The Riding-Whip

by George Gissing

　　From The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories (1906).

　　It was not easy for Mr. Daffy to leave his shop for the whole day, but anurgent affair called him to London, and he breakfasted early in order tocatch the 8.30 train. On account of his asthma he had to allow himselfplenty of time for the walk to the station; and all would have been well,but that, just as he was polishing his silk hat and giving final directionsto his assistant, in stepped a customer, who came to grumble about the fitof a new coat. Ten good minutes were thus consumed, and with a painfulglance at his watch the breathless tailor at length started. The walk wasuphill; the sun was already powerful; Mr. Daffy reached the station withdripping forehead and panting as if his sides would burst. There stood thetrain; he had barely time to take his ticket and to rush across theplatform. As a porter slammed the carriage-door behind him, he sank uponthe seat in a lamentable condition, gasping, coughing, writhing; his eyesall but started from his head, and his respectable top-hat tumbled to thefloor, where unconsciously he gave it a kick. A grotesque and distressingsight.Only one person beheld it, and this, as it happened, a friend of Mr.Daffy's. In the far corner sat a large, ruddy-cheeked man, whose eye restedupon the sufferer with a look of greeting disturbed by compassion. Mr.Lott, a timber-merchant of this town, was in every sense of the word a moreflourishing man than the asthmatic tailor; his six-feet-something of soundflesh and muscle, his ripe sunburnt complexion, his attitude of eupepticand broad-chested ease, left the other, by contrast, scarce his proverbialfraction of manhood. At a year or two short of fifty, Mr. Daffy began to beold; he was shoulder-bent, knee-shaky, and had a pallid, wrinkled visage,with watery, pathetic eye. At fifty turned, Mr. Lott showed a vigour and atoughness such as few men of any age could rival. For a score of years themeasure of Mr. Lott's robust person had been taken by Mr. Daffy'sprofessional tape, and, without intimacy, there existed kindly relationsbetween the two men. Neither had ever been in the other's house, but theyhad long met, once a week or so, at the Liberal Club, where it was theirhabit to play together a game of draughts. Occasionally they conversed; butit was a rather one-sided dialogue, for whereas the tailor had a sprightlyintelligence and--so far as his breath allowed--a ready flow of words, thetimber-merchant found himself at a disadvantage when mental activity wascalled for. The best-natured man in the world, Mr. Lott would sit smilingand content so long as he had only to listen; asked his opinion (onanything but timber), he betrayed by a knitting of the brows, a rolling ofthe eyes, an inflation of the cheeks, and other signs of discomposure, theserious effort it cost him to shape a thought and to utter it. At times Mr.Daffy got on to the subject of social and political reform, and, aftercopious exposition, would ask what Mr. Lott thought. He knew thetimber-merchant too well to expect an immediate reply. There came a longpause, during which Mr. Lott snorted a little, shuffled in his chair, andstared at vacancy, until at length, with a sudden smile of relief heexclaimed, 'Do you know my idea!' And the idea, often rather explosivelystated, was generally marked by common-sense of the bull-headed, Britishkind.'Bad this morning,' remarked Mr. Lott, abruptly but sympathetically, assoon as the writhing tailor could hear him.'Rather bad--ugh, ughugh!--doesn't suit me, Mr. Lott,'gasped the other, as he took the silk hat which his friend had picked upand stroked for him.'Hot weather trying.''I vary so,' panted Mr. Daffy, wiping his face with a handkerchief.'Sometimes one things seems to suit me--ugh, ugh--sometimes another. Goingto town, Mr. Lott?''Yes.'The blunt affirmative was accompanied by a singular grimace, such as mighthave been caused by the swallowing of something very unpleasant; andthereupon followed a silence which allowed Mr. Daffy to recover himself. Hesat with his eyes half closed and head bent, leaning back.They had a general acquaintance with each other's domestic affairs. Bothwere widowers; both lived