pgw.uneasymoney-第4部分

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　'Why；　I'm　devilish　hard　up。'
　'Tenantry　a　bit　slack　with　the　rent？'　said　Gates　sympathetically。
　Bill　laughed。
　'My　dear　chap；　I　don't　know　what　on　earth　you're　talking　about。　How　much　money　do　you　think　I've　got？　Four　hundred　pounds　a　year；　and　no　prospect　of　ever　making　more　unless　I　sweat　for　it。'
　'What！　I　always　thought　you　were　rolling　in　money。'
　'What　gave　you　that　idea？'
　'You　have　a　prosperous　look。　It's　a　funny　thing　about　England。　I've　known　you　four　months；　and　I　know　men　who　know　you；　but　I've　never　heard　a　word　about　your　finances。　In　New　York　we　all　wear　labels；　stating　our　ines　and　prospects　in　clear　lettering。　Well；　if　it's　like　that　it's　different；　of　course。　There　certainly　is　more　money　to　be　made　in　America　than　here。　I　don't　quite　see　what　you　think　you're　going　to　do　when　you　get　there；　but　that's　up　to　you。
　'There's　no　harm　in　giving　the　city　a　trial。　Anyway；　I　can　give　you　a　letter　or　two　that　might　help。'
　'That's　awfully　good　of　you。'
　'You　won't　mind　my　alluding　to　you　as　my　friend　William　Smith？'　　'William　Smith？'
　'You　can't　travel　under　your　own　name　if　you　are　really　serious　about　getting　a　job。　Mind　you；　if　my　letters　lead　to　anything　it　will　probably　be　a　situation　as　an　earnest　bill…clerk　or　an　effervescent　office…boy；　for　Rockefeller　and　Carnegie　and　that　lot　have　swiped　all　the　soft　jobs。　But　if　you　go　over　as　Lord　Dawlish　you　won't　even　get　that。　Lords　are　popular　socially　in　America；　but　are　not　used　to　any　great　extent　in　the　office。　If　you　try　to　break　in　under　your　right　name　you'll　get　the　glad　hand　and　be　asked　to　stay　here　and　there　and　play　a　good　deal　of　golf　and　dance　quite　a　lot；　but　you　won't　get　a　job。　A　gentle　smile　will　greet　all　your　pleadings　that　you　be　allowed　to　e　in　and　save　the　firm。'
　'I　see。'
　'We　may　look　on　Smith　as　a　necessity。'
　'Do　you　know；　I'm　not　frightfully　keen　on　the　name　Smith。　Wouldn't　something　else　do？'
　'Sure。　We　aim　to　please。　How　would　Jones　suit　you？'
　'The　trouble　is；　you　know；　that　if　I　took　a　name　I　wasn't　used　to　I　might　forget　it。'
　'If　you've　the　sort　of　mind　that　would　forget　Jones　I　doubt　if　ever　you'll　be　a　captain　of　industry。'
　'Why　not　Chalmers？'
　'You　think　it　easier　to　memorize　than　Jones？'
　'It　used　to　be　my　name；　you　see；　before　I　got　the　title。'　　'I　see。　All　right。　Chalmers　then。　When　do　you　think　of　starting？'
　'To…morrow。'
　'You　aren't　losing　much　time。　By　the　way；　as　you're　going　to　New　York　you　might　as　well　use　my　flat。'
　'It's　awfully　good　of　you。'
　'Not　a　bit。　You　would　be　doing　me　a　favour。　I　had　to　leave　at　a　moment's　notice；　and　I　want　to　know　what's　been　happening　to　the　place。　I　left　some　Japanese　prints　there；　and　my　favourite　nightmare　is　that　someone　has　broken　in　and　sneaked　them。　Write　down　the　addressForty…blank　East　Twenty…seventh　Street。　I'll　send　you　the　key　to　Brown's　to…night　with　those　letters。'
　Bill　walked　up　the　Strand；　glowing　with　energy。　He　made　his　way　to　Cockspur　Street　to　buy　his　ticket　for　New　York。　This　done；　he　set　out　to　Brown's　to　arrange　with　the　mittee　the　details　of　his　departure。
