“No,” said Spanswick, rather awkwardly, “I’ll leave him. Fancy he’s got something to say to you.”
When the sale was over, it occurred to Erb that he had not eaten that day, and as the men had to hurry off to their duties, he would have been left alone but for Mr. Doubleday’s presence. Erb was glad to leave the gas-scented auction rooms, and would have been content with no other company but his own; he had been acting in a hot, tempestuous way of late, and he was anxious, now that this business was over, to review it all calmly. Anxious, also, think of Louisa, and— But Mr. Doubleday stuck to him, and when Erb entered the Enterprise Dining Rooms, in New Kent Road, Doubleday followed him to the pew, and sat down opposite. Erb gave his order to the girl, who rested the palms of her red hands on the table; when she turned to the other, Doubleday said, assuming the manner of a complaisant guest, that he would have the same.
“Fate,” he said, hanging the deplorable silk hat on a wooden peg, “Fate has thrown us together, sir, in a most remarkable way.”
“Thought it was Spanswick,” said Erb.
“Most inscrutable, the workings of Providence. Stagger even me at times.”
“You don’t mean that?” said Erb.
“Positive truth!” declared Mr. Doubleday. “Now this meeting with you, for instance. If it had been planned it couldn’t have happened more fortunately. Because I have information to give you of the very highest possible value. It means, my dear sir, an absolute epoch-making event in your life, and— Ah! roast beef and Yorkshire pudding! Reminds me of my young days. I recollect when I was a bit of a boy—”
Mr. Doubleday, with heavy jest and leaden-footed reminiscence, took the duty of conversation upon himself, evidently feeling that he was a bright, diverting companion, one who just for his exceptional powers as a raconteur well deserved to be asked out to dine. His stories were so long, and the telling of them so complicated, that Erb was able to allow his mind to concentrate itself on his own affairs. He had taken a definite, a desperate step; the reaction was setting in, and he began to wonder whether he had been precisely right. Something to feel that whatever he did, right or wrong, he had the solid, obstinate, unreasoning support of the men; one could, of course, count upon this; the greater the misfortune he encountered, the more faithful and obedient would they become. There could be no doubt about that. Besides, they had no one else to guide them. He was, as they had admitted, the one, the necessary man. Any signs of rebellion in the past he had always been able to quell with very little trouble; as a last resource, there was always the threat of resignation. So that was satisfactory enough. Less grateful to remember that the revenge he had tried to take on the Neckinger Road firm had done his sister’s health no good whatever. He would run down to Worthing soon to see her and to cheer her.
“Joking apart,” said Mr. Doubleday, snapping his finger and thumb to secure the attention of the waitress, “let’s come to business. (Cabinet pudding, my dear! I daresay my genial host will take the same.) You must understand, please, that what I am about to submit to you is, as we say in the law, entirely without prejudice.”
“Are you a lawyer?”