alone. Mr. Daffy's son was married, and dwelt inLondon; the same formula applied to Mr. Lott's daughter. And, as ithappened, the marriages had both been a subject of parentaldissatisfaction. Very rarely had Mr. Lott let fall a word with regard tohis daughter, Mrs. Bowles, but the townsfolk were well aware that hethought his son-in-law a fool, if not worse; Mrs. Bowles, in the sevenyears since her wedding, had only two or three times revisited her father'shouse, and her husband never came. A like reticence was maintained by Mr.Daffy concerning his son Charles Edward, once the hope of his life. Atschool the lad had promised well; tailoring could not be thought of forhim; he went into a solicitor's office, and remained there just long enoughto assure himself that he had no turn for the law. From that day he wasnothing but an expense and an anxiety to his father, until--now a couple ofyears ago--he announced his establishment in a prosperous business inLondon, of which Mr. Daffy knew nothing more than that it was connectedwith colonial enterprise. Since that date Charles Edward had made no reportof himself, and his father had ceased to write letters which received noreply.Presently, Mr. Lott moved so as to come nearer to his travelling companion,and said in a muttering, shamefaced way--'Have you heard any talk about my daughter lately?'Mr. Daffy showed embarrassment.'Well, Mr. Lott, I'm sorry to say I have heard something--''Who from?''Well--it was a friend of mine--perhaps I won't mention the name--who cameand told me something--something that quite upset me. That's what I'm goingto town about, Mr. Lott. I'm--well, the fact is, I was going to call uponMr. Bowles.''Oh, you were!' exclaimed the timber-merchant, with gruffness, whichreferred not to his friend but to his son-in-law. 'I don't particularlywant to see him, but I had thought of seeing my daughter. You wouldn'tmind saying whether it was John Roper--?''Yes, it was.''Then we've both heard the same story, no doubt.'Mr. Lott leaned back and stared out of the window. He kept thrusting outhis lips and drawing them in again, at the same time wrinkling his foreheadinto the frown which signified that he was trying to shape a thought.'Mr. Lott,' resumed the tailor, with a gravely troubled look, 'may I ask ifJohn Roper made any mention of my son?'The timber-merchant glared, and Mr. Daffy, interpreting the look as one ofanger, trembled under it.'I feel ashamed and miserable!' burst from his lips.'It's not your fault, Mr. Daffy,' interrupted the other in a good-naturedgrowl. 'You're not responsible, no more than for any stranger.''That's just what I can't feel,' exclaimed the tailor, nervously slappinghis knee. 'Anyway, it would be a disgrace to a man to have a son abookmaker--a blackguard bookmaker. That's bad enough. But when it comes torobbing and ruining the friends of your own family--why, I never heard amore disgraceful thing in my life. How I'm going to stand in my shop, andhold up my head before my customers, I--do--not--know. Of course, it'll bethe talk of the town; we know what the Ropers are when they get hold ofanything. It'll drive me off my head, Mr. Lott, I'm sure it will.'The timber-merchant stretched out a great hand, and laid it gently on theexcited man's shoulder.'Don't worry; that never did any good yet. We've got to find out, first ofall, how much of Roper's story is true. What did he tell you?''He said that Mr. Bowles had been going down the hill for a year ormore--that his business was neglected, that he spent his time atracecourses and in public-houses--and that the cause of it all was my son.My son? What had my son to do with it? Why, didn't I know that Charleswas a racing and betting man, and a notorious bookmaker? You can imaginewhat sort of a feeling that gave me. Roper couldn't believe it was thefirst I had heard of it; he said lots of people in the town knew howCharles was living. Did you know, Mr. Lott?''Not I; I'm not much in the way of gossip.''Well, there's what Roper said. It was last night, and what with that andmy cough, I didn't get a wink of sleep after it. About three o'clock thismorning I made up my mind to go to London at once and see Mr. Bowles. Ifit's true that he's been robbed and ruined by Charles, I've only