Read Ebook: Jack of Both Sides: The Story of a School War by Coombe Florence Pearse Susan Beatrice Illustrator

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Ebook has 584 lines and 23037 words, and 12 pages

"No, sir; in the present instance a channel!"

"A channel?--I don't understand you."

"A deep-water channel leading in to a certain coast, where everybody else supposes there is nothing but shallow water. The Government charts put down the place as partly unsurveyed, but all impossible for navigation. The upgrowth of coral, they say, is turning part of the sea into dry land. In a large measure this is true; but at one point--which I have discovered--a river comes down from the interior, and the scour of this river has cut a deep narrow channel out through the reefs to the deep sea water beyond."

"Well," Shelf broke in, "I see no value in that."

"Wait a minute! In confidence I'll tell you it is on the West Coast of Florida--on the Mexican Gulf coast. The interior of southern Florida is called the Everglades. It's partly lake, partly swamp; built up of mangroves, saw-grass, cypress trees, and water; tenanted by snakes, alligators, wild beasts, and a few Seminole Indians. Only one expedition of whites has been across it--or rather only one expedition known to history. But I've been there, right into the heart of the Everglades; in fact, I've just come from there; and I netted ?1000 out of the trip."

"How?" asked Shelf, eagerly.

"Never mind exactly how. That's partly another man's business. Shall we say the other man gave me a commission there, and I carried it out, and got duly paid? Anyway, that's sufficient explanation. But now about this channel I've found. If one gives it to the chart people, they'll simply say, 'Thank you,' and publish your name in one number of an official magazine which nobody reads. I don't long for fame of that kind. I've the sordid taste to much prefer gold."

"I think I understand you," said Shelf. "Give me a minute to think it out."

"A week if you like," said the other; and, picking up his cue, again returned to the billiard-table.

The balls clicked lazily, and the rosewood clock marked off the seconds with firmness and precision. Shelf lay back in his chair, his finger-tips together beneath the square chin, his eyes watching the shadows which the lamps cast on the frescoed ceiling. He looked entirely placid. No one would have guessed the simmer of thoughts which were poppling and bubbling in his brain. A stream of projects came before him, flashed into detail, and were dismissed as impracticable. It was the great trait of this man's genius that he could think with the speed of a hurricane, and clear his head of an unprofitable idea a moment after it was born.

Twenty schemes occurred to him, all to be dismissed: and then came the twenty-first; and that stayed. He ran a mental finger through all its leading details: he conned over a thousand minutiae. It was the thing to suit his purpose.

A bare minute had passed, but he needed no more time for his deliberations. The scheme seemed perfect to him, without flaw, without chance of improvement. The hugeness of it thrilled him like a draught of spirit. He was betrayed away from his unctuous calm; his hands dropped on to the arms of the chair.

With a heavy start he clambered to his feet, strode forward, and seized Onslow by the arm. "If your channel and Everglades will answer a purpose I want, there's half a million of English sovereigns to be made out of it."

Onslow turned and faced him with a long, thin-drawn whistle. "?500,000! Phew!"

"Hush! there's somebody coming. But it's to be had if you're not afraid of a little risk."

"I fear nothing on this earth," said Onslow, "when it's to my interest not to fear. Moreover, though I'm not a saint, my standard of morality is probably a shade higher than yours. I don't mind doing some sorts of dirty things; but there are shades in dirtiness, and at some tints I draw the line. It's dangerous to--er--have the tips of these cues glued on so badly. They fly off and hit people."

The billiard-room door had opened, and Amy Rivers had come in, with Fairfax at her heels. Hence Onslow's digression. The matter had not been put in so many words; but he felt sure that the commission of a great robbery had been proposed to him, and he had more than half a mind to drive his knuckles into Theodore Shelf's lying, hypocritical face on the spot.

THE REQUIREMENTS OF MRS. SHELF.

Mr. Theodore Shelf wanted to drag Onslow off there and then to his own business-room, on the first floor, to discuss further this great project which he had in his head; but Onslow thought fit to remain where he was. Mr. Shelf nodded significantly towards the new-comers, as much as to hint that a third person with them would be distinctly an inconvenient third. Onslow turned to them, cue in hand, and proposed a game of snooker.

"That's precisely what we came up for," said Amy Rivers promptly. "Hamilton, get out the balls. Mr. Onslow, will you put the billiard-balls away, so that they don't get mixed?"

They played and talked merrily. Their conversation turned on the wretched show at the recent Academy, which they agreed was a disgrace to a civilized country; and Onslow made himself interesting over the art of painting in Paris--mural, facial, and on canvas. When he chose he could be very interesting, this man London had nicknamed "The Great Traveler"; and he generally chose, not being ill-natured.

Consequently Mr. Shelf went direct to his own room, locked the door, and fortified his nerves with a liberal allowance of brandy. Then he munched a coffee-bean in deference to the blue ribbon on his coat-lapel, replaced the cognac bottle in the inner drawer of his safe, and sat down to think.

