pgw.uneasymoney-第9部分

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lons　into　poor　Uncle　Ira。
　She　had　never　hated　any　one　in　her　life　before；　but　as　she　stood　there　at　that　moment　she　felt　that　she　loathed　and　detested　William　Lord　Dawlishunhappy；　well…meaning　Bill；　who　only　a　few　hours　back　had　set　foot　on　American　soil　in　his　desire　to　nose　round　and　see　if　something　couldn't　be　arranged。
　Nutty　fetched　the　water。　Life　is　like　that。　There　is　nothing　clean…cut　about　it；　no　sense　of　form。　Instead　of　being　permitted　to　concentrate　his　attention　on　his　tragedy　Nutty　had　to　trudge　three…quarters　of　a　mile；　conciliate　a　bull…terrier；　and　trudge　back　again　carrying　a　heavy　pail。　It　was　as　if　one　of　the　heroes　of　Greek　drama；　in　the　middle　of　his　big　scene；　had　been　asked　to　run　round　the　corner　to　a　provision　store。
　The　exercise　did　not　act　as　a　restorative。　The　blow　had　been　too　sudden；　too　overwhelming。　Nutty's　reasonsuch　as　it　wastottered　on　its　throne。　Who　was　Lord　Dawlish？　What　had　he　done　to　ingratiate　himself　with　Uncle　Ira？　By　what　insidious　means；　with　what　devilish　cunning；　had　he　wormed　his　way　into　the　old　man's　favour？　These　were　the　questions　that　vexed　Nutty's　mind　when　he　was　able　to　think　at　all　coherently。
　Back　at　the　farm　Elizabeth　cooked　breakfast　and　awaited　her　brother's　return　with　a　sinking　heart。　She　was　a　soft…hearted　girl；　easily　distressed　by　the　sight　of　suffering；　and　she　was　aware　that　Nutty　was　scarcely　of　the　type　that　masks　its　woes　behind　a　brave　and　cheerful　smile。　Her　heart　bled　for　Nutty。
　There　was　a　weary　step　outside。　Nutty　entered；　slopping　water。　One　glance　at　his　face　was　enough　to　tell　Elizabeth　that　she　had　formed　a　too　conservative　estimate　of　his　probable　gloom。　Without　a　word　he　coiled　his　long　form　in　a　chair。　There　was　silence　in　the　stricken　house。
　'What's　the　time？'
　Elizabeth　glanced　at　her　watch。
　'Half…past　nine。'
　'About　now；'　said　Nutty；　sepulchrally；　'the　blighter　is　ringing　for　his　man　to　prepare　his　bally　bath　and　lay　out　his　gold…leaf　underwear。　After　that　he　will　drive　down　to　the　bank　and　draw　some　of　our　money。'
　The　day　passed　wearily　for　Elizabeth。　Nutty　having　the　air　of　one　who　is　still　engaged　in　picking　up　the　pieces；　she　had　not　the　heart　to　ask　him　to　play　his　customary　part　in　the　household　duties；　so　she　washed　the　dishes　and　made　the　beds　herself。　After　that　she　attended　to　the　bees。　After　that　she　cooked　lunch。
　Nutty　was　not　chatty　at　lunch。　Having　observed　'About　now　the　blighter　is　cursing　the　waiter　for　bringing　the　wrong　brand　of　champagne；'　he　relapsed　into　a　silence　which　he　did　not　again　break。
　Elizabeth　was　busy　again　in　the　afternoon。　At　four　o'clock；　feeling　tired　out；　she　went　to　her　room　to　lie　down　until　the　next　of　her　cycle　of　domestic　duties　should　e　round。
　It　was　late　when　she　came　downstairs；　for　she　had　fallen　asleep。　The　sun　had　gone　down。　Bees　were　winging　their　way　heavily　back　to　the　hives　with　their　honey。　She　went　out　into　the　grounds　to　try　to　find　Nutty。　There　had　been　no　signs　of　him　in　the　house。　There　were　no　signs　of　him　about　the　grounds。　It　was　not　like　him　to　have　taken　a　walk；　but　it　seemed　the　only　possibility。　She　went　back　to　the　house　to　wait。　Eight　o'clock　came；　and　nine；　and　it　was　then　the　truth　dawned　upon　herNutty　had　escaped。　He　had　slipped　away　and　gone　up　to　New　York。