one thingto do--my duty's plain enough. I shall ask him how much money Charles hashad of him, and, if my means are equal to it, I shall pay every pennyback--every penny.'Mr. Lott's countenance waxed so grim that one would have thought him aboutto break into wrath against the speaker. But it was merely his way ofdisguising a pleasant emotion.'I don't think most men would see it in that way,' he remarked gruffly.'Whether they would or not,' exclaimed Mr. Daffy, panting and wriggling,'it's as plain as plain could be that there's no other course for a man whorespects himself. I couldn't live a day with such a burden as that on mymind. A bookmaker! A blackguard bookmaker! To think my son should come tothat! You know very well, Mr. Lott, that there's nothing I hate anddespise more than horse-racing. We've often talked about it, and the harmit does, and the sin and shame it is that such doings should bepermitted--haven't we?''Course we have, course we have,' returned the other, with a nod. But hewas absorbed in his own reflections, and gave only half an ear to thegasping vehemences which Mr. Daffy poured forth for the next ten minutes.There followed a short silence, then the strong man shook himself andopened his lips.'Do you know my idea?' he blurted out.'What's that, Mr. Lott?''If I were you I wouldn't go to see Bowles. Better for me to do that. We'veonly gossip to go upon, and we know what that often amounts to. LeaveBowles to me, and go and see your son.''But I don't even know where he's living.''You don't? That's awkward. Well then, come along with me to Bowles's placeof business; as likely as not, if we find him, he'll be able to give youyour son's address. What do you say to my idea, Mr. Daffy?'The tailor assented to this arrangement, on condition that, if things werefound to be as he had heard, he should be left free to obey his conscience.The stopping of the train at an intermediate station, where new passengersentered, put an end to the confidential talk. Mr. Daffy, breathing hard,struggled with his painful thoughts; the timber-merchant, deeplymeditative, let his eyes wander about the carriage. As they drew near tothe London terminus, Mr. Lott bent forward to his friend.'I want to buy a present for my eldest nephew,' he remarked, 'but I can'tfor the life of me think what it had better be.''Perhaps you'll see something in a shop-window,' suggested Mr. Daffy.'Maybe I shall.'They alighted at Liverpool Street. Mr. Lott hailed a hansom, and they weredriven to a street in Southwark, where, at the entrance of a buildingdivided into offices, one perceived the name of Bowles and Perkins. Thisfirm was on the fifth floor, and Mr. Daffy eyed the staircase withmisgiving.'No need for you to go up,' said his companion. 'Wait here, and I'll see ifI can get the address.'Mr. Lott was absent for only a few minutes. He came down again with hislips hard set, knocking each step sharply with his walking-stick.'I've got it,' he said, and named a southern suburb.'Have you seen Mr. Bowles?''No; he's out of town,' was the reply. 'Saw his partner.'They walked side by side for a short way, then Mr. Lott stopped.'Do you know my idea? It's a little after eleven. I'm going to see mydaughter, and I dare say I shall catch the 3.49 home from Liverpool Street.Suppose we take our chance of meeting there?'Thus it was agreed. Mr. Daffy turned in the direction of his son's abode;the timber-merchant went northward, and presently reached Finsbury Park,where in a house of unpretentious but decent appearance, dwelt Mr. Bowles.The servant who answered the door wore a strange look, as if something hadalarmed her; she professed not to know whether any one was at home, and, ongoing to inquire, shut the door on the visitor's face. A few minuteselapsed before Mr. Lott was admitted. The hall struck him as rather bare;and at the entrance of the drawing-room he stopped in astonishment, for,excepting the window-curtains and a few ornaments, the room was quiteunfurnished. At the far end stood a young woman, her hands behind her, andher head bent--an attitude indicative of distress or shame.'Are you moving, Jane?' inquired Mr. Lott, eyeing her curiously.His daughter looked at him. She had a comely face, with no little of thepaternal character