The Prodigal Father Part 26

That young man displayed a sudden apt.i.tude for business which had never characterized his own efforts to make a livelihood.

"As a work of art likely to rise enormously in value, I conscientiously recommend that," he said, pointing to another canvas.

"A nice head," commented Mr. Walkingshaw. "High-toned yet spiritual, one might term it. I like the way the eyes seem to look out of the paper--or is it canvas it's done on?"

"Oh--er--I beg your pardon," said Lucas, waking suddenly from his reverie; "I--I'll let you have that thrown in."

"Wits a wool-gathering, Vernon?" smiled his patron indulgently. "But I dare say you've some excuse. I'll take the picture with pleasure, but I insist on paying for it. Let us put this at twenty-five pounds."

"I won't let you!" cried Lucas. "I give it you--I make you a present of it. You've been so kind already--"

"Pooh! Come, come," interrupted Mr. Walkingshaw kindly, yet firmly.

"You've got to make your way, and how will you do that if you give away your--fruits of the brush you'd call them, I suppose, eh?"

The artist could not but admit the force of this argument, and in the course of an hour had the satisfaction of selling, at considerably above his usual market price, no fewer than four of his masterpieces; while Mr. Walkingshaw, on his part, became the fortunate possessor of a promising but unfinished sylvan scene, the portrait of an unknown lady, a rainy day upon the Norfolk coast, and (what he considered the gem of the collection) a recognizable panorama of Edinburgh from the north, including among its minor details a splash of red ocher which he felt certain was the grand stand at the Scottish Union's football field. This recalled the sympathetic widow, and gave the picture a sentimental as well as an artistic value. He could have wished that on this, as indeed on most other occasions, the artist had paid more attention to verisimilitude and less to mere vague harmonies and so forth, but as he was a.s.sured by that intelligent young Hillary that this method was all the Go at present, and that his friend Lucas was recognized as a rising Dab at it. That at least is how he retailed the argument afterwards.

At the conclusion of these arrangements he again drew the artist aside.

"Would you like a check immediately," he inquired, "or upon delivery of the pictures?"

With considerable animation Lucas a.s.sured him there was no hurry at all.

"There is a distinction between punctuality and hurry," replied Mr.

Walkingshaw. "I recommend it to your notice, Vernon. As to the date of payment, I suggest by the first post after the delivery of the pictures.

Does that satisfy you?"

"Quite," said the painter, with a subdued air.

"Strenuous work, patience, and the cultivation of business habits are the recommendations I make to you, my dear fellow--as I would to any other young man. They have been, if I may say so, the secret of any little success I may have achieved myself. Good-by, Vernon, good-by!"

He departed thus upon a note of austere benevolence, leaving behind him a grateful yet chastened artist.

"Well, Frank," said he, as they drove back together, "that young fellow has managed to sell one or two pictures, I'm glad to find."

His eyes twinkled merrily as he spoke, but before his son had time to reply the senior partner spoke again.

"I only hope he keeps it up," was his addendum.

For a young man, Frank had remarkable discretion (apart from his one lamentable lapse). He dutifully agreed with this sentiment, and then proceeded to congratulate his parent on the taste with which he had selected his pictures and the excellence of the investment he had made.

Mr. Walkingshaw appeared gratified by his approval.

"I don't throw my money away, Frank," he said complacently. "By the way, what's the cab fare?"

"One and six," said Frank.

In the temporary absence of the senior partner, Mr. Walkingshaw handed the man half a crown, and entered the hotel humming a romantic melody.

As he crossed the hall a deferential attendant approached with a telegram.

"Hullo!" said he, "a wire. I wonder who the deuce this is from."

CHAPTER VI

It is a lamentable fact, remarked upon even by popular politicians, that the very measures which give the highest satisfaction to some people produce the profoundest depression in others. And it is worth adding that it is not always the most original reflections which have procured for their authors the widest reputation (though, if one wanted to quote an authority for this last axiom, one would perhaps turn rather to the popular theologians).

Of the truth of the first proposition, that worthy young man, Andrew Walkingshaw, was an unhappy example. It is the case that his parent's disappearance was not without compensating advantages. He was spared a number of minor annoyances, which of late had been the undeserved accompaniment of his blameless life; but then, the mystery of that disappearance, its unorthodoxy, its appalling suggestions of scandal!

He knew now what it must feel like to have a relative engaged upon fas.h.i.+onable divorce proceedings or conspicuously notorious on the music-hall stage. For, despite his industry in circulating a circ.u.mstantial account of the business that had called the head of the firm so suddenly away, he thought he observed in the face of every acquaintance a kind of sly and knowing expression. "Aha!" every one of them seemed to say, "I've got my knife into _you_, Andrew!"

Beneath the roof of the respectable mansion in which he had hitherto spent a life unsullied by mystery or romance he found, to his horror, that these sinister manifestations were even more marked than in his club. The restored happiness of Jean was a bad sign, very ominous under the circ.u.mstances. It is true that she professed complete ignorance of their father's movements, but Andrew was too astute a lawyer to pay much attention to what people said; it was how they behaved that he went by; and Jean's conduct was suspicious. Why should she be smiling while this dark cloud hung over their reputations? The like of that looked very bad. He resolved to probe the matter a bit further.

"There's some one wanting to know where Frank has got to," he began, with an ingenuous air, when he met her next.

"What does he want to see him about?" inquired Jean.

"He didn't say, but I thought perhaps you had heard Frank mention where he was going. Did you by any chance?"

His air remained as ingenuous as ever, but Jean looked at him doubtfully. For a moment she hesitated.

"Yes," she said.

"Oh, where was it?"

"Of course I don't know whether he has gone there."

"The chances are he has," said Andrew. "What was his intention?"

"Who was the man that wanted to know?"

Andrew was particularly scrupulous never to deviate far from the high road of truth. Of course there were footpaths alongside that led to the same place, and gave one a certain amount of lat.i.tude; but beyond these no moral or respectable man should venture. Supposing one were caught in an adjoining field cutting a corner!

"That's neither here nor there," he said evasively.

"Was there really anybody at all asking for him, or is the 'some one'

yourself?"

Her brother looked severe.

"Look here, Jean," said he, "you know where he has gone--I've got that much out of you; and it's your duty to tell me."

Her eyes were fixed on him steadily.

"You think Frank and father have gone off together?"

"I know nothing about that."