　
　6
　Lord　Dawlish　sat　in　the　New　York　flat　which　had　been　lent　him　by　his　friend　Gates。　The　hour　was　half…past　ten　in　the　evening；　the　day；　the　second　day　after　the　exodus　of　Nutty　Boyd　from　the　farm。　Before　him　on　the　table　lay　a　letter。　He　was　smoking　pensively。
　Lord　Dawlish　had　found　New　York　enjoyable；　but　a　trifle　fatiguing。　There　was　much　to　be　seen　in　the　city；　and　he　had　made　the　mistake　of　trying　to　see　it　all　at　once。　It　had　been　his　intention；　when　he　came　home　after　dinner　that　night；　to　try　to　restore　the　balance　of　things　by　going　to　bed　early。　He　had　sat　up　longer　than　he　had　intended；　because　he　had　been　thinking　about　this　letter。
　Immediately　upon　his　arrival　in　America；　Bill　had　sought　out　a　lawyer　and　instructed　him　to　write　to　Elizabeth　Boyd；　offering　her　one…half　of　the　late　Ira　Nutbe's　money。　He　had　had　time　during　the　voyage　to　think　the　whole　matter　over；　and　this　seemed　to　him　the　only　possible　course。　He　could　not　keep　it　all。　He　would　feel　like　the　despoiler　of　the　widow　and　the　orphan。　Nor　would　it　be　fair　to　Claire　to　give　it　all　up。　If　he　halved　the　legacy　everybody　would　be　satisfied。
　That　at　least　had　been　his　view　until　Elizabeth's　reply　had　arrived。　It　was　this　reply　that　lay　on　the　tablea　brief；　formal　note；　setting　forth　Miss　Boyd's　absolute　refusal　to　accept　any　portion　of　the　money。　This　was　a　development　which　Bill　had　not　foreseen；　and　he　was　feeling　baffled。　What　was　the　next　step？　He　had　smoked　many　pipes　in　the　endeavour　to　find　an　answer　to　this　problem；　and　was　lighting　another　when　the　door…bell　rang。
　He　opened　the　door　and　found　himself　confronting　an　extraordinarily　tall　and　thin　young　man　in　evening…dress。
　Lord　Dawlish　was　a　little　startled。　He　had　taken　it　for　granted；　when　the　bell　rang；　that　his　visitor　was　Tom；　the　liftman　from　downstairs；　a　friendly　soul　who　hailed　from　London　and　had　been　dropping　in　at　intervals　during　the　past　two　days　to　acquire　the　latest　news　from　his　native　land。　He　stared　at　this　changeling　inquiringly。　The　solution　of　the　mystery　came　with　the　stranger's　first　words
　'Is　Gates　in？'
　He　spoke　eagerly；　as　if　Gates　were　extremely　necessary　to　his　well…being。　It　distressed　Lord　Dawlish　to　disappoint　him；　but　there　was　nothing　else　to　be　done。
　'Gates　is　in　London；'　he　said。
　'What！　When　did　he　go　there？'
　'About　four　months　ago。'
　'May　I　e　in　a　minute？'
　'Yes；　rather；　do。'
　He　led　the　way　into　the　sitting…room。　The　stranger　gave　abruptly　in　the　middle；　as　if　he　were　being　folded　up　by　some　invisible　agency；　and　in　this　attitude　sank　into　a　chair；　where　he　lay　back　looking　at　Bill　over　his　knees；　like　a　sorrowful　sheep　peering　over　a　sharp…pointed　fence。
　'You're　from　England；　aren't　you？'
　'Yes。'
　'Been　in　New　York　long？'
　'Only　a　couple　of　days。'
　The　stranger　folded　himself　up　another　foot　or　so　until　his　knees　were　higher　than　his　head；　and　lit　a　cigarette。
　'The　curse　of　New　York；'　he　said；　mournfully；　'is　the　way　everything　changes　in　it。　You　can't　take　your　eyes　off　it　for　a　minute。　The　population's　always　shifting。　It's　like　a　railway　station。　You　go　away　for　a　bit　and　e　back　and　try　to　find　your　old　pals；　and　they're　all　gone：　Ike's　in　Arizona；　Mike's　in　a　sanatorium；　Spike's　in　jail；　and　nobody　seems　to　know　where　the　rest　of　them　have　got　to。　I　came　up　from　the　country　two　days　ago；　expecting　to　find　the　old　gang　along　Broadway　the　same　as　ever；　and　I'm　dashed　if　I've　been　able　to　put　my　hands　on　one　of　them！　Not　a　single；　solitary　one　of　them！　And　it's　only　six　months　since　I　was　here　last。'
　Lord　Dawlish　made　sympathetic　noises。
　'Of　course；'　proceeded　the　other；　'the　time　of　year　may　have　something　to　do　with　it。　Living　down　in　the　country　you　lose　count　of　time；　and　I　forgot　that　it　was　July；　when　people　go　out　of　the　city。　I　guess　that　must　be　what　happened。　I　used　to　know　all　sorts　of　fellows；　actors　and　fellows　like　that；　and　they're　all　away　somewhere。　I　tell　you；'　he　said；　with　pathos；　'I　never　knew　I　could　be　so　infernally　lonesome　as　I　have　been　these　last　two　days。　If　I　had　known　what　a　rotten　time　I　was　going　to　have　I　would　never　have　left　Brookport。'
　'Brookport！'
　'It's　a　place　down　on　Long　Island。'
　Bill　was　not　by　nature　a　plotter；　but　the　mere　fact　of　travelling　under　an　assumed　name　had　developed　a　streak　of　wariness　in　him。　He　checked　himself　just　as　he　was　about　to　ask　his　panion　if　he　happened　to　know　a　Miss　Elizabeth　Boyd；　who　also　lived　at　Brookport。　It　occurred　to　him　that　the　question　would　invite　a　counter…question　as　to　his　own　knowledge　of　Miss　Boyd；　and　he　knew　that　he　would　not　be　able　to　invent　a　satisfactory　answer　to　that　offhand。
　'This　evening；'　said　the　thin　young　man；　resuming　his　dirge；　'I　was　sweating　my　brain　to　try　to　think　of　somebody　I　could　hunt　up　in　this　ghastly；　deserted　city。　It　isn't　so　easy；　you　know；　to　think　of　fellows'　names　and　addresses。　I　can　get　the　names　all　right；　but　unless　the　fellow's　in　the　telephone…book；　I'm　done。　Well；　I　was　trying　to　think　of　some　of　my　pals　who　might　still　be　around　the　place；　and　I　remembered　Gates。　Remembered　his　address；　too；　by　a　miracle。　You're　a　pal　of　his；　of　course？'
　'Yes；　I　knew　him　in　London。'
　'Oh；　I　see。　And　when　you　came　over　here　he　lent　you　his　flat？　By　the　way；　I　didn't　get　your　name？'
　'My　name's　Chalmers。'
　'Well；　as　I　say；　I　remembered　Gates　and　came　down　here　to　look　him　up。　We　used　to　have　a　lot　of　good　times　together　a　year　ago。　And　now　he's　gone　too！'
　'Did　you　want　to　see　him　about　anything　important？'
　'Well；　it's　important　to　me。　I　wanted　him　to　e　out　to　supper。　You　see；　it's　this　way：　I'm　giving　supper　to…night　to　a　girl　who's　in　that　show　at　the　Forty…ninth　Street　Theatre；　a　Miss　Leonard；　and　she　insists　on　bringing　a　pal。　She　says　the　pal　is　a　good　sport；　which　sounds　all　right'　Bill　admitted　that　it　sounded　all　right。　'But　it　makes　the　party　three。　And　of　all　the　infernal　things　a　party　of　three　is　the　ghastliest。'
　H