stamped upon it; her knitted brows and sullen eyesbespoke a perturbed humour, and her voice was only just audible.'Yes, we are moving, father.'Mr. Lott's heavy footfall crossed the floor. He planted himself before her,his hands resting on his stick.'What's the matter, Jane? Where's Bowles?''He left town yesterday. He'll be back to-morrow, I think.''You've had the brokers in the house--isn't that it, eh?'Mrs. Bowles made no answer, but her head sank again, and a trembling of hershoulders betrayed the emotion with which she strove. Knowing that Janewould tell of her misfortunes only when and how she chose, the fatherturned away and stood for a minute or two at the window; then he askedabruptly whether there was not such a thing as a chair in the house. Mrs.Bowles, who had been on the point of speaking, bade him come to anotherroom. It was the dining-room, but all the appropriate furniture hadvanished: a couple of bedroom chairs and a deal table served for presentnecessities. Here, when they had both sat down, Mrs. Bowles found courageto break the silence.'Arthur doesn't know of it. He went away yesterday morning, and the mencame in the afternoon. He had a promise--a distinct promise--that thisshouldn't be done before the end of the month. By then he hoped to havemoney.''Who's the creditor?' inquired Mr. Lott, with a searching look at her face.Mrs. Bowles was mute, her eyes cast down.'Is it Charles Daffy?'Still his daughter kept silence.'I thought so,' said the timber-merchant, and clumped on the floor with hisstick. 'You'd better tell me all about it, Jane. I know something already.Better let us talk it over, my girl, and see what can be done.'He waited a moment. Then his daughter tried to speak, with difficultyovercame a sob, and at length began her story. She would not blame herhusband. He had been unlucky in speculations, and was driven to amoney-lender--his acquaintance, Charles Daffy. This man, a heartlessrascal, had multiplied charges and interest on a small sum originallyborrowed, until it became a crushing debt. He held a bill of sale on mostof their furniture, and yesterday, as if he knew of Bowles's absence, hadmade the seizure; he was within his legal rights, but had led the debtor tosuppose that he would not exercise them. Thus far did Jane relate, in ahard matter-of-fact voice, but with many nervous movements. Her fatherlistened in grim silence, and, when she ceased, appeared to reflect.'That's your story!' he said of a sudden. 'Now, what about thehorse-racing?''I know nothing of horse-racing,' was the cold reply.'Bowles keeps all that to himself, does he? We'd better have our talk out,Jane, now that we've begun. Better tell me all you know, my girl.'Again there was a long pause; but Mr. Lott had patience, and his doggedpersistency at length overcame the wife's pride. Yes, it was true thatBowles had lost money at races; he had been guilty of much selfish folly;but the ruin it had brought upon him would serve as a lesson. He was awretched and a penitent man; a few days ago he had confessed everything tohis wife, and besought her to pardon him; at present he was makingdesperate efforts to recover an honest footing. The business might still becarried on if some one could be induced to put a little capital into it;with that in view, Bowles had gone to see certain relatives of his in thenorth. If his hope failed, she did not know what was before them; they hadnothing left now but their clothing and the furniture of one or two rooms.'Would you like to come back home for a while?' asked Mr. Lott abruptly.'No, father,' was the not less abrupt reply. 'I couldn't do that.''I'll give no money to Bowles.''He has never asked you, and never will.'Mr. Lott glared and glowered, but, with all that, had something in his facewhich hinted softness. The dialogue did not continue much longer; it endedwith a promise from Mrs. Bowles to let her father know whether her husbandsucceeded or not in re-establishing himself. Thereupon they shook handswithout a word, and Mr. Lott left the house. He returned to the City, and,it being now nearly two o'clock, made a hearty meal. When he was in thestreet again, he remembered the birthday present he wished to buy for hisnephew, and for half an hour he rambled vaguely, staring into shop-windows.At length something caught his eye; it was a row of riding-whips, mountedin silver; just the thing, he said to himself, to please a lad who wouldperhaps ride to hounds next winter. He stepped in, chose carefully, andmade the purchase. Then, having nothing left to do, he walked at aleisurely pace towards the railway station.Mr. Daffy was there before him; they met at the entrance to the platformfrom which their train would start.'Must you go back by this?' asked the tailor. 