Chapter V Jim Rejoices
Five minutes later Jim Mortimer was sailing down Milverton Street in a state of mild delirium. Instead of having to wait for months for an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the girl whose face had so captivated his fancy, the whole thing had been accomplished in a briefer time than it takes to write of it.
Koko it was who had effected this desirable consummation—Koko who had offered up himself on the altar of friendship. Koko saw as plain as daylight that Miss Cook was exceedingly pleased to see him, and knew that the introduction he contemplated would result in his having to meet with undesirable frequency a lady in whom he took no interest whatever. A few words of greeting were exchanged; then Miss Cook—who had an axe of her own to grind—introduced him to Miss Maybury, and then, as a matter of course, Koko made Mortimer known to the two girls.
Dora Maybury! So that was her name! What a sweet name! Dora! The Long ’Un dwelt lovingly on those two dear syllables.
He proceeded to murmur the name in an abstracted manner until they reached St Matthew’s Hospital. Here Jim’s hosts of friends greeted him in the heartiest fashion, and bottled beer flowed freely in the students’ common-room. Koko knew many of Jim’s friends, and always enjoyed himself when in the company of the light-hearted happy-go-lucky crew at “Matt’s.” Jim sat down and rattled off a comic song on a piano which, by reason of much hard usage, had long since lost its purity of tone. Jim played cleverly by ear; and, as he could sing songs by the score, he was consequently the star artiste of “Matt’s.”
“Chorus, boys!” he roared, and the boys, forming up in a line behind a red-haired youth from Wales—with a voice worthy of his nationality—pranced round the table as they let go the taking refrain at the top of their voices:—
Oh, follow the man from Cook’s!
The wonderful man from Cook’s!
And, whether your stay be short or long,
You’ll see the sights, for he can’t go wrong.
Oh, follow the man from Cook’s!
The wonderful man from Cook’s!
For it’s twenty to one that there’s plenty of fun,
If you follow the man from Cook’s!
The last words of the chorus were ringing out into the quadrangle, when a porter entered the room and informed the pianist that a lady wished to see him.
“Lady!” exclaimed Jim.
“Yes, sir; wishes to see you very particular.”
“Go on, Long ’Un!” yelled the students, “next verse.”
But Jim’s head was filled with romantic ideas. What if, for some strange, inexplicable reason, it should happen to be Dora! True, it was not very likely, but he had read in books of things like this happening.
“Half a second, you men,” he said; “I’ve got to see somebody.”
“Girl?” queried the red-haired youth from Wales.
But Jim (hoping it was) hurried out without replying to him. He found his fair visitor to be no other than Mrs Freeman, his landlady.
“Mr Mortimer, sir,” she said, in some agitation, “this came for you just now, sir. I hope it’s not bad news, sir.”
For in the homely eyes of the landlady a telegram generally loomed large as a portent of ill. Jim opened the flimsy envelope, and read:
“Annie arrives nine to-night. Please meet. Jim.”
Until this moment he had forgotten all about the wire he had sent himself. Now it had reached him in all its imbecile meaninglessness.
Mrs Freeman regarded his face anxiously.
“Not bad news, I ’ope, sir?”
Jim crushed the thing into his pocket somewhat impatiently.
“No; it’s all right, thanks, Mrs Freeman. It’s—it’s nothing. Thanks for bringing it.”
And so Mrs Freeman had to retrace her steps to Pimlico, feeling (it must be confessed) somewhat disappointed at the non-tragic contents of the message she had so carefully conveyed to the hospital.
Jim imbibed more beer and sang more songs, and finally, when the party broke up, dragged Koko off to dine at the Trocadero. All through the meal Jim was excessively merry, his bursts of laughter causing many of the diners to glance curiously in his direction. Koko, knowing by long experience that he could do nothing to stem Jim’s methods of letting off steam, decided that his place to-night must be by Mortimer’s side; so he hastily scribbled a note asking a colleague to report the fight at the National Milling Club for which he (Koko) had been booked, and despatched it to the Sporting Mail office by a special messenger. Koko felt easier in his mind when he had done this; he saw that Jim intended to make a night of it, and that his programme would be a variegated one.
Dinner over, the Long ’Un hailed a hansom, and, Koko having stowed himself away inside, took his place with a brief “Exhibition!” to the driver.
“Dora!” breathed Jim, as the cab sped across the Circus and headed for Piccadilly.
“I expect she likes nice, quiet men,” said Koko.
“Not she,” returned Jim with conviction.
“A nice, quiet, home-loving man—not a man who shouts, and swears, and behaves like an over-grown schoolboy,” persisted Mr George Somers.
“You’re very severe to-night, my bald-headed young friend,” quoth the Long ’Un, with supreme good-humour.
“Never mind about my head,” said Koko; “think what yours will be like in the morning.”
“But it is to-night!” cried the Long ’Un, “it is to-night, and I mean to go the whole hog. Let the morning take care of itself. It is to-night; I have seen her; I know her; and now I am enjoying myself very much.”
“You are also,” added Koko, “on the verge of intoxication.”
“Very near the verge,” whooped the Long ’Un.
The cab was approaching Hyde Park Corner when Jim raised the little trap-door above his head.
“I’ve changed my mind, cabby; drive back to the Empire.”
“Empire? Yessir!”
“You’ll be chucked out of there to a certainty,” said Koko, despairingly.
“Not me,” said Jim.
But at the music-hall Mortimer was politely refused admittance by a man as tall as himself, and considerably broader.
“No, sir; you gave us trouble the last time you were here. I haven’t forgotten you, sir.”
