THE WITCH NEXT DOOR

EPISODE 35

Previously :-

“At his tortoise gait he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks suspended their figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the transfer office, where eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and one did not. Old Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving to an armchair, lowered himself into it. "Well, gentlemen?" One of the eight gentlemen got up again. "Mr.Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr. Brownbee!" And down he sat. Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be seen in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father to son for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free thought seem equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and awaken in one a desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in a suave voice: "Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .”

When we had the pleasure of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a prospect of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now in January, and I am bound to say we none of us get younger." From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling, reached the surface, and materialised-- "Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself." The eight gentlemen looked at him.

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Was he going to try and put them off again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm: "I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We have felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable, that--er- -bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory solution. We have waited a long time, and we want to know definitely where we stand; for, to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of improvement; indeed, we fear the opposite." "You think I'm going to join the majority." This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in Mr. Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance. They coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one who had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:

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"Well, put it that way if you like." Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled. "My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of them rips. I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with theirs." "Indeed," Mr. Brownbee said, "we hope you have many years of this life before you." "More of this than of another." And a silence fell, till old Heythorp added: "You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees. Mistake to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. I'll make it twelve hundred. If you force me to resign my directorships by bankruptcy, you won't get a rap, you know.

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Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat: "We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred. In that case we might perhaps consider--" Old Heythorp shook his head. "We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in the event of bankruptcy. We fancy you greatly underrate the possibilities. Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for us." "See you d---d first." Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said irascibly: "We know where we are, then." Brownbee added almost nervously: "Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your--your last word?" Old Heythorp nodded. "Come again this day month, and I'll see what I can do for you;" and he shut his eyes. Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low voices; Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who sat with his eyes closed. Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with Mr. Ventnor, then clearing his throat, he said: "Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it for the moment.

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We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's time. "We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but which I fear will otherwise become inevitable." Old Heythorp nodded. The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went out one by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear. The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing in his chair. He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him another month, and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again! A month ought to make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on it. That poor funkey chap Joe Pillin! A gurgling chuckle escaped his red lips. What a shadow the fellow had looked, trotting in that evening just a month ago, behind his valet's announcement: "Mr. Pillin, sir.

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" What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's claw of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery: "How do you do, Sylvanus? I'm afraid you're not--" "First rate. Sit down. Have some port." "Port! I never drink it. Poison to me! Poison!" "Do you good!" "Oh! I know, that's what you always say." "You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus. If I drank port and smoked cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave to-morrow. I'm not the man I was. The fact is, I've come to see if you can help me. I'm getting old; I'm growing nervous...." "You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe." "Well, my nature's not like yours. To come to the point, I want to sell my ships and retire. I need rest. Freights are very depressed. I've got my family to think of." "Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!" "I'm quite serious, Sylvanus." "Never knew you anything else, Joe." A quavering cough, and out it had come: "Now--in a word--won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my ships?" A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke. "Make it worth my while!" He had said it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him.

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Rosamund and her youngsters! What a chance to put something between them and destitution when he had joined the majority! And so he said: "We don't want your silly ships." That claw of a hand waved in deprecation. "They're very good ships-- doing quite well. It's only my wretched health.

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