'My son wasn't at home, andwon't be till about five o'clock. I should be terribly obliged, Mr. Lott,if you could stay and go to Clapham with me. Is it asking too much?'The timber-merchant gave a friendly nod, and said it was all the same tohim. Then, in reply to anxious questions, he made brief report of what hehad learnt at Finsbury Park. Mr. Daffy was beside himself with wrath andshame. He would pay every farthing, if he had to sell all he possessed!'I'm so glad and so thankful you will come with me Mr. Lott. He'd carenothing for what I said; but when he sees you, and hears your opinionof him, it may have some effect. I beg you to tell him your mind plainly!Let him know what a contemptible wretch, what a dirty blackguard, he is inthe eyes of all decent folk--let him know it, I entreat you! Perhaps evenyet it isn't too late to make him ashamed of himself.'They stood amid a rush of people; the panting tailor clung to his bigcompanion's sleeve. Gruffly promising to do what he could, Mr. Lott led theway into the street again, where they planned the rest of their day. Byfive o'clock they were at Clapham. Charles Daffy occupied the kind of housewhich is known as eminently respectable; it suggested an income of at leasta couple of thousand a year. As they waited for the door to open, Mr. Lottsmote gently on his leg with the new riding-whip. He had been silent andmeditative all the way hither.A smart maidservant conducted them to the dining-room, and there, in aminute or two, they were joined by Mr. Charles. No one could have surmisedfrom this gentleman's appearance that he was the son of the littletradesman who stood before him; nature had given the younger Mr. Daffy atall and shapely person, and experience of life had refined his manners toan easy assurance he would never have learnt from paternal example. Hissmooth-shaven visage, so long as it remained grave, might have been that ofan acute and energetic lawyer; his smile, however, disturbed thisimpression, for it had a twinkling insolence, a raffish facetiousness,incompatible with any sober quality. He wore the morning dress of a Cityman, with collar and necktie of the latest fashion; his watchguard wasrather demonstrative, and he had two very solid rings on his left hand.'Ah, dad, how do you do!' he exclaimed, on entering, in an affectedhead-voice. 'Why, what's the matter?'Mr. Daffy had drawn back, refusing the offered hand. With an unpleasantsmile Charles turned to his other visitor.'Mr. Lott, isn't it! You're looking well, Mr. Lott; but I suppose youdidn't come here just to give me the pleasure of seeing you. I'm rather abusy man; perhaps one or the other of you will be good enough to break thissolemn silence, and let me know what your game is.'He spoke with careless impertinence, and let himself drop on to a chair.The others remained standing, and Mr. Daffy broke into vehement speech.'I have come here, Charles, to ask what you mean by disgracing yourself anddishonouring my name. Only yesterday, for the first time, I heard of thelife you are leading. Is this how you repay me for all the trouble I tookto have you well educated, and to make you an honest man? Here I find youliving in luxury and extravagance--and how? On stolen money--money as muchstolen as if you were a pickpocket or a burglar! A pleasant thing for me tohave all my friends talking about Charles Daffy, the bookmaker and themoneylender! What right have you to dishonour your father in this way? Iask, what right have you, Charles?'Here the speaker, who had struggled to gasp his last sentence, was overcomewith a violent fit of coughing. He tottered back and sank on to a sofa.'Are you here to look after him?' asked Charles of Mr. Lott, crossing hislegs and nodding towards the sufferer. 