“But that was Boat Race night,” protested Jim.
“No matter, sir; can’t let you in.”
And the official squared his great shoulders and glanced at another official, almost as big as himself, who was standing a few yards away. Simultaneously Koko gave Jim’s sleeve a tug.
“Come on,” he said; “no good getting into a row.”
Reluctantly Jim turned on his heel; he was in a mood for battle, and he had an idea that, big as the official was, he (Jim) could have rendered a pretty good account of himself had it come to a scrap.
The cab they had employed was lingering in the vicinity of the entrance. Jim hailed it and again gave the order “Exhibition.” And in the course of thirty minutes or so, Koko and he found themselves passing through the turnstiles at that popular resort.
Very pleasant it was, too, sauntering through the bazaars and make-believe old streets, and round the band-stands, while eye and ear were charmed with colour and music respectively, and the promenading multitude laughed and chattered, forgetting the day’s cares in a spell of enjoyable indolence.
But Jim was bent on celebrating the great event of the day—his introduction to Miss Maybury. He was desirous of applying more rebellious liquor to his young blood, and intimated the fact to a little Swiss waiter.
“Dora!” Jim gave the toast and drained his glass at a gulp. Up came Carlo again with a smile of appreciation. “As before,” said Jim, and again toasted Dora.
Just then a pale, well-dressed young man, passing by in the company of two ladies, trod on Jim’s outstretched foot. Jim gave vent to an exclamation, but the doer of the harm simply glanced over his shoulder without vouchsafing an apology.
“Why don’t you look after your feet, sir!” cried Jim, angrily. To do him justice, he did not notice the presence of the ladies.
The perambulating crowd was thick just there, and the proprietor of the feet alluded to was brought to a standstill close to Jim by people coming in the opposite direction.
“It is never nice here,” he observed to one of his companions in a tone evidently intended to reach Jim’s ears, “on early closing nights.”
For all Jim knew, the man who had trodden on his toes was making this remark to another man, but Koko had noticed the ladies, and now perceived that while one of them was regarding Jim with haughty disfavour, the other kept her face turned resolutely towards the bandstand.
“I’ll show you what sort of a shop-boy I am!” exclaimed Jim, in a fury, and was jumping up when his leg got into difficulties with the little round table at which he was sitting, the result being that he fell over and broke the back of the chair he was occupying. In his struggle to retain his balance he swept the glasses off the table and smashed them, and, when the little Swiss waiter requested payment for the goods, rudely declined to give any compensation.
When the waiter beckoned to a policeman, men sitting at neighbouring tables rose to their feet, evidently expecting trouble. People in the vicinity stopped promenading, in order to look on. They talked about what followed for days afterwards.
The constable was not one of the gentlest of his species. He asked Jim for his name and address, and Jim produced his card; then the policeman told him he must leave the Exhibition, and, as Jim appeared reluctant to obey this order, gave him a push in the direction of the nearest exit.
Now, the policeman, regarding Jim’s long, slim form, had not anticipated much trouble from this customer. How was he to know that Mr James Mortimer (that being the name on the card) had a marvellous way of hitting straight from the shoulder? Rough and unscientific he might be, but his blows came pat like a donkey’s kicks, and hurt almost as much.
When the policeman had picked himself up and blown his whistle, the bystanders fairly tingled with excitement. They saw a little man urging the tall one to submit quietly, and they saw the tall man shake off the little man as one would brush away a fly. The tall man’s hat had fallen off, and the little man was holding it. The tall man was a good-looking fellow, the bystanders remarked, and as he drew himself up, and glared defiance at the approaching enemy, he reminded certain spectators of some heroic subject in sculpture or painting. Of course, this was because they were inclined to be romantic. The bulk of those present saw in Jim merely a young man the worse for drink and spoiling for a fight.
A burly sergeant strode up.
“Now, then, none of this nonsense,” he said roughly.
Crack! That peculiar straight left met him on the jaw, and the sergeant collapsed on to the gravel. Two more policemen rushed at Jim. Again the long arms shot out. One policeman fell, and the other staggered. Jim followed the latter up and delivered the coup de grâce. At that moment Jim felt a muscular hand gripping his neck. He lashed round furiously, then closed with his antagonist, and they fell among the chairs. Jim was on top, and wrenched himself free as a fifth policeman charged at him. A bit of a boxer was this man, young and active, and Jim and he hammered each other with the lustiness of schoolboys. Up and down among the chairs they went, and then Jim, seeing an opening, got home on the point, and turned swiftly to receive the sixth policeman, an enormous fellow who was unfortunately given to over-much beer. He hit Jim on the chest, and Jim gasped; then he hit at Jim again, and Jim, dodging the blow, retaliated with a sledge-hammer slap across the back of the big man’s neck. The big man clutched at a table, and Jim hit him in the spine and upset man and table. Then three policemen, sore and furious, rushed at Jim together, and there was Jim’s close-clipped poll towering above them, and there were Jim’s long arms dealing out donkey kicks, and leaving marks every time. And then Jim retired in good order, face and fists to the foe, towards the buffet, and then, suddenly altering his tactics, he put his head down and butted the middle man of the trio in the stomach, and so made his way through them, and ran into the burly sergeant, who hit at Jim with his truncheon, but missed him, and got a crashing blow in the mouth by way of exchange. And that was Jim’s last good donkey kick, for one of them got him by the leg, another hit him over the hip with his truncheon, and next moment Jim was rolling about the gravel with four of them clinging to him. And, of course, he at length surrendered, and was marched off between two of the policemen to the police-station, the faithful Koko following a few yards behind to bail him out.