　He　reached　Brown's　at　twenty　minutes　past　two　and　left　it　again　at　twenty…three　minutes　past；　for；　directly　he　entered；　the　hall　porter　had　handed　him　a　telephone　message。　The　telephone　attendants　at　London　clubs　are　masters　of　suggestive　brevity。　The　one　in　the　basement　of　Brown's　had　written　on　Bill's　slip　of　paper　the　words：　'1　p。m。　Will　Lord　Dawlish　as　soon　as　possible　call　upon　Mr　Gerald　Nichols　at　his　office？'　To　this　was　appended　a　message　consisting　of　two　words：　'Good　news。'
　It　was　stimulating。　The　probability　was　that　all　Jerry　Nichols　wanted　to　tell　him　was　that　he　had　received　stable　information　about　some　horse　or　had　been　given　a　box　for　the　Empire；　but　for　all　that　it　was　stimulating。
　Bill　looked　at　his　watch。　He　could　spare　half　an　hour。　He　set　out　at　once　for　the　offices　of　the　eminent　law　firm　of　Nichols；　Nichols；　Nichols；　and　Nichols；　of　which　aggregation　of　Nicholses　his　friend　Jerry　was　the　last　and　smallest。
　
　3
　On　a　west…bound　omnibus　Claire　Fenwick　sat　and　raged　silently　in　the　June　sunshine。　She　was　furious。　What　right　had　Lord　Dawlish　to　look　down　his　nose　and　murmur　'_Noblesse　oblige_'　when　she　asked　him　a　question；　as　if　she　had　suggested　that　he　should　mit　some　crime？　It　was　the　patronizing　way　he　had　said　it　that　infuriated　her；　as　if　he　were　a　superior　being　of　some　kind；　governed　by　codes　which　she　could　not　be　expected　to　understand。　Everybody　nowadays　did　the　sort　of　things　she　suggested；　so　what　was　the　good　of　looking　shocked　and　saying　'_Noblesse　oblige_'？
　The　omnibus　rolled　on　towards　West　Kensington。　Claire　hated　the　place　with　the　bitter　hate　of　one　who　had　read　society　novels；　and　yearned　for　Grosvenor　Square　and　butlers　and　a　general　atmosphere　of　soft　cushions　and　pink…shaded　lights　and　maids　to　do　one's　hair。　She　hated　the　cheap　furniture　of　the　little　parlour；　the　penetrating　contralto　of　the　cook　singing　hymns　in　the　kitchen；　and　the　ubiquitousness　of　her　small　brother。　He　was　only　ten；　and　small　for　his　age；　yet　he　appeared　to　have　the　power　of　being　in　two　rooms　at　the　same　time　while　making　a　nerve…racking　noise　in　another。
　It　was　Percy　who　greeted　her　to…day　as　she　entered　the　flat。
　'Halloa；　Claire！　I　say；　Claire；　there's　a　letter　for　you。　It　came　by　the　second　post。　I　say；　Claire；　it's　got　an　American　stamp　on　it。　Can　I　have　it；　Claire？　I　haven't　got　one　in　my　collection。'
　His　sister　regarded　him　broodingly。　'For　goodness'　sake　don't　bellow　like　that！'　she　said。　'Of　course；　you　can　have　the　stamp。　I　don't　want　it。　Where　is　the　letter？'
　Claire　took　the　envelope　from　him；　extracted　the　letter；　and　handed　back　the　envelope。　Percy　vanished　into　the　dining…room　with　a　shattering　squeal　of　pleasure。　　A　voice　spoke　from　behind　a　half…opened　door
　'Is　that　you；　Claire？'
　'Yes；　mother；　I've　e　back　to　pack。　They　want　me　to　go　to　Southampton　to…night　to　take　up　Claudia　Winslow's　part。'
　'What　train　are　you　catching？'
　'The　three…fifteen。'
　'You　will　have　to　hurry。'