If only he understood Onslow, and, better still, knew whether he might trust him, there was a fortune to be had. Yes, a fortune! And it was wanted badly. The great firm of Marmaduke Rivers and Shelf, which called itself "Agents to the Oceanic Steam Transport Co.," but which really ran the line of steamers which traded under that flag, might look prosperous to the outer eye, and might still rear its head haughtily amongst the first shipping firms of London port. But the man who bragged aloud that he owned it all, from offices to engine-oil, knew otherwise. He had mortgages out in every direction, mortgages so cunningly hidden that only he himself was aware of their vast total. He knew that the firm was rotten--lock, stock, and barrel. He knew that through any one of twenty channels a breakup might come any day; and, following on the heels of that, a smash, which would be none the pleasanter because, from its size and devastating effects, it would live down into history.

He, Theodore Shelf, would assuredly not be in England to face it. Since his commercial barometer had reached "stormy," and still showed signs of steady descent, he had been transmitting carefully modulated doles to certain South American banks, and had even gone so far as to purchase a picturesquely situated estan?ia on the upper waters of the Rio Paraguay.

There, in case the tempest of bankruptcy broke, the extradition treaties would cease from troubling, and the weary swindler would be at well-fed rest.

But Mr. Theodore Shelf had no lust for this tropical retirement. He liked the powers of his present pinnacle in the City. And that howl of execration from every class of society which would make up his paean of defeat was an opera that he very naturally shrank from sitting through.

As he thought of these things, he hugged closer to him the wire-haired fox-terrier which sat upon his lap.

"George, old friend," said Mr. Shelf, "if things do go wrong, I believe you are the only thing living in England which won't turn against me."

George slid out a red tongue and licked the angle of Mr. Shelf's square chin. Then he retired within himself again, and looked sulky. The door had opened, and Mrs. Shelf stood on the mat. There was a profound mutual dislike between George and Mrs. Theodore Shelf.

"You alone, Theodore? I thought Mr. Onslow was here. However, so much the better. I have wanted to speak with you all the morning. Do turn that nasty dog away!"

George was not evicted, and Mr. Shelf inquired curtly what his wife was pleased to want. She seldom invaded this business-room of his, and, when she did, it was for a purpose which he was beginning to abhor. She came to the point at once by handing him a letter, which was mostly in copperplate. He read it through with brief, sour comment.

"H'm! Bank. Your private account overdrawn. That's the third time this year, Laura. Warning seems to be no use. You are determined to know what ruin tastes like."

"Ruin, pshaw! You don't put me off with that silly tale. To begin with, I don't believe it for an instant; and even if it were true, I'd rather be ruined than retrench. You and I can afford to be candid between ourselves, Theodore. You know perfectly well that we have gained our position in society purely and solely by purchase."

"Was necessary. And I couldn't afford to do the thing otherwise than gorgeously."

"Gorgeously! Do you think I'm a Croesus, Laura, to pay for gearing one room with red roses, and another room with pink, and another room with Marshal Niels for fools to flit in during one short night? This morning's paper informs me that those flowers came by special express from Nice, and cost five hundred pounds."

One or two youngsters, who had not got machines of their own yet, had begged leave to hire for the afternoon, so it happened that the March Hare and Toppin were the only boarders left behind. Mournfully they swung upon the gate, and watched the pack ride gaily away at the word "Time!" from Mr. Anderson.

"I wish that they should have tooken us, eh, Top-peen?" said the March Hare.

"You ought to say 'took', not 'tooken'," corrected Toppin. He felt rather cross, and disinclined to dwell on the subject of his wrongs.

"Ah, I am--what is your one word?--non-grammar-eesh?"

"No,--stupid," said Toppin.

Toppin shook his head decidedly, and jumped off the gate in a hurry.

"That's the second time since Sunday you've wanted to kiss, and I've told you over and over again I hate it, I don't like it! I never want to kiss! Now, do you understand?"

The March Hare was sadly afraid he did.

"If you were an English boy you'd never think of asking such a thing," Toppin went on, tramping up and down as he talked. He really did not want to be unkind to the Hare, but requests like this vexed him sorely. "Don't you see, Harey, there are some people who will kiss me, and I can't stop them--like Miss Turner, f'r instance." Miss Turner was the matron. "And then there are some I've got to kiss, like aunts and people. But one doesn't put in any extra, if one can help it. When I'm grown-up I sha'n't have to kiss anybody, and that'll be jolly. I shall never, never kiss at all, only shake hands or bow, like Escombe does."

"Top-peen, you did keess me once time, last week!" The Hare was timidly reproachful now.

Toppin stood still and coloured.

"Yes, I did. Because you bovvered me to, and--and you'd jumped in after me!"

"And shallent you--not ever--keess me once time more?"

"Oh--well--look here! Perhaps when it's your birthday, if we get somewhere quite secret, where nobody can possibly see us, I--I'll let you have one--a quick one!"

"T-thanks you!" said the grateful Hare.

"It's 'thanks', or else 'thank you'," corrected Toppin.

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