“I was reading a story—one of the Nosegay Novelettes; I do not know if you are familiar with the series, sir?—in which much the same situation occurred. It was entitled ‘Cupid or Mammon!’ The heroine, Lady Blanche Trefusis, forced by her parents to wed a wealthy suitor, despatches a note to her humble lover, informing him it cannot be. I believe it often happens like that, sir.”
“You’re all wrong,” said Sam. “It’s not that at all.”
“Indeed, sir? I supposed it was.”
“Nothing like it! I—I—”
Sam’s dignity, on its death-bed, made a last effort to assert itself.
“I don’t know what it’s got to do with you!”
“Precisely, sir!” said Webster, with dignity. “Just as you say! Good afternoon, sir!”
He swayed gracefully, conveying a suggestion of departure without moving his feet. The action was enough for Sam. Dignity gave an expiring gurgle, and passed away, regretted by all.
“Don’t go!” he cried.
The idea of being alone in this infernal lane, without human support, overpowered him. Moreover, Webster had personality. He exuded it. Already Sam had begun to cling to him in spirit, and rely on his support.
“Don’t go!”
“Certainly not, if you do not wish it, sir.”
Webster coughed gently, to show his appreciation of the delicate nature of the conversation. He was consumed with curiosity, and his threatened departure had been but a pretence. A team of horses could not have moved Webster at that moment.
“Might I ask, then what…?”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” said Sam. “At least, there was, but now there isn’t, if you see what I mean.”
“I fear I have not quite grasped your meaning, sir.”
“Well, I—I—played a sort of—you might almost call it a sort of trick on Miss Bennett. With the best motives, of course!”
“Of course, sir!”
“And she’s found out. I don’t know how she’s found out, but she has. So there you are!”
“Of what nature would the trick be, sir? A species of ruse, sir,—some kind of innocent deception?”
“Well, it was like this.”
It was a complicated story to tell, and Sam, a prey to conflicting emotions, told it badly; but such was the almost superhuman intelligence of Webster, that he succeeded in grasping the salient points. Indeed, he said that it reminded him of something of much the same kind in the Nosegay Novelette, “All for Her,” where the hero, anxious to win the esteem of the lady of his heart, had bribed a tramp to simulate an attack upon her in a lonely road.
“The principle’s the same,” said Webster.
“Well what did he do when she found out?”
“She did not find out, sir. All ended happily, and never had the wedding-bells in the old village church rung out a blither peal than they did at the subsequent union.”
Sam was thoughtful.
“Bribed a tramp to attack her, did he?”
“Yes, sir. She had never thought much of him till that moment, sir. Very cold and haughty she had been, his social status being considerably inferior to her own. But, when she cried for help, and he dashed out from behind a hedge, well, it made all the difference.”
“I wonder where I could get a good tramp,” said Sam, meditatively.
Webster shook his head.
“I really would hardly recommend such a procedure, sir.”
“No, it would be difficult to make a tramp understand what you wanted.”
Sam brightened.
“I’ve got it! You pretend to attack her, and I’ll….”
“I couldn’t, sir! I couldn’t really! I should jeopardise my situation.”
“Oh, come! Be a man!”
“No, sir, I fear not. There’s a difference between handing in your resignation—I was compelled to do that only recently, owing to a few words I had with the guv’nor, though subsequently prevailed upon to withdraw it—I say there’s a difference between handing in your resignation and being given the sack, and that’s what would happen—without a character, what’s more, and lucky if it didn’t mean a prison cell. No, sir; I could not contemplate such a thing.”
“Then I don’t see that there’s anything to be done,” said Sam morosely.
“Oh, I shouldn’t say that, sir,” said Webster, encouragingly. “It’s simply a matter of finding the way. The problem confronting us—you, I should say….”