　'I'm　going　to　hurry；'　said　Claire；　clenching　her　fists　as　two　simultaneous　bursts　of　song；　in　different　keys　and　varying　tempos；　proceeded　from　the　dining…room　and　kitchen。　A　girl　has　to　be　in　a　sunnier　mood　than　she　was　to　bear　up　without　wincing　under　the　infliction　of　a　duet　consisting　of　the　Rock　of　Ages　and　Waiting　for　the　Robert　E。　Lee。　Assuredly　Claire　proposed　to　hurry。　She　meant　to　get　her　packing　done　in　record　time　and　escape　from　this　place。　She　went　into　her　bedroom　and　began　to　throw　things　untidily　into　her　trunk。　She　had　put　the　letter　in　her　pocket　against　a　more　favourable　time　for　perusal。　A　glance　had　told　her　that　it　was　from　her　friend　Polly；　Countess　of　Wetherby：　that　Polly　Davis　of　whom　she　had　spoken　to　Lord　Dawlish。　Polly　Davis；　now　married　for　better　or　for　worse　to　that　curious　invertebrate　person；　Algie　Wetherby；　was　the　only　real　friend　Claire　had　made　on　the　stage。　A　sort　of　shivering　gentility　had　kept　her　aloof　from　the　rest　of　her　fellow…workers；　but　it　took　more　than　a　shivering　gentility　to　stave　off　Polly。
　Claire　had　passed　through　the　various　stages　of　intimacy　with　her；　until　on　the　occasion　of　Polly's　marriage　she　had　acted　as　her　bridesmaid。
　It　was　a　long　letter；　too　long　to　be　read　until　she　was　at　leisure；　and　written　in　a　straggling　hand　that　made　reading　difficult。　She　was　mildly　surprised　that　Polly　should　have　written　her；　for　she　had　been　back　in　America　a　year　or　more　now；　and　this　was　her　first　letter。　Polly　had　a　warm　heart　and　did　not　forget　her　friends；　but　she　was　not　a　good　correspondent。
　The　need　of　getting　her　things　ready　at　once　drove　the　letter　from　Claire's　mind。　She　was　in　the　train　on　her　way　to　Southampton　before　she　remembered　its　existence。
　It　was　dated　from　New　York。
　MY　DEAR　OLD　CLAIRE；Is　this　really　my　first　letter　to　you？　Isn't　that　awful！　Gee！　A　lot's　happened　since　I　saw　you　last。　I　must　tell　you　first　about　my　hit。　Some　hit！　Claire；　old　girl；　I　own　New　York。　I　daren't　tell　you　what　my　salary　is。　You'd　faint。
　I'm　doing　barefoot　dancing。　You　know　the　sort　of　stuff。　I　started　it　in　vaudeville；　and　went　so　big　that　my　agent　shifted　me　to　the　restaurants；　and　they　have　to　call　out　the　police　reserves　to　handle　the　crowd。　You　can't　get　a　table　at　Reigelheimer's；　which　is　my　pitch；　unless　you　tip　the　head　waiter　a　small　fortune　and　promise　to　mail　him　your　clothes　when　you　get　home。　I　dance　during　supper　with　nothing　on　my　feet　and　not　much　anywhere　else；　and　it　takes　three　vans　to　carry　my　salary　to　the　bank。
　Of　course；　it's　the　title　that　does　it：　'Lady　Pauline　Wetherby！'　Algie　says　it　oughtn't　to　be　that；　because　I'm　not　the　daughter　of　a　duke；　but　I　don't　worry　about　that。　It　looks　good；　and　that's　all　that　matters。　You　can't　get　away　from　the　title。　I　was　born　in　Carbondale；　Illinois；　but　that　doesn't　matterI'm　an　English　countess；　doing　barefoot　dancing　to　work　off　the　mortgage　on　the　ancestral　castle；　and　they　eat　me。　Take　it　from　me；　Claire；　I'm　a　riot。
　Well；　that's　that。　What　I　am　really　writing　about　is　to　tell　you　that　you　have　got　to　e　over　here。　I've　taken　a　house　at　Brookport；　on　Long　Island；　for　the　summer。　You　can　stay　with　me