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Page 5
"Do you think he had a revolver with him?" she said in a hushed
voice.
"Who?" said Elsie excitedly.
"That brother of his. From Australia. I said as soon as I set
eyes on him, 'You're a bad lot, my man!' That's what I said,
Elsie. Even before he spoke to me. Rude!" She turned to her
aunt. "Well, I give you my word."
"If you remember, Audrey, I always said there was no saying with
anyone from Australia." Mrs. Stevens lay back in her chair,
breathing rather rapidly. "I wouldn't go out of this room now,
not if you paid me a hundred thousand pounds."
"Oh, Mrs. Stevens!" said Elsie, who badly wanted five shillings
for a new pair of shoes, "I wouldn't go as far as that, not
myself, but--"
"There!" cried Mrs. Stevens, sitting up with a start. They
listened anxiously, the two girls instinctively coming closer to
the older woman's chair.
A door was being shaken, kicked, rattled.
"Listen!"
Audrey and Elsie looked at each other with frightened eyes.
They heard a man's voice, loud, angry.
"Open the door!" it was shouting. "Open the door! I say, open
the door!"
"Don't open the door!" cried Mrs. Stevens in a panic, as if it
was her door which was threatened. "Audrey! Elsie! Don't let
him in!"
"Damn it, open the door!" came the voice again.
"We're all going to be murdered in our beds," she quavered.
Terrified, the two girls huddled closer, and with an arm round
each, Mrs. Stevens sat there, waiting.
CHAPTER II
Mr. Gillingham Gets Out at the Wrong Station
Whether Mark Ablett was a bore or not depended on the point of
view, but it may be said at once that he never bored his company
on the subject of his early life. However, stories get about.
There is always somebody who knows. It was understood--and this,
anyhow, on Mark's own authority--that his father had been a
country clergyman. It was said that, as a boy, Mark had
attracted the notice, and patronage, of some rich old spinster of
the neighbourhood, who had paid for his education, both at school
and university. At about the time when he was coming down from
Cambridge, his father had died; leaving behind him a few debts,
as a warning to his family, and a reputation for short sermons,
as an example to his successor. Neither warning nor example
seems to have been effective. Mark went to London, with an
allowance from his patron, and (it is generally agreed) made
acquaintance with the money-lenders. He was supposed, by his
patron and any others who inquired, to be "writing"; but what he
wrote, other than letters asking for more time to pay, has never
been discovered. However, he attended the theatres and music
halls very regularly--no doubt with a view to some serious
articles in the "Spectator" on the decadence of the English
stage.
Fortunately (from Mark's point of view) his patron died during
his third year in London, and left him all the money he wanted.
From that moment his life loses its legendary character, and
becomes more a matter of history. He settled accounts with the
money-lenders, abandoned his crop of wild oats to the harvesting
of others, and became in his turn a patron. He patronized the
Arts. It was not only usurers who discovered that Mark Ablett no
longer wrote for money; editors were now offered free
contributions as well as free lunches; publishers were given
agreements for an occasional slender volume, in which the author
paid all expenses and waived all royalties; promising young
painters and poets dined with him; and he even took a theatrical
company on tour, playing host and "lead" with equal lavishness.
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