal Hyatt

"God forgive me for saying it—yes. But not yet, Jimmy, not yet," and without allowing him to kiss her, she jumped up and ran into the other room, shutting the door behind her.

Jimmy walked down to the club that day, not from reasons of economy—there was still some of the Record money left—but because he wanted to think matters over, quietly and deliberately. He was conscious of an unwonted sense of elation—Lalage was to be his, definitely and finally, so that they could face the world openly, with none of this miserable business of subterfuge and bogus address; no one would know of the past. And then, suddenly, he went cold at the thought of the family inquisition, and the falsehoods he would have to tell; whilst, even if the latter were not detected, his people would never forgive him for marrying a stranger, never agree to his marriage until he was in what they would consider a good position, which would mean years of waiting. He tried to picture Lalage, with her almost childish outlook on life, being cross-examined by the cold and immaculate Ida, or sitting down to dinner in the Marlow house, where even the servants would turn up their noses at the mention of the ham and beef shop.

And then if, after they were married, they came across someone belonging to Lalage's old life—that was the worst idea of all, intolerable, wholly abominable. Insensibly, he quickened his pace, as though trying to get away from the thought, then, finding that useless, turned into a saloon bar, where he remained a full hour, drinking whisky practically neat, and endeavouring to interest himself in the other people who came into the place. When, at last, he did reach the club, he was feeling much more certain of the wisdom of his choice and his ability to manage his own affairs. He had determined to tell Douglas Kelly, as practically his only friend, about his engagement; and yet, somehow, he felt a distinct sense of relief when, in reply to his question, the waiter said:

"Mr. Kelly, sir? He has been in, in a great hurry, just for letters and so on. But," and he lowered his voice discreetly, knowing Kelly to be a friend of Jimmy's and two other members being near, "but he's gone to Russia, sir, all in a hurry. Told me to tell you he wouldn't be there very long, at least he thought not."

As Jimmy turned away, he found himself face to face with Romsey of the Evening Post, of whom he had seen a good deal during the last few weeks.

"Hullo, Grierson," the other said. "You don't look too cheerful. I suppose you are wondering how the smash is going to affect you."

Jimmy knit his brow. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Who has gone to smash?"

The reporter gave him an incredulous look. "Where on earth do you live that you haven't heard? Why the Comet ceased publication last night without warning, which means there are forty of the best men in Fleet Street out of jobs, ready to scramble for the space you and I and the other fellows used to have. Cheerful prospect, isn't it?"

Jimmy did not answer. He was wondering dully whether any of these men had ever felt the same degree of desperate anxiety about the future as he was feeling then.