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Mr. Sydney Ricketts.
14 Lyonesse Road, Belize,
Balam, S.W., British Honduras.
"I thought his name was Raikes," John muttered, indignantly.
"Never mind. A rose by any other name...." Miss Hamilton began.
John might almost have been said to interrupt what she was going to say with an angry glare; but she only laughed merrily at his fierce expression.
"Oh, I beg your pardon--I'd forgotten your objection to roses."
Mr. Ricketts, who was fortunately still in London, accepted John's invitation to come and see him at Church Row on business. He was a lantern-jawed man with a tremendous capacity for c.o.c.ktails, a sinewy neck, and a sentimental affection for his native suburb. At the same time, he would not hear a word against British Honduras.
"I reckon our regatta at Belize is the prettiest little regatta in the world."
"But the future of logwood and mahogany?" John insisted.
"Great," the visitor a.s.sured him. "Why don't _you_ come out to us? You'd lose a lot of weight if you worked for a few months up the Zucara river.
Here's a photograph of some of our boys loading logwood."
"They look very hot," said John, politely.
"They are very hot," said Mr. Ricketts. "You can't expect to grow logwood in Iceland."
"No, of course not. I understand that."
In the end it was decided that John should invest 2000 in the logwood and mahogany business and that sometime in February Hugh should be ready to sail with Mr. Ricketts to Central America.
"Of course he'll want to learn something about the conditions of the trade at first. Yes, I reckon your brother will stay in Belize at first," said the planter, scratching his throat so significantly that John made haste to fill up his gla.s.s, thinking to himself that, if the c.o.c.ktails at the Belize Yacht Club were as good as Mr. Ricketts boasted, Hugh would be unlikely ever to see much more of mahogany than he saw of it at present cut and rounded and polished to the shape of a solid dining-room table. However, the more attractive Belize, the less attractive England.
"I think you told me this was your first visit home in fifteen years?"
he asked.
"That's right. Fifteen years in B.H."
"B.H.?" repeated the new speculator, nervously.
"British Honduras."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. The initials a.s.sociated themselves in my mind for the moment with another place. B.H. you call it. Very appropriate I should think. I suppose you found many changes in Balham on your return?"
"Wouldn't have known it again," said Mr. Ricketts. "For one thing they'd changed all the lamp-posts along our road. That's the kind of thing to teach a man he's growing old."
Perhaps Hugh wouldn't recognize Hampstead after fifteen years, John thought, gleefully; he might even pa.s.s his nearest relations in the street without a salute when like a Rip van Winkle of the tropics he returned to his native country after fifteen years.
"I suppose the usual outfit for hot climates will be necessary?"
Mr. Ricketts nodded; and John began to envisage himself equipping Hugh from the Army and Navy Stores.
"I always think there is something extraordinarily romantic about a tropical outfit," he ventured.
"It's extraordinarily expensive," said Mr. Ricketts. "But everything's going up. And mahogany's going up when I get back to B.H., or my name isn't Sydney Ricketts."
"There's nothing you particularly recommend?"
"No, they'll tell you everything you want at the Stores and a bit over, except--oh, yes, by the way, don't let him forget his shaker."
"Is that some special kind of porous overcoat?"
Mr. Ricketts laughed delightedly.
"Well, if that isn't the best thing I've heard since I was home. Porous overcoat! No, no, a shaker is for mixing drinks."
"Humph!" John grunted. "From what I know of my brother, he won't require any special instrument for doing that. Good-by, Mr. Ricketts; my solicitor will write to you about the business side. Good-by."
When John went back to his work he was humming.
"Satisfactory?" his secretary inquired.
"Extremely satisfactory. I think Hugh is very lucky. Ricketts a.s.sures me that in another fifteen years--that is about the time Hugh will be wanting to visit England again--there is no reason why he shouldn't be making at least 500 a year. Besides, he won't be lonely, because I shall send Harold out to British Honduras in another five years. It must be a fascinating place if you're fond of natural history, B.H.--as the denizens apparently call it among themselves," he added, pensively.
It could not be claimed that Hugh was enraptured by the prospect of leaving England in February, and John who was really looking forward to the job of getting together his outfit was disappointed by his brother's lack of enthusiasm. He simply could not understand anybody's failure to be thrilled by snake-proof blankets and fever-proof filters, by medicine-chests and pith helmets and double-fly tents and all the paraphernalia of adventure in foreign parts. Finally he delivered an ultimatum to Hugh, which was accepted albeit with ill grace, and hardening his heart against the crossed letters of protest that arrived daily from his mother and burying himself in an Army and Navy Stores'
catalogue, he was able to intrench himself in the opinion that he was doing the best that could be done for the scapegrace. The worst of putting Hugh on his feet again was the resentment such a brotherly action aroused among his other relations. After the quarrel with James he had hardly expected to hear from him for a long time; but no sooner had the news about British Honduras gone the round of the family than his eldest brother wrote to ask him for a loan of 1000 to invest in a projected critical weekly of which he was to be the editor. James added that John could hardly grudge him as much as that for log-rolling at home when he was prepared to spend double that amount on Hugh to roll logs abroad.
"I can't say I feel inclined to help James after that article about my work," John observed to Miss Hamilton. "Besides, I hate critical weeklies."
It happened that the post next morning brought a large check from his agent for royalties on various dramas that in various theaters all over the world were playing to big business; confronted by that bright-hued token of prosperity he could not bring himself to sit down and pen a flat refusal to his brother's demand. Instead of doing that he merely delayed for a few hours the birth of a new critical weekly by making an appointment to talk the matter over, and it was only a fleeting pleasure that he obtained from adding a postscript begging James not to bring his dog with him when he called at Church Row.
"For if that wretched animal goes snorting round the room all the time we're talking," he a.s.sured his secretary, "I shall agree to anything in order to get rid of it. I shall find all my available capital invested in critical weeklies just to save the carpet from being eaten."
James seemed to have entirely forgotten that his brother had any reason to feel sore with him; he also seemed entirely unconscious of there being the least likelihood of his refusing to finance the new venture.
John remembering how angry James had been when on a former occasion he had reminded him that Hugh's career was still before him, was careful to avoid the least suggestion of throwing cold water upon the scheme.
Therefore in the circ.u.mstances James' unusual optimism, which lent his sallow cheeks some of the playwright's roses, was not surprising, and before the conversation had lasted many minutes John had half promised a thousand pounds. Having done this, he did try to retrieve the situation by advising James to invest it in railway-stock and argued strongly against the necessity of another journal.
"What are you going to call this further unnecessary burden upon our powers of a.s.similation?"
"_I_ thought _The New Broom_ would be a good t.i.tle."
"Yes, I was positive you'd call it The New-Something-or-other. Why not The New Way to pay Old Scores? I'll back you to do that, even if you can't pay your old debts. However, listen to me. I'll lend the money to you personally. But I will not invest it in the paper. For security--or perhaps compensation would be a better word--you shall hand over to me the family portraits and the family silver."
"I'd rather it was a business proposition," James objected.
"My dear fellow, a new critical weekly can never be a business proposition. How many people read your books?"
"About a dozen," James calculated.