'If so, I advise you to take himaway before he does himself harm. You're a lot bigger than he is andperhaps have more sense.'The timber-merchant stood with legs slightly apart, holding his stick andthe riding-whip horizontally with both hands. His eyes were fixed uponyoung Mr. Daffy, and his lips moved in rather an ominous way; but he madeno reply to Charles's smiling remark.'Mr. Lott,' said the tailor, in a voice still broken by pants and coughs,'will you speak or me? Will you say what you think of him?''You'll have to be quick about it,' interposed Charles, with a glance athis watch. 'I can give you five minutes; you can say a lot in that time,if you're sound of wind.'The timber-merchant's eyes were very wide, and his cheeks unusually red.Abruptly he turned to Mr. Daffy.'Do you know my idea?'But just as he spoke there sounded a knock at the door, and the smartmaidservant cried out that a gentleman wished to see her master.'Who is it?' asked Charles.The answer came from the visitor himself, who, pushing the servant aside,broke into the room. It was a young man of no very distinguishedappearance, thin, red-haired, with a pasty complexion and a scrubbymoustache; his clothes were approaching shabbiness, and he had an unwashedlook, due in part to hasty travel on this hot day. Streaming with sweat,his features distorted with angry excitement, he shouted as he entered,'You've got to see me, Daffy; I won't be refused!' In the same moment hisglance discovered the two visitors, and he stopped short. 'Mr. Lott, youhere? I'm glad of it--I'm awfully glad of it. I couldn't have wishedanything better. I don't know who this other gentleman is, but it doesn'tmatter. I'm glad to have witnesses--I'm infernally glad! Mr. Lott, you'vebeen to my house this morning; you know what's happened there. I had to goout of town yesterday, and this Daffy, this cursed liar and swindler, usedthe opportunity to sell up my furniture. He'll tell you he had a legalright. But he gave me his word not to do anything till the end of themonth. And, in any case, I don't really owe him half the sum he has downagainst me. I've paid that black-hearted scoundrel hundreds ofpounds--honourably paid him--debts of honour, and now he has the face tocharge me sixty per cent, on money I was fool enough to borrow from him!Sixty per cent.--what do you think of that, Mr. Lott? What do you thinkof it, sir?''I'm sorry to say it doesn't at all surprise me,' answered Mr. Daffy, whoperceived that the speaker was Mr. Lott's son-in-law. 'But I can'tsympathise with you very much. If you have dealings with a book-maker--''A blackleg, a blackleg!' shouted Bowles. 'Bookmakers are respectable menin comparison with him. He's bled me, the brute! He tempted me on and on--Look here, Mr. Lott, I know as well as you do that I've been an infernalfool. I've had my eyes opened--now that it's too late. I hear my wife toldyou that, and I'm glad she did. I've been a fool, yes; but I fell into thehands of the greatest scoundrel unhung, and he's ruined me. You heard fromJane what I was gone about. It's no good. I came back by the first trainthis morning without a mouthful of breakfast. It's all up with me; I'm acursed beggar--and that thief is the cause of it. And he comes into myhouse no better than a burglar--and lays his hands on everything that'llbring money. Where's the account of that sale, you liar? I'll go to amagistrate about this.'Charles Daffy sat in a reposeful attitude. The scene amused him; hechuckled inwardly from time to time. But of a sudden his aspect changed; hestarted up, and spoke with a snarling emphasis.'I've had just about enough. Look here, clear out, all of you! There's thedoor--go!'Mr. Daffy moved towards him.'Is that how you speak to your father, Charles?' he exclaimed indignantly.'Yes, it is. Take your hook with the others; I'm sick of your tommy-rot!''Then listen to me before I go,' cried Mr. Daffy, his short and awkwardfigure straining in every muscle for the dignity of righteous wrath. 'Idon't know whether you are more a fool or a knave. Perhaps you really thinkthat there's as much to be said for your way of earning a living as for anyother. I hope you do, for it's a cruel thing to suppose that my son hasturned out a shameless scoundrel. Let me tell you, then, this business ofyours is one that moves every honest and sensible man to anger and disgust.It matters nothing whether you keep the rules of the blackguard game, orwhether you cheat; the difference between bookmaker and blackleg is sosmall that it isn't worth talking about. You live by the plunder of peoplewho are foolish and vicious enough to fall into your clutches. You're anenemy of society--that's the plain truth of it; as much an enemy of societyas the forger or the burglar. You live--and live in luxury--by the worstvice of our time, the vice which is rotting English life, the vice whichwill be our national ruin if it goes on much longer. When you were a boy,you've heard me many a time say all I thought about racing and betting;you've heard me speak with scorn of the high-placed people who set so vilean example to the classes below them. If I could have foreseen that youwould sink to such disgrace!'Charles was standing in an attitude of contemptuous patience. He looked athis watch and interjected a remark.'I can only allow your eloquence one minute and a half more.''That will be enough,' replied his father sternly. 'The only thing I haveto add is, that all the money you have stolen from Mr. Bowles I, as asimple duty, shall repay. You're no longer a boy. In the eye of the law Iam not responsible for you; but for very shame I must make good the wrongyou have done in this case. I couldn't stand in my shop day by day, andknow that every one was saying, "There's the man whose son ruined Mr.Lott's son-in-law and sold up his home," unless I had done all I could torepair the mischief. I shall ask Mr. Bowles for a full account of what hehas lost to you, and if it's in my power, every penny shall be made good.He, thank goodness, seems to have learnt his lesson.''That I have, Mr. Daffy; that I have!' cried Bowles.'There's not much fear that he'll fall into your clutches again. And Ihope, I most earnestly hope, that before you can do much more harm, you'lloverreach yourself, and the law--stupid as it is--will get hold of you.Remember the father I was, Charles, and think what it means that the bestwish I can now form for you is that you may come to public disgrace.''Does no one applaud?' asked Charles, looking round the room. 'That'srather unkind, seeing how the speaker has blown himself. Be off, dad, anddon't fool any longer. Bowles, take your hook. Mr. Lott--'Charles met the eye of the timber-merchant, and was unexpectedly mute.'Well, sir,' said Mr. Lott, regarding him fixedly, 'and what have you tosay to me?''Only that my time is too valuable to be wasted,' continued the other, withan impatient gesture. 'Be good enough to leave my house.''Mr. Lott,' said the tailor in an exhausted voice, 'I apologise to you formy son's rudeness. I gave you the trouble of coming here hoping it mightshame him, but I'm afraid it's been no good. Let us go.'Mr. Lott regarded him mildly.'Mr. Daffy,' he said, 'if you don't mind, I should like to have a word inprivate with your son. Do you and Mr. Bowles go on to the station, and waitfor me; perhaps I shall catch you up before you get there.''I have told you already, Mr. Lott,' shouted Charles, 'that I can waste nomore time on you. I refuse to talk with you at all.''And I, Mr. Charles Daffy,' was the resolute answer, 'refuse to leave thisroom till I have had a word with you.''What do you want to say?' asked Charles brutally.'Just to let you know an idea of mine,' was the reply, 'an idea that's cometo me whilst I've stood here listening.'The tailor and Mr. Bowles moved towards the door. Charles glanced at themfiercely and insolently, then turned his look again upon the man whoremained. The other two passed out; the door closed. Mr. Lott, stick andriding-whip still held horizontally, seemed to be lost in meditation.'Now,' blurted Charles, 'what is it?'Mr. Lott regarded him steadily, and spoke with his wonted deliberation.'You heard what your father said about paying that money back?''Of course I heard. If he's idiot enough--''Do you know my idea, young man? You'd better do the honest thing, andrepay it yourself.'Charles stared for a moment, then sputtered a laugh.'That's your idea, is it, Mr. Lott? Well, it isn't mine. So, goodmorning!'Again the timber-merchant seemed to meditate; his eyes wandered fromCharles to the dining-room table.'Just a minute more,' he resumed; 'I have another idea--not a new one; anidea that came to me long ago, when your father first began to have troubleabout you. I happened to be in the shop one day--it was when you wereliving idle at your father's expense, young man--and I heard you speak tohim in what I call a confoundedly impertinent way. Thinking it overafterwards, I said to myself: If I had a son who spoke to me like that, I'dgive him the soundest thrashing he'd be ever likely to get. That was myidea, young man; and as I stood listening to you to-day, it came back intomy mind again. Your father can't thrash you; he hasn't the brawn for it.But as it's nothing less than a public duty, somebody must, and so--'Charles, who had been watching every movement of the speaker's face,suddenly sprang forward, making for the door. But Mr. Lott had foreseenthis; with astonishing alertness and vigour he intercepted the fugitiveseized him by the scruff of the neck, and, after a moment's struggle,pinned him face downwards across the end of the table. His stick he hadthrown aside; the riding-whip he held between his teeth. So brief was thisconflict that there sounded only a scuffling of feet on the floor, and agrowl of fury from Charles as he found himself handled like an infant;then, during some two minutes, one might have thought that a couple of verystrenuous carpet-beaters were at work in the room. For the space of a dozenswitches Charles strove frantically with wild kicks, which wounded only theair, but all in silence; gripped only the more tightly, he at lengthuttered a yell of pain, followed by curses hot and swift. Still thecarpet-beaters seemed to be at work, and more vigorously than ever. Charlesbegan to roar. As it happened, there were only servants in the house. Whenthe clamour had lasted long enough to be really alarming, knocks sounded atthe door, which at length was thrown open, and the startled face of adomestic appeared. At the same moment Mr. Lott, his right arm being weary,brought the castigatory exercise to an end. Charles rolled to his feet, andbegan to strike out furiously with both fists.'Just as you like, young man,' said the timber-merchant, as he coollywarded off the blows, 'if you wish to have it this way too. But, I warnyou, it isn't a fair match. Sally, shut the door and go about yourbusiness.''Shall I fetch a p'liceman, sir?' shrilled the servant.Her master, sufficiently restored to his senses to perceive that he had notthe least chance in a pugilistic encounter with Mr. Lott, drew back andseemed to hesitate.'Answer the girl,' said Mr. Lott, as he picked up his whip and examined itscondition. 'Shall we have a policeman in?''Shut the door!' Charles shouted fiercely.The men gazed at each other. Daffy was pale and quivering; his hair indisorder, his waistcoat torn open, collar and necktie twisted into rags, hemade a pitiful figure. The timber-merchant was slightly heated, but hiscountenance wore an expression of calm contentment.'For the present,' remarked Mr. Lott, as he took up his hat and stick, 'Ithink our business is at an end. It isn't often that a fellow of your sortgets his deserts, and I'm rather sorry we didn't have the policeman in; areport of the case might do good. I bid you good day, young man. If I wereyou I'd sit quiet for an hour or two, and just reflect--you've a lot tothink about.'So, with a pleasant smile, the visitor took his leave.As he walked away he again examined the riding-whip. 'It isn't often athing happens so luckily,' he said to himself. 'First-rate whip; hardly abit damaged. Harry'll like it none the worse for my having handselled it.'At the station he found Mr. Daffy and Bowles, who regarded him withquestioning looks.'Nothing to be got out of him,' said Mr. Lott. 'Bowles, I want a talk withyou and Jane; it'll be best, perhaps, if I go back home with you. Mr.Daffy, sorry we can't travel down together. You'll catch the eighto'clock.''I hope you told him plainly what you thought of him,' said Mr. Daffy, in avoice of indignant shame.'I did,' answered the timber-merchant, 'and I don't think he's very likelyto